“Like a lot of slimy producers, I’m betting he has a special place reserved for him in the underground afterlife.” Marcus attempted a laugh. “Are you sure you’re okay to compete?”
“Of course. I’m just going to get some air before we start. Ah, thanks for the water.”
Her mouth went dry as she exited the tent. She refused to acknowledge Clara when her fellow competitor called out to her or when Steve insisted the three of them get their picture taken. She couldn’t stop, not to think, not to play along like nothing had changed. She hurried down the worn path toward a bench beneath one of the park’s giant oaks and, bending over, tried to breathe.
Her lungs burned. She needed that money. She had to save the Flutterby. Save Gran. But if she won, if Roger went through with his threat, he’d destroy any chance Jason had at recapturing everything he’d lost.
Except... Abby straightened, a sliver of hope shooting through her. Hadn’t he said last night he wasn’t sure he wanted to resume his position at Corwin Brothers? Maybe that was her out. Maybe he’d already made the final break and her choice wasn’t as difficult as she was making it out to be. Maybe—
“Abby!”
For an instant, she thought Jason’s voice was in her head, but then she saw him sprint around the side of the tent and race toward her.
“Someone said they saw you coming this way. You need to get ready. What’s wrong?” He bent down in front of her and captured her hands, squeezing them tight. “You’re white as a sheet. You feeling okay?”
“Nerves.” He looked so concerned, so...energized. “Where have you been?”
“Errands, I told you.” He grinned and touched her cheek. “I also did what you suggested and called Gary. I told him I’d only consider coming back if the board agreed to implement the local farm–friendly campaign David and I talked about. If they want me that badly, they’re going to have to agree to take the company in a new direction. The direction you helped me find. He took the offer to the board.”
If he went back? Hope faded. “And?”
“They agreed. More than agreed, they love the idea and are already putting a new marketing strategy in place.” She’d never seen anyone smile so widely. “The chairmanship is mine if I want it.”
It was as if a knife sliced her heart in two. “And of course you want it,” Abby whispered. “That’s great, Jason.” She swallowed the tears in her throat.
“It can be everything David and I wanted. I can keep him alive, Abby. Thanks to you.” He pressed his mouth to hers. “Because of you, I’m getting that second chance.”
“I’m proud of you, Jason.” She held him and squeezed her eyes shut as he hugged her. “I only want what’s best for you.”
“Best for us. You’re going to be a part of this, Abby.”
“One hour at a time, okay? This is a lot to take in.” She pushed herself to her feet and he stood. “Let’s get through today and see where things stand. I have a competition to finish.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“READY? AND BEGIN!”
The audience cheered as the contestants got to cooking.
At least that’s what she was supposed to do. Abby had no memory of Jason escorting her to the stage or her climbing the stairs. She barely remembered what had been arranged for her in this final round.
But she was on the stage now. She was supposed to be cooking now. She had to decide between her future or Jason’s now.
She unloaded the mystery items from the miniature picnic basket and tried to control her shaking hands. Her stomach twisted in a completely new way as she stared down at the blue cheese, jalapeños and kiwi—all items she’d listed as her least favorite foods.
She had to turn these things into something edible? How did she check for quality control when she couldn’t stomach tasting any of them? She couldn’t help it. She looked in Jason’s direction, but as she scanned the crowd, the sea of coral shirts and familiar faces smiling at her made her breath catch. Calliope, Simon and Charlie. Luke, Matt and Ozzy. Even Gil looked far more encouraging than he had yesterday. How could she let them—how could she let the town—down?
Losing having done her best was one thing; she could live with that. But purposely throwing the competition? How was she supposed to look in the mirror every day when throwing the competition could cost her grandmother her home? All the effort Jason had put into getting her ready for this—she owed it to him to do her best.
Unless her best was going to cost him his future.
“Come on, Abby!”
She hiccuped a sob as she recognized Mr. Vartebetium’s voice from the crowd. She looked down and found him front and center surrounded by the rest of the Cocoon Club. She didn’t want to see or hear encouragement. She didn’t want to have to choose...
“Head in the game, Abby!”
She jumped at the sound of Jason’s voice, looking over as he pointed to the clock, concern and irritation marring his face.
Jason.
“Is there a problem, Abby?” Roger called to her from the edge of the stage.
“No.” She didn’t even try to mask her hostility. “No problem at all.” She had time to consider, time to think, but meanwhile, she had an entry to create. Somehow she’d make something edible out of these items, beginning with adding bacon to the mix. Bacon made everything better. Strawberries from the fridge along with a good dose of tequila would turn the gross kiwi into something drinkable.
With only thirty minutes on the clock, she put her head down and got to work. The second she dropped her first batch of bacon-wrapped blue cheese–stuffed jalapeño poppers into the mini fryer, she knew one thing for certain.
This competition was hers to win or lose.
The first batch of poppers done, she set them on a cooling rack and dusted them with salt—always season after frying. Jason would not get out of her head. The second batch went in as she set out dishes and concocted a dipping sauce.
