Susan Mallery's Fool's Gold Cookbook: A Love Story Told Through 150 Recipes (Fool's Gold #12.1)

1. In a large bowl with an electric mixer on high speed, beat cream cheese and butter until smooth. Add powdered sugar, vanilla and salt; beat until fluffy.

2. Brush away any loose crumbs from the cooled cake. Place 1 layer on a cake plate; top with about 1 cup frosting. Using a metal spatula, spread the frosting over the layer. Place the second layer, top-side down, on top of the frosting. Spread a thin layer of frosting over the entire cake to seal in crumbs. Frost the remaining cake. Arrange pecan halves around the top rim of the cake.

TIP: The riper the banana, the deeper the flavor.

CHAPTER 3

Ana Raquel and Greg walked out to the City Hall parking lot. She was hoping to come up with a brilliant reason why he couldn’t help her with the cookbook project, but nothing came to mind. When they reached their cars—hers, a beat-up old pickup and his, a shiny new blue SUV—she decided to accept the inevitable but try to stay in control of the situation.

“We should get together and discuss how we’re going to approach the cookbook,” she told him. “I have a lot of ideas.”

He nodded. “Me, too. I’ve already spoken to Colleen at the Fool’s Gold Daily Republic.”

“Why would you talk to the newspaper editor?”

“I thought she might want to have someone write a story on what we’re doing. We could get input from the community.”

“That makes sense,” Ana Raquel murmured. She’d been thinking of putting up a few flyers, asking for recipe submissions, but an article in the local paper was more efficient and a good calling card. While the rest of the world had gone digital to get its news, here in Fool’s Gold, the daily paper was still alive and well. One of the advantages of small-town living, she supposed.

“I know a lot of families have recipes that have been passed down for generations,” she said. “Those would be fun to go through.”

“You’re going to include your grandmother’s fried chicken recipe, aren’t you?”

She stared at him. “How do you know about that?”

He grinned. “Your mom invited the whole student council over for dinner one year. That’s what she served. She told us how her mom had taught her to make it and how she’d taught you.”

Ana Raquel remembered the evening very well. Her parents had found Greg oh-so-charming and didn’t understand why she was upset that he’d defeated her for the student council presidency. She was surprised that he would recall something as simple as a fried chicken dinner.

“I was planning on putting that one in the cookbook,” she said slowly.

“Good.” He flashed her another smile. “I’ve been trying to duplicate the recipe myself, but I don’t have it right. Now I can find out what ingredient I’ve been leaving out.”

He was being so nice, she thought, confused by his friendliness. She had always thought they were sworn enemies. Or at least people who didn’t get along. How embarrassing that she seemed to be the only one showing up for the fight.

“Are you free Monday?” he asked. “The restaurant is closed. We can meet at my place.”

She was suddenly curious about where Greg lived. “Your place would be great. I serve lunch until two-thirty. So say four?”

He nodded and gave her his address. “Great. I’ll prepare us a little something and we can get to work on the cookbook. See you then.”

He got in his SUV and drove away. Ana Raquel was left standing in the parking lot with the growing sense that Greg was not who she remembered at all.

Move Directly to Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Greg lived on the edge of the Condor Valley Winery. Ana Raquel parked next to his SUV, then circled around the side of the house to take in the views from the backyard. To the south and west were the vineyards. They were thick and lush with heavy grapes. She didn’t know much about making wine, but she was pretty sure the harvest would start in a few weeks.

To the east were the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. In the winter, they would be covered with snow. Fortunately, the town was high enough to get a little snow, but it rarely got more than a few inches at a time. With the mountains so close, you could get all the thrill without so much of the hassle.

She turned her attention to the house. It was a cabin-style one-story. Small, but appealing. There were probably a couple of bedrooms and a single bath. Enough space for one person, she thought. Greg wasn’t married. He was—