Recipe for Redemption

by Anna J. Stewart

  “The diner, huh?” His stomach rolled at the thought of it. What was it she’d said earlier? Holy hamburgers? “Has anyone ever tried to say no to you?”

  “Once or twice. Didn’t work. Good night, Jay. And thank you.”

  He caught her arm as she passed, looked into her eyes for a second longer—not long enough. “My name is Jason.”

  She nodded as if she was coming out of some sort of trance. “Jason, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hugged his book like she was an anxious freshman headed off to her first day.

  He opened the door for her, waited until she disappeared down the stairs before he closed it again. The doubt crept in, slow and slithering, working its way into his overwhelmed brain.

  Whatever desire, whatever passion he’d once held for his profession was gone. He’d lost his appetite for all of it. The idea of diving back into that world that haunted him was enough to freeze his feet to the floor. Which left him with one question.

  What had he just gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “ABIGAIL MANNING!” HOLLY glared at Abby as if she wanted to crawl over the counter and strangle her. “Things cannot be so bad at the inn you had to sell your parents’ wedding rings.”

  “I know.” Except they were. Abby forced a smile. The ache in her chest remained and she could still feel her hand burning from when she’d handed over the rings, but she refused to look behind her. Sometimes it took sacrificing the past to try to save the future. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  If anything, spending three hours early this morning replacing another two showerheads, tightening valves under sinks and touching up chair-rail paint in the soon-to-be-occupied rooms was all the reminder she needed of how much there was to do. “I don’t think my parents would want me to have to put Gran in a home, which is what’s going to happen if the Flutterby closes. This is the only way out I can see.”

  Holly moved aside for the ever skinny, fashion boundary–pushing server Twyla, who grabbed a fresh pot of coffee and warmed up the late-morning customers’ cups. “And for what?” Holly lowered her voice. “To enter a cooking competition. A cooking competition? You know that means you’ll have to cook, right?”

  Abby inclined her head and pressed her lips into a hard line. Sometimes Holly’s sarcasm rankled her nerves.

  “Oh, wow.” Holly crossed her arms. “I thought maybe you were exaggerating yesterday.”

  “That was before I looked at the accounting records. Mr. Vartebetium has been using his personal savings to balance the books for over a year. He’s also neglected to pay the property taxes for the last four, which that prize money would cover. The inn is hemorrhaging, Holly, and Gran needs stability, especially since her diagnosis.” Abby needed stability.

  “And what’s Gran going to say when she hears you sold those rings?”

  “Gran won’t say anything, because no one is going to tell her,” Abby warned Holly. “I did what I had to, Holly, and I sent in the entry fee forty minutes ago.” No turning back now. All those rules. No wonder she’d woken up with a headache. “It’s a done deal.” She was locked in tighter than plastic wrap over a steaming bowl.

  Hey. She jolted in her chair. She’d learned something from Jason’s cookbook last night after all.

  “On the bright side.” Holly shifted her gaze out the glass door. “You found yourself one handsome cooking teacher. Nicely done.”

  “Yeah, we’ll...” Abby spun on her stool as she saw Jason bending down to give Cash, Luke’s beautiful golden retriever, a hearty pet of greeting. “We’ll see,” she croaked. He’d certainly never smiled at her like that, and was that a chuckle she heard as he stood up and followed Luke into the diner? If anything she seemed to put his face in a permanent state of disapproval.

  “Ladies.” Sheriff Luke Saxon in all his uniformed finery led the parade of his overactive soon-to-be stepson, with Jason bringing up the rear. Cash remained outside the front door, peering inside with a look of resignation.

  “Am I too early?” Jason slipped his hands into the pockets of his oh-so-nicely fitted jeans. Abby nearly toppled off her stool but then covered by grabbing hold of Simon and yanking him in for a hug.

  Holly straightened to her full height, an amused gleam in her eyes as she glanced between her best friend and Butterfly Harbor’s recent arrival. “Abby’s always early. A good thing for any instructor to know about his student.” Holly strode around the counter and held out her hand. “You must be Jay. Nice to meet you.”