Once the plates were arranged and the poppers were ready for service, she added the tequila to the blender and then poured the contents into shooter-sized glasses.
“You’ve got this, Abby!”
She couldn’t listen. She didn’t want to hear. Maybe second or even third place would give her enough money to stave off the taxes, or maybe Roger was bluffing. Maybe he wouldn’t—
She found Roger standing on the stairs near her. He inclined his head, his eyes like steel as he flicked his gaze toward Jason, waving the paper in his hand ever so slightly.
The press release.
She swallowed around the bitterness and got back to her task.
She finished mixing the sauce, mayonnaise with a kick of Sriracha and some lemon juice to balance out the heat. She grabbed for the sweet paprika as an added kick, her hand knocking the bottle next to it onto its side. Her heart beat so hard she was afraid it would explode out of her chest.
She stared at the label. It was like a sign. Confirmation and yet...once she did it, there was no going back. She had to stop thinking and act. Make a decision. Save the inn or protect Jason?
She grabbed the toppled bottle and shook a liberal amount into the sauce.
Her entry completed, she carried the first two plates to the judging table, then the second, her muscles twitching as she passed Roger on the stairs.
“Well?” he asked her on her return trip.
She didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. No words would have come out anyway, only a strangled scream, and she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction. Instead she concentrated on every ounce of loathing she felt for him as she walked past.
“And count it down with me, folks,” Marcus yelled into the mic. “Five, four, three...”
Abby ripped off her apron and threw it onto the table, turning away from the crowd before they could se
e her cry. It was over. For better or worse, good or bad, she was done. Whether she’d take Jason or the Flutterby down with her remained to be seen.
She swiped her cheeks dry and faced the audience again, new tears flowing as they cheered her name. Abby left the stage, her vision blurry, and almost tripped on the last step. Marcus caught her arm, keeping her on her feet.
“Abby, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She drew in a shaky breath.
“What did Roger say to you in the tent?”
“Nothing that matters anymore,” Abby whispered. “He won. But then, as Jason told me, Roger always wins, doesn’t he.”
“Abby—” Marcus tried to keep hold of her but she pulled free and beelined for Jason, Holly and the rest of her friends. She didn’t stop for congratulations, didn’t want anything except Jason’s arms around her. Maybe that would be enough.
“You did it.” Jason grabbed her shoulders and ducked down to look into her tearstained face. “I’m so, so proud of you.”
There it was. The hug she’d been waiting for. The hug she’d needed. But even now, as Marcus announced the judging was underway, she doubted the comfort would last.
“Abby, my girl.” Mr. V spoke from behind her and she turned, finding the frail old man standing short and proud and leaning on a shiny new walker. “What you did for me, for my Maisy and the Flutterby—” he pressed a hand against his heart “—it means the world. Win or lose, you’ve made this old man very proud.”
“I’m afraid—” The words caught. Just as she knew they would. “What if—”
“We will face whatever happens together. As we always should have.” Mr. V squeezed her hand and gave her a sad nod. “Whatever’s meant to be will be. That you fought so hard is all that matters.”
Except she hadn’t fought. She’d surrendered.
“Sit down before you collapse,” Holly ordered as she maneuvered around the crowd and pushed a bottle of water into Abby’s hands. “I swear, if that flighty bumble head wins this thing, there’s no justice.” She grabbed Abby’s face in her hands and said, “You are amazing, my friend.”
She wanted to argue, wanted to tell everyone they were wrong about her. But how could she regret giving Jason not only what he wanted, but what he needed? He wouldn’t be whole without cooking, without his business and company. It was the only way to continue to tether himself to his brother.
Who was Abby to sever that?
The minutes passed and Abby pulled herself together in time to be called back in front of the cameras with Clara and Steve.
The drumroll sounded. The crowd fell silent. Abby heard Marcus’s voice as if from a distance. She angled her chin up, locked her jaw and focused on remaining calm, collected and supportive as the winner’s name flashed on the screen.
She didn’t have to look. Not when the crowd deflated. Protests and cries sounded before smatterings of polite applause made its way through the stands. Abby clapped, and despite feeling a wave of sympathy for the triumphant Clara—who knew what Roger had in store for her—offered her competitor a congratulatory hug.
The minutes seemed endless as the checks were handed out. Eventually Abby returned to Jason and her friends, but there wasn’t anything left to be said.
“Second place?” Luke said as he wrapped her in a brotherly hug. “That’s just wrong. You did amazing, Abs.”
“Thank you,” Abby whispered, her hands crushing the check in her hand.
“It’s not fair!” Simon hollered only to be hushed by his mother. “She should have—”
“But why?” Charlie asked Jason, her confused little face scraping against Abby’s heart. “I thought she did good.”
“She did great.” Jason smiled at Charlie as he pulled Abby into his arms and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Abby.”
“It’s okay.” She’d find a way to live with the regret if only to keep a smile on Jason’s face.
“You did your best—that’s all that matters.”
