Falling for Her Rival

SEVEN


Preheat oven

The afternoon sun glared down from a hazy blue sky brushed with clouds that reminded Lara of cotton batting that had been stretched too thin.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d spent any length of time in Central Park, unless it was to jog on the path that circled the reservoir. Yet here she was with Finn, on what was arguably one of the worst days of her life, flying a kite.

Or, more accurately, trying to. The kite in question was currently lodged in the high branches of an uncooperative oak tree.

She and Finn had purchased it at a party store near Grand Army Plaza. He’d left it to her to pick the design. She’d gone with a butterfly whose brightly colored wings carried a cheerful vibe. Nothing about them was cheerful now that they were bent at odd angles while the kite dangled from its perch. Every now and then the breeze caught it and it would flutter maniacally, only making matters worse. Lara could relate.

“It’s hopeless,” she told him.

“It’s not.” Undeterred, he handed her the spool of string. “I’ll just go up and get it.”

Climbing the tree wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. The lowest branch was a good nine feet off the ground, requiring him to jump to reach it. He managed to grab hold on the second try. He dangled in midair for a moment, legs kicking while he wrapped his arms more securely around its width. His shirt came untucked in the process, giving Lara a tantalizing view of taut abs bisected by a dusting of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his khakis. Her gaze was on his belt buckle, inappropriate thoughts percolating away, as he tried to hoist a leg over the branch. He lost his hold and crashed to the ground.

“Finn!” She rushed to where he lay on the grass. “Oh, my God! Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.” He grunted and pushed up on one elbow. “I used to be able to climb trees with the best of them. I guess I’m out of shape.”

Based on what she’d seen, Lara begged to differ.

“It looks like our kite-flying expedition is over,” he told her.

She glanced momentarily at the butterfly tangled in the boughs overhead. It still looked pathetic, but she was no longer feeling that way herself.

“I appreciate you trying.” She touched his temple on the pretext of brushing away dirt. “I appreciate everything you’ve done today.”

“You bought the coffee,” he pointed out.

“You know what I mean.”

His expression sobered. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

Finn didn’t bother with pretext. He wanted to touch Lara and so he did. After pulling himself up to a sitting position, he took her face between his hands and kissed her.

It wasn’t intended to be a rock-your-world kiss. The sort that got the party started when it came to physical attraction. The fact that it was? Well, he considered that a happy coincidence. He was just trying to satisfy his curiosity. Had their previous kiss really been as good as he recalled?

The answer was an immediate and resounding Yes!

“I thought I might have imagined that,” he murmured against her lips.

“Imagined what?”

“The...sizzle.”

Her laughter was low, personal. “I know. Me, too.”

She maneuvered back a little and plucked at the grass. Given her show of restraint, when she asked, “So, what do you want to do now?” Finn figured that wasn’t code for “Let’s go get hot and sweaty at my place.”

And because he wanted to get hot and sweaty with Lara, whether at her place or his, he pushed to his feet and offered her his hand.

“Let’s go get ice cream.”

They spent the next two hours walking around Central Park with no actual destination in mind and all but oblivious to the joggers, cyclists and baby-stroller-pushing nannies they passed along the way. At one point, Finn had taken her hand, pulling her away from a spot on the asphalt where someone had spat out a wad of chewing gum that was now gooey from the heat. After saving her shoe from certain disaster, however, he’d kept her hand tucked in his.

Sizzle. It was there even in this simple connection.

“I’ve got a question for you,” she said as they wound their way past Belvedere Castle.


Turnabout was fair play, so he told her, “Shoot.”

“You obviously have talent as a chef. And you’ve already told me you don’t plan to make a career out of working for my father, so...”

“Why do I want to work there?”

She nodded.

“I used to have a restaurant. I...lost it.”

“Sorry,” she told him. “The economy hurt a lot of establishments.”

Lara was assuming his restaurant had gone under, a casualty of the recession. Finn didn’t correct her. He wasn’t being purposely evasive. Rather, he didn’t see the point of trotting out the details of his divorce right now. They were too humiliating.

“I want to open another place. In the interim, a job with some prestige wouldn’t hurt.”

“You don’t consider being a personal chef for wealthy clients prestigious?”

“Selling my services to the highest bidder, you mean?” he teased.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.” But he grinned. “To answer your question, being a personal chef holds some cachet and it certainly pays the bills.”

In fact, it did so nicely thanks to his current client list. During the past several months, Finn had been able to sock away a decent amount of savings. While he was a long way from being able to finance his own place, it was a start.

“But it’s not the same as running a restaurant kitchen,” she surmised.

“Exactly. Nothing else compares.”

Lara nodded. “What do you miss most about it?”

Finn missed everything, but if he had to pick one thing it was this memory as he replied, “The tickets pouring in during the dinner rush. Then the expeditor coming back and calling out the orders. It’s chaotic and exciting at the same time trying to meet the demand and get the food out as quickly as possible.”

“I haven’t worked in a restaurant in ages, but I loved it when I saw cleaned plates being cleared from the tables.”

“Nothing worse than wasted food because customers didn’t like what was served,” he agreed.

They emerged on Central Park West a few minutes later. He raised their clasped hands so he could see his watch. Then he swore softly at the time.

“It’s later than I thought.”

“And you have someplace you need to be,” Lara added.

“I do, yes.”

“A job?”