  “Thanks. It’s Jason, actually.” He cleared his throat, inching his chin up as if accepting a challenge. “Jason Corwin.”

  “Welcome to Butterfly Harbor, Jason. Tell me something.” Holly leaned in as Luke slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Will you be videotaping your cooking lessons with her? I’m thinking they’d make great holiday entertainment—ow!” She glared at Abby, who had yanked hard on her ponytail. “Seriously?”

  “Very seriously,” Abby said as she hugged the stuffing out of her godson until he squealed. “You, sir, have been MIA for too long. I miss my movie and pizza buddy.”

  “Sorry.” Simon grinned up at her, those big brown eyes of his even bigger behind thick black-rimmed glasses. “Charlie and I have been busy.”

  “I knew it.” Abby sighed and spun him around so she could lean her chin on the top of his head. “I’ve been replaced by another woman. You two aren’t trying to take over the world again, are you?” She peered over his shoulder at the haggard notebook clutched against his chest. Simon and his notebook. A dangerous combination.

  “Not the world,” Simon said with a little too much seriousness, that jolted Abby’s nerves and was reflected in Holly’s suddenly attentive expression. “Just Butterfly Harbor.”

  “Don’t worry. The sheriff is on full alert.” Luke shifted on his feet, barely leaning on the cane in his hand. “His school starts soon, so we stopped in for a quick snack before heading out to find the perfect backpack. Jason, good to see you again. Remember that poker game I told you about.”

  “Sure. Yeah. Sounds great.”

  Abby wasn’t entirely convinced Jason thought so.

  “Give Paige your order.” Holly patted a hand against the front of Luke’s khaki shirt before she lifted up on her toes to kiss him. “But I’ll make your mocha shake.”

  “You realize that’s why I’m marrying you, right? No one makes a mocha shake like you.”

  Holly eyed him with suspicion. “Hmm. And here I thought it was my homemade pies. Simon, let’s leave Aunt Abby and Jason to their lunch, shall we?”

  Abby would not blush. She would not... Too late!

  “Back corner booth is free.” Abby hopped off her stool by the register and hurried off, hearing the muted rumblings of manly farewells and fellow customers’ conversations.

  “Tell me something.” Jason slid into the booth across from her. “Is Butterfly Harbor a news dead zone, or does no one care about my past?”

  Abby eyed him as she sipped the water she’d set on the table when she’d first arrived. “As far as scandal rankings, I would put cheating on a national TV show somewhere between Mrs. Greely’s penchant for pilfering neighbors’ flatware and whoever’s been snipping buds off Mr. Rondale’s prized roses. Someone will probably say something at some point, but if you’re looking to have that past held against you, the last person you want to talk to is Luke. He’s a big believer in second chances.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “If you ask, he’ll give you the abbreviated version. Growing up we called him the bad boy of Butterfly Harbor.” Abby’s heart still ached for the life Luke led growing up. Between his abusive alcoholic father and an accident that had nearly cost Holly’s father his life, Luke had worked hard to overcome his past. She still admired the coura
ge it had taken for him to come home after all those years away. “It was rough going when he first showed up, but then he stopped letting his past define him. Now look at him.” She nodded to where Simon had all but superglued himself to the sheriff and Holly stroked a finger down the center of her fiancé’s chin. “Happily ever after.”

  “Nice to know things work out for some people.”

  “Things work out for a lot of people.” How sad he didn’t realize that.

  “But not you.” Jason glanced uneasily at the laminated menu behind the ketchup bottle. “You’re not married.”

  “Blunt and charming as ever.” Yet somehow she was getting used to it. “Maybe I’m waiting for some tall, handsome, scandal-ridden ex-chef to sweep me off my feet.” She grabbed the menu to push into his reluctant hands. “Meanwhile I divide my time between a genius eight-year-old and, most recently, a bowling alley tech with a penchant for shoe rentals.”

