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

Through a friend of Greg’s, they’d made contact with a publisher and quickly found themselves dealing with a deadline. But the book was finally finished.

The best part of the project had been working with Greg. He was exactly who he seemed to be—a nice man she could depend on. He could be stubborn, but never aggressive. He was reasonable, if quirky. And lately, when he smiled, she felt her world get a little brighter.

Ana Raquel chopped furiously. The key to a successful service was prep work, she reminded herself. Tonight was a special dinner at Café. Advance copies of the cookbook had arrived. She and Greg would be handing them out at the end of the dinner where every item on the menu was based on the Fool’s Gold Cookbook.

Life-Changing Guacamole was offered alongside Bubbly Feta and Sweet Pepper Dip with Pita Crisps. There were entrees for every taste and a dessert buffet that ranged from S’Mores Bars to Triple-Chocolate Caramel Party Cake.

She finished chopping the onions and went to work on the garlic. Greg was lining up the proteins they would be using. Music blared from speakers built into the ceiling.

The staff at the restaurant worked well together, she thought, smashing her knife against cloves of garlic, then peeling away the skin. Their movements were practiced, the results tangible in the smoothness of a sauce or the tang of a salad dressing.

Over the past couple of months, she’d found that she enjoyed working with Greg in his kitchen. They argued a lot, but only about what mattered and she won as often as not. Mayor Marsha had been right, she admitted reluctantly. She never would have been able to handle the cookbook on her own.

“OMG!” Linda, one of the hostesses, said, setting a spoon in the sink. “That dressing. It’s heavenly.”

Greg looked at her. “It’s good.”

“I want to be buried with it.” Linda paused. “Okay, that sounds more gross than I meant.”

Ana Raquel chuckled as she finely chopped garlic. A lot of kitchens were filled with tension and competition. She’d had more than her share of that while she’d been in San Francisco. But things were different here. More relaxed.

“Take a break,” Greg said, coming up to her station. “I need you to see something.”

She set down her knife and followed him to the dining room. Once there, her breath caught in her throat.

Extra tables had been brought in to satisfy the demand for their special tasting dinner. The tablecloths and fresh flowers coordinated with the colors of the book cover. Speaking of the book, there were stacks on a table off to the side. She and Greg would be signing them later.

On the other side of the room, the dessert buffet was already in place. Delectable smells filled the room.

“Dellina did a great job,” Ana Raquel murmured.

“It’s impressive. I wish my place looked like this all the time.”

She turned to him. “It could. Talk to Dellina. She’s great with decorating and parties. She has a real eye for how to put rooms together so that people feel relaxed and enjoy themselves.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll have to do that. I don’t have a lot of spare time. The restaurant keeps me busy.”

“I can see that.” He was getting by with minimal staff. But he was also in that awkward stage—successful, but not making enough to hire everyone he needed. Any extra bodies he could afford were generally serving staff. “You’re doing too much yourself. You need help.”

“Good help is hard to find.”

She shook her head. “You won’t have a problem. You’re surprisingly easy to work with.”

“So are you.” He moved toward her. “I’d like you to think about working here. With me. Officially.”

Warmth flooded her. To be honest, she’d been thinking about it herself. “I like the Café,” she admitted. “The rest of the staff, what you’re doing with the menu. It’s tempting.”

“But?”

“I have my trailer and I love that. Committing to a kitchen is a big deal.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your street food,” he told her. “I could help with that. We could use it to promote the restaurant and vice versa. We’re a good team. Or are you still mad about my beating you for student council president?”

He was teasing, of course, but there was something serious in his eyes. An emotion she couldn’t quite fathom.

“I’m not mad,” she said, her gaze slipping to his mouth. He hadn’t kissed her since that one time when she’d kissed him. She wasn’t sure why not. Was she misreading the situation? Did he only want them to be business associates? Because while she wanted that, too, somewhere along the way she might have, possibly, fallen for him.

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “All right. We have a dinner to prepare. Only our friends and family and California’s longest-serving mayor.”