Marcus and the rest of the NCN crew began talking about air dates as Clara claimed her oversize check, guffawing and giggling as if she didn’t have any idea the quagmire of muck she’d be wallowing in under Roger’s tutelage.
“I want to go home,” Abby whispered against Jason’s chest. “Can we go home now?”
“You bet. Holly?”
“Yeah, go. We’ll do dinner another time. We’ll find another reason to celebrate soon.” Holly reached across Jason and took Abby’s hand. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Abby.”
Abby watched Mr. V wobble out of the baseball field among his friends.
“Abby, congratulations on second place.” Roger offered his hand. “It was close, and I bet the judges are still trying to cool their mouths down after those poppers of yours. Maybe that extra dose of cayenne in the sauce was a bit too much. But all in all, excellent effort.”
“Thanks.” If she could have loaded the word with poison she would have. Fifteen thousand dollars. Anyone else, any other time and she would have been celebrating as Holly suggested. Instead, it felt as if this little slip of paper was the final nail in the Flutterby Inn’s coffin.
“Since when do you use cayenne pepper?” Jason asked as the stands emptied out. “You hate spicy food.”
“I thought it was paprika,” she lied. “They were right next to each other. I guess I picked up the wrong one. I must have gotten flustered again.”
“You didn’t look flustered.”
“Yeah, well. Things aren’t always how they look.”
The continued congratulations and shouts of support bolstered her a bit as they made their way to Jason’s car. “Right now all I want is a long hot bath, a bottle of wine and a stupid reality show to watch.” She sank back in the passenger seat as Jason maneuvered the car out of the parking lot.
“I think we can arrange that.” Jason entwined his fingers with hers. “I know you’re disappointed, Abby, but you gave it everything you had. Holly’s right. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
Didn’t she? She stared down at the check. She’d have to make sure it did the most good, and that would entail a long sit-down with Mr. V. If anything, perhaps they could use the money to hire a lawyer to help with the tax issues. But she already knew the truth. Mr. V didn’t have it in him to fight any longer.
That meant, starting tomorrow she’d look for another solution. For tonight, however...
“What’s Gran going to say?” She stretched her neck from side to side and stared out at the people filling Monarch Lane as they turned onto Great Copper Way.
“She’ll be as proud of you as the rest of us are. Buck up, Abby. We’ll put our heads together and come up with something.”
“Yeah.” At least Jason’s future was in place. Whatever else happened, she had that to be proud of.
When Jason stopped in front of the inn, Lori’s voice erupted from the front porch in a tone that terrified Abby to her core. She quickly climbed out of the car. “Abby! I’ve been trying to call,” Lori shouted. Her assistant manager raced down the stairs, her strained features draining the color from Abby’s.
“Gran,” Abby whispered. “Is it Gran? What happened? Where is she?” Last she’d heard, Eloise was going to pick Alice up for bridge at her house with Myra and Delilah.
“Myra called a couple of hours ago. Alice is okay, but she had a spell of some kind.”
Abby’s mind emptied. A spell? Her grandmother didn’t have spells. But she’d been warned about them. She spun to find Jason, but he was right behind her. “I’ll drive.”
“Call me when you know something!” Lori yelled after them.
“My phone.” Abby dug into her back pocket. “I thought I had it set on vibrate...the battery’s dead.” She pressed it against her forehead until it
hurt. Could today get any worse?
“Where am I going?” Jason asked as he shot out of the parking lot.
“Down to Monarch Lane, make a right at the end and south on 101. Southern Memorial. There are signs.”
“Got it. Here.” He handed her his phone. “Use this. See if you can find anything out before we get there.”
“Yeah.” She couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. This wasn’t like her. She was always in control, always knew what to do. Especially when it came to Gran. “I can’t remember the number.” Her throat tightened, but she refused to shed another tear.
“Hey.” Jason squeezed her arm. “She’ll be okay, Abby. We’ve got this. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Now relax. Stop thinking of the worst case and focus on putting a smile on that pretty face of yours.”
He really was getting good at saying the right thing. “Okay.” She nodded and her mind began to clear. “Yeah, okay.” The number came to her and she dialed, switching the phone to her other ear and trying not to be grateful that she wasn’t alone.
Jason was with her. That’s all that mattered.
* * *
“GRAN.” ABBY GRIPPED the door frame to steady herself before she stepped inside the emergency room. “Gran, I’m so sorry. My phone—” She came up short when she realized they weren’t alone. “Oscar. Eloise. Myra?” Some of her grandmother’s Cocoon Club friends were settled in chairs around her grandmother’s bed. They were still wearing their Five-Alarm Manning shirts while Alice was sitting in bed as if she were holding court. Given the cards and plastic chips on the table, bridge had given way to poker.
“There you are.” Alice sighed and pressed a shaking hand against her heart. There was a large bandage on her forehead and the beginnings of bruising around her eyes and nose and her left arm was in a sling. She’d been hooked up to a rainbow of cords and monitors that were beep-beeping happily. “Buttered biscuits, but I was getting worried. How did the competition go?”
Recipe for Redemption Page 20