  “I never know whether you’re joking or not.”

  “I wish I was joking. Read the menu already, Super Chef. It’s not going to bite, and look.” She swiped her fingers over the top of the black-and-orange Formica table and showed them to him. “No pedestrian grease.”

  “Darn straight there’s no grease, pedestrian or otherwise.” Holly frowned at her as she set a glass of water down for Jason and tapped her fingers against the rolling pin sticking out of her apron. “This diner might be old, but it’s my second baby. It was my grandmother’s for almost forty years.”

  “I’m beginning to think I should have worn protective gear.” Jason glared at Abby, who grinned in response.

  “That remains to be seen.” Holly placed a firm hand on her hip. “It’s not often we get celebrities in here, let alone chefs with bestselling books and award-winning restaurants. I’m hoping we’ll surprise you.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Jason said. Abby was certain he was trying to find the means to inch out of arm’s reach of Holly’s weapon of mass destruction. “Can I have a minute with the menu?”

  “Absolutely. Twyla will take your order when you’re ready. And you.” Holly pointed a stern finger at Abby. “We’re not done with our conversation. I’m not happy with you.”

  “Love you, too,” Abby sang as Holly waltzed away.

  “What isn’t she happy about?”

  “Nothing important.” Abby pinched her lips shut and tried not to dwell on the rings she’d sold. Good thoughts. Positive thoughts. They weren’t gone forever. Yet.

  “Did you have to tell Holly what I said about diners?”

  “I tell Holly everything.” Abby shrugged. “Have ever since the sandbox.”

  He set the menu down. “You’ve been friends that long?”

  “You sound surprised. You were friends with your brother, weren’t you? What?” She couldn’t decipher the odd expression on his face.

  “We were. But we were also competitive. I figured that’s all people saw.”

  “Then people weren’t looking very closely.” All anyone had to do was look at the photos from David Corwin’s funeral to see his twin brother had been devastated by his death. She’d bet that arrogant and rude demeanor Jason wielded like a weapon was his shield against the grief. One thing about grief: the more you struggled against it, the tighter its grip became. “You look like him, you know. Since you cut your hair and grew the beard. Was that on purpose?”

  “Maybe. He was a good man.” Jason’s voice dropped as he ducked his chin to focus on the menu, but not before a flash of surprise crossed his face.

  “I’m sure he’d say the same about you.” Abby leaned over and attempted to catch his gaze, but he might as well have become an ostrich with his head in the sand. “You haven’t talked about him with anyone, have you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Nothing changes the fact David’s gone.” He tightened his fists as if he wanted to punch something. Or someone.

  Yeah, he was dealing with his loss. Sympathy edged in and eased her hostility. “Maybe you haven’t talked to the right person. Friendships like mine and Holly’s make life so much more fun, not to mention there’s a built-in support system when things go wrong. Or when you lose people. Maybe you should work on that. Now try reading the menu this time and order.” She tapped her finger on the laminated card. “I’m all paid up. I’m ready to start my classes.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “HOW LONG ARE you going to make me wait before admitting I was right about the diner?” Abby blinked overly innocent eyes at Jason as she pushed open the Flutterby kitchen’s door. “You devoured that steak sandwich like a carnivore after a vegetarian sabbatical.”

  “Listen to you, all culinary talk.” He stood in the doorway, bracing the door open with his hand and waited for his heart to stop racing. He scanned the room as his hands went cold, his cheeks turning icy, but he’d made a deal. Jason Corwin was many things: a disappointment to his father, a twin without a brother, and he was a cheat, but he was also, first and foremost, a man of his word.

  At least Abby’s special way with words kept him on his toes. Her irritating penchant for levity could bode well for his state of mind. He scrubbed his hand over his beard, the whiskers rough against his palm as he forced himself to step inside and take charge. “You were right.” About a lot of things. “Holly’s diner might just be the exception to a lifelong prejudice.”

