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

No, she thought, pulling back in a panic. This was Greg Clary, her nemesis. She might not hate him, but she really, really disliked him. They couldn’t kiss. This was a kiss-free project.

She stared at him for a second. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say, she didn’t want to hear. She bolted from the room, raced to the foyer where she grabbed her coat and her bag and then she was gone.

Move Directly to Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Despite the shorter days and cooler temperatures, Ana Raquel was still busy through lunch in her trailer. She’d found a spot that attracted good foot traffic, and didn’t offend any of the already established restaurants in town. As she scooped out another serving of Mushroom and Three-Cheese Lasagna, she wondered what she was going to do with herself when the weather got really cold. No one was going to dash out to eat at a street cart when it was close to freezing and damp.

She had already made arrangements to store the trailer, but she was more worried about herself. Should she look for a job in town? Leave and head south? Backpack through Europe? While backpacking across the continent sounded like fun, she didn’t have the money. Besides, she had a cookbook to work on. Which meant that getting a job locally was her best option.

Without wanting to, she remembered her brief evening with Greg two nights before. They were supposed to have talked about the cookbook. Unfortunately, fate in the form of a yummy kiss had intervened. She still wasn’t sure what to do about that. Should she talk about what had happened or simply pretend everything was normal between them?

“This is probably stupid.”

Exactly what she was thinking, Ana Raquel thought, only she hadn’t spoken. She glanced at her next customer, then smiled when she recognized Dakota Hendrix—one of the Hendrix triplets. Only she was Dakota Andersson now. Like all her sisters, she’d married and started a family. The circle of life, Ana Raquel thought wistfully. She wanted to be in a circle, too.

Dakota held out the sheet of paper in her hand.

“What is stupid?” Ana Raquel asked. “Because if you’re thinking you want to save room for a muffin with your lunch, you’re right. I have two choices today and they’re both great.”

Dakota, a pretty blond with a toddler on her hip, laughed. “I meant this.”

She held out the paper. Ana Raquel took it and studied the recipe. It was for roast chicken and mashed potatoes. A seemingly simple dish made delicious with a few key ingredients.

“I heard about the cookbook,” Dakota told her. “That you wanted people to volunteer recipes. This isn’t that fancy…”

“Stop!” Ana Raquel shook the paper. “This is exactly what I’m looking for. Thank you.”

Dakota ordered lunch, then took her food and stepped away.

Ana Raquel glanced at her watch. It was nearly time for her to close. She was going to miss her customers, she thought as she turned back to start cleaning up her kitchen.

“Any chimichangas left?”

She looked up and saw Greg standing at the open door of her trailer. The sun was behind him, putting him in silhouette. The second she recognized him, her heart began a strange kind of two-step. Part anticipation, part need to sputter and apologize. Because the last time she’d seen Greg, they’d been kissing. Well, technically she’d been running but only after the kissing.

She forced herself to pretend a calm she didn’t feel as she put the last chimichanga on a plate.

He took it and settled at the small table in the trailer. As if he belonged there.

“We never did get a schedule together for working on the cookbook,” he said as he unwrapped a plastic fork. “We’ll need several meetings to cull the recipes, then some time in the kitchen to try each one. I’m thinking we’ll need around 150 in total. What do you think?”

She thought he was amazingly cool and collected, considering the whole kissing thing. He was sitting there, eating, as if their lips had never touched.

“A hundred and fifty sounds right,” she said at last, because she wasn’t going to bring up the you-know-what.

“I’m working most nights at the restaurant,” he said, when he’d chewed and swallowed. “Delicious, by the way.” He pointed his fork at the chimichanga. “Just the right spices. We should put this in the book.”

“Thanks. Sure. I have a list of street food I thought would be good.” She cautiously sat across from him. “I’m going to be closing down the trailer in the next couple of weeks. Once that happens, we can start testing the recipes. If we have our list of maybes together by then, we can be ready to start cooking.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Want to use my kitchen?”

She was nervous about going back to his house, but her kitchen was the size of a shoebox and while the trailer kitchen was pretty sweet, it wasn’t exactly built for two.

“Sure.”

“What time are you done here?” he asked.

“About two or two-thirty.”