“Family. I promised my mother I’d come for dinner. She said she’d hold it as long as necessary. She and my sisters will want all of the juicy details from today.” He closed one eye and grimaced. “What I mean is, they don’t know the competition has been postponed. They’re still waiting to hear who got sent home.”

He grimaced again. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” Her fingers slipped from his, and she fiddled with her hair, pushing it back behind one ear. “I appreciate all of the time you spent with me today.”

“It wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

She smiled. “Despite the kite mishap?”

“Despite that.” He grew serious. “It’s going to be okay, Lara. You’ll find a way to fix things with your father. I think he already knows you’re a credible chef. He’s probably just having a hard time admitting it. And if you are serious about a career change, well, I’m sure you’ll manage that, too.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, but she appeared far from convinced.

He touched her cheek. “Persistence. It’s what’s gotten you this far, right?”

“Right.”

Time was tight, but Finn couldn’t leave without one last kiss.

“Isadora’s tomorrow morning?” he asked, as he raised his arm to hail a cab.

“Is seven too early for you?” she said in reply.

“I’ll set an alarm.” Seeing Lara first thing would be worth a short night’s sleep.

A taxi pulled to the curb as they exchanged cell numbers.

“Thanks again for saving my day from being a total disaster. It had all the markings of it after the scene with my father.”

Finn brushed aside her gratitude. He’d gotten as much as he’d given, he figured. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d cleared his agenda and spent the day in the park.

He pulled her close for another kiss that he was forced to keep brief because the cabdriver was eyeing them impatiently. Even so, he found himself thinking about that kiss—and the satisfied look on Lara’s face afterward—for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Lara. I know how much this meant to you,” her friend Dana said.

They were seated on the couch in Lara’s meagerly proportioned walk-up, bare feet tucked up beneath them and wallowing in the pint of ice cream Dana had so thoughtfully brought for the occasion.

Her friend was a struggling actress—emphasis on struggling. Dana currently had a small role in a stage production that was so far off Broadway it might as well have been in New Jersey. Yet she was always there for Lara, ready to help soothe heartache with some mint chocolate chip.

“I should have gotten the half gallon,” Dana mused.

“I’m glad you didn’t. This is my second serving of ice cream today.”

Dana licked her spoon. “Second?”

“I spent time in the park. We flew a kite.” Her mouth crooked with a smile as she thought about the plastic butterfly’s fate in the branches of the oak.

“We? I assume from the look on your face the other half of that We was male.”

“One hundred percent, certified prime,” Lara confirmed. Thinking of Finn’s wry sense of humor, sexy eyes and that peek she’d gotten of washboard abs, she sighed.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“I haven’t heard you sigh over a man since... Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sigh over a man.”

Lara spooned up more ice cream. “Really?”

“Really. Where did you meet him? When?”

“Aren’t you full of questions,” Lara chided.

“Living vicariously. Now spill.”

“Okay. We met outside the magazine offices where I styled food for a shoot last week. I was on my way to the network’s kitchens. We both went for the same cab.”

“And you shared it,” her friend surmised with a sappy grin.

“No. We played Rock, Paper, Scissors for it.” Lara savored both the ice cream and the memory.

“Um, is that supposed to be romantic?”

“Actually, at the time, it was intended to be practical. I won and got in the cab just before it started pouring. He wound up getting soaked. Then, after I got to the studio, who walks in a few minutes later?”

“Cab guy. Um, does he have a name?”

“Finn Westbrook.”

“Finn Westbrook. Hmm, that sounds familiar.”

“Yeah?” Lara scratched her cheek.

“Obviously, he’s a chef. Has he appeared on some of the Cuisine Cable Network’s other programs? I swear that woman with the over-the-top Boston accent was on two or three different competition shows before she wound up with her own. Dinnah with Dinah.” Dana rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think so,” Lara replied. “But I don’t watch a lot of television.” She’d rather spend time cooking than watch someone else doing it. “I thought his name seemed a little familiar, too, but I would have remembered his face if I’d seen it before.”


Dana grinned and inquired, “That good-looking?”

In response, Lara filled her mouth with another spoonful of ice cream and offered a smugly satisfied “Mmm.”

“I’d be jealous if I had time for a man right now, which I don’t.” Having said that, Dana then shook her head. “Forget it. I am jealous. It’s all so Romeo and Juliet.” She sighed. “Star-crossed chefs, both competing for the same prize. Maybe it’s fate that your father showed up when he did so that you and Finn aren’t pitted against one another.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. We had already agreed to see one another, although we’d decided to wait until one of us was off the show. That just happened sooner than I anticipated.” Lara frowned again. “A lot sooner.”

“Well, at least your day from hell has a silver lining,” her friend reminded her.

It did at that.

“We’re meeting tomorrow morning at Isadora’s. It turns out he’s a regular there, too. Although he usually comes in a lot later in the morning than I do. He’s a personal chef right now, making meals for wealthy Park Avenue types. But he wants to run his own kitchen, and he sees winning this competition as a stepping-stone to doing that.”

Dana cleared her throat. “Not to rain on your parade, but, um, have you given any thought to what you’re going to do if Finn does win?”

“What do you mean?”

“Obviously, you want to keep seeing him, but how are you going to feel if he winds up with the job you wanted? He’ll be your father’s successor, Lara. Not you.”

She swallowed. “As I said, Finn sees it as a stepping-stone.”

“Okay,” Dana replied, but her tone held a note of uncertainty that rippled into Lara’s good mood.

How was she going to feel?