  “I should be recording this conversation on my phone so I can play that admission over and over.” She patted a hand against her heart before she clapped and then rubbed her hands together. “Okay, Teach. What’s first?”

  “First, you go and change into something less flirty.”

  “You think this is flirty?” Abby plucked at her knee-length coral-and-pink flowered skirt, white tank and coral sweater and wiggled her toes in her flat slipper shoes. “Really?”

  “It might be hotel attire, but it’s not suitable for the kitchen.” Whatever uneasy truce they’d called wasn’t making his life easier. If anything, he had the feeling his life was about to get very complicated now that Abby Manning was a part of it. “Jeans and T-shirt are just fine.”

  “That wouldn’t be professional.”

  Battling over her clothes wasn’t an ideal beginning. “I know you’re on emergency call for managerial issues, but you’re also a student learning how to operate in this room. Up to you.”

  “Just so you know, passive-aggressiveness only enhances that jerky quality you’ve got going on.”

  He refused to be baited. “Does this hurt?” He pressed the tip of his booted foot against her toes.

  “Hey!” She scrambled away.

  “Now imagine dropping a knife, which I’m sure you will. Would you want to be wearing those when it hits your foot? Besides, no arch support, and cooks spend a lot of time on their feet. Go change. Hard-topped shoes if you have them. And tie your hair up.” Nothing worse than hair in your food.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get your first lesson ready.” Once he got his blood pressure under control. One deep breath and he might pass out. “The faster you change, the faster we get to it. Scoot.”

  Scoot? Jason’s hand froze on the refrigerator handle. When was the last time he’d said scoot to anyone?

  “You can’t see me, but I’m—”

  “Sticking your tongue out at me? Yes. It’s a stainless steel fridge, Abby.” He stared at her reflection. “Go, please.”

  He could do with the cheek. And he hadn’t been kidding about the flirty skirt. She was so feminine, so girly and so out of control with that mouth of hers that he should want to cover his ears every time she approached him. Instead, he found himself thinking about other ways to keep her quiet. Like kissing her...

  He frowned. He had enough on his plate these days without adding that into the mix. But now that the thoug
ht was there...

  His hand gripped the bundle of celery as he realized Abby could well be the first person who’d ever been completely honest with him. Did she really not mind what he’d done? Had all the drama and scandal in New York been blown out of proportion in his mind? Or was it that Abby didn’t care who he was or what he did that she didn’t have an issue commenting on his rude behavior. When was the last time anyone had called him a jerk to his face?

  Aside from his brother.

  Having someone new throw his own observations back at him was monumentally better than having the person blow smoke up his...exhaust pipe, as was the case with most of his friends and coworkers in New York. Everyone had been so concerned about not offending him or saying the wrong thing; most of them had said nothing.

  He took a deep breath as he unloaded what he needed out of the fridge, his pulse picking up speed the closer he got to having to hold a knife. He clenched his fists, as if he could control the shaking, and pushed aside memories of the last time he’d cooked a meal. The walls pulsed, heavy and hard in his ears, and he thought he saw them throb toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut and crouched down for a slow count of ten. Focusing his thoughts, he forced himself free of the panic he’d been convinced would settle the second he returned to this space.

  The clanging of pots, the staccato sound of knives hitting a cutting board, the shouts and orders flying overhead as they scrambled to get the meal on the plate in time for the judges. Nothing he’d cooked, nothing he’d prepared would be anything but a disgrace to his brother’s memory. The empty plate mocked him. Whispered to him...

  “Stop.” He pounded his fist on the stainless steel counter before stalking over and yanking open one of the large wooden drawers. “This isn’t then. This isn’t that. Get your head in the game.”

  Still, his hand trembled as he hovered over the hilt of the blade shining up at him. A flash, so quick he wondered if he’d imagined it, and he saw David’s face in the reflection of the steel, identical blue eyes narrowed in that silent manner he had of challenging Jason every day of their lives. You can do this, he seemed to say. You’ve got this. You’ve always had it. Now suck it up and get to work.