Falling for Her Rival

EIGHT


Sauté

When Lara arrived at Isadora’s the following morning, Finn was sitting by the window at the table she’d already come to think of as theirs.

She was surprised that he’d arrived first, since she was the early riser and he’d already admitted to sleeping in on a regular basis. But he was jotting down notes, a half-empty cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

Since he hadn’t seen her yet, she took a moment to relish the sight of him. The man was gorgeous and every bit as mouthwatering as the biscotti for which Isadora’s was famous. He was wearing faded jeans and a logoed T-shirt that had seen better days. His sandy hair was tousled and stubble shadowed his jaw, but he looked sexy rather than unkempt.

He glanced up then and their gazes met. Awareness arced between them like an electrical current.

“Good morning,” she managed.

Finn smiled. “Morning.” He motioned toward his coffee cup. “Hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and ordered without you.”

“That’s okay.” She slipped onto the chair opposite his. “How long have you been here?”

“Since they opened at six.”

His answer had her blinking in surprise. “Six o’clock? What got you out of bed so early?”

“You.”

Her pulse rate shot up right along with the corners of his mouth. His smile was pure sin.

“Me?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about you...and food.”

“I’m flattered. I think.” She laughed. “I guess I hoped to inspire more than insomnia and binge eating.”

“Oh, you have. Trust me.”

And there was that grin again. It was a good thing she was seated or Lara figured her knees would have given out. It was that potent.

He was saying, “Desserts aren’t my forte, but I got the idea for a very decadent cake.”

“Chocolate?”

“Is there any other kind of decadent?” he asked.

“Sounds good.” She peeked over at his notebook, but he closed it before she could read anything.

“I’ll make it for you sometime,” he promised as the waitress came over to take Lara’s order.

“So, how did dinner with your family go last night?” she asked when they were alone again.

“Good. Dad broke out the good Scotch and Mom made her famous lasagna.”

“Famous?”

Oddly, his expression clouded at that. “The sauce she uses is an old family recipe.”

Lara nodded, although she wasn’t sure why that should have him frowning.

“I assume you told them about, well, everything that transpired yesterday.”

“Not everything. I decided it best to leave a few parts out.” He winked.

“Oh?” Gooseflesh pricked her flesh at the memory of what she thought those parts might be.

“Yeah, I’d never live it down if my sisters knew I fell out of a tree.”

Lara laughed.

Across the room, a commotion involving a young couple broke out. Lara wasn’t sure what was going on, but the woman was on her feet now, calling the man a few choice names. Then she pulled a ring from her finger, and tossed it and her iced coffee in his face before storming out of the shop. Her embarrassed suitor left soon after.

“That was ugly,” Lara noted.

“I had something similar happen.”

“To you?”

“To a client for whom I had cooked an intimate dinner during which he planned to propose to his girlfriend of three years. And more than beverages got tossed.”

“A food fight?” She found the idea both fascinating and appalling.

Finn nodded. “His plan blew up in his face when she confronted him about sleeping with her sister.”

“Ooh. What a jerk.”

“I thought so, too. Which is why I handed her the lemon-meringue pie when she was looking for something to throw at him.”

“You did not.” Lara gaped at Finn, more amazed than scandalized.

“It seemed fitting since he had me put the engagement ring in the pie. He was going to make sure she got the slice with the diamond, and then, when she found it, he was going to pop the question.”

Lara nibbled the inside of her cheek. “Still, it seems like a waste of a good pie.”

“The meringue was one of my best.” Finn frowned. His tone wasn’t as circumspect as his words when he said, “I don’t get why people cheat, especially with someone like a sister or close friend. That kind of betrayal...”

“Yeah. It would cut even deeper.”

“Marriage is a big deal. At least it should be.”

Lara studied her coffee, watching the steam curl over the lip of the cup. “I’m not the best person to comment on that,” she admitted. “I got married for all of the wrong reasons, which is precisely why it didn’t last.”

“Jeffrey Dunham.” Finn said the name almost like a curse.

And no wonder. Lara’s ex was legendary for his cutting restaurant reviews. Chefs in the five boroughs both feared and loathed him. Her father had been livid when she’d announced their engagement.

“If you go through with this, I no longer have a daughter,” he’d warned when he’d stopped by her apartment the morning of her wedding. The ceremony was to be a low-key affair performed at the courthouse.

“That should make you happy,” she’d shot back. “I’ve been such a disappointment to you.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Lara, until now. You don’t love him.”

“How do you know? How in the hell do you know anything about me?” she’d shot back defensively. “You’ve never spent enough time in my presence, unless it was at your restaurant, to know what I think or feel about anything.”


“Tell me you love him,” Clifton had dared her. “Tell me you’re not marrying him to spite me.”

“That’s just a bonus,” she’d snapped, unable to admit to either of them that he was right.

Now, with shame burning her cheeks as she sat across from Finn, she said, “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“The guy’s an ass. I can say that even though I’ve never personally been on the receiving end of his abuse. And that’s what a lot of his reviews are, in my opinion. They aren’t mere criticism. He gets too personal for that.”

Lara nodded. “He questioned whether the Chesterfield’s famous house dressing came from a bottle at the corner grocery store.”

Finn grimaced. “The infamous two-star rating.”

“That’s how we met. My father was outraged. He sent me to the newspaper to demand a retraction.” She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head. “I wound up accepting Jeff’s invitation to the opera instead.”

“You like opera?”

“I like Phantom of the Opera, but the real stuff?” She shook her head. “I went to irritate my dad and then I kept dating Jeff when my dad forbade it. Marriage was my coup de grace.”

“How long did it last?”

“Not long enough to set up proper housekeeping. I came to my senses within a few months. But long enough that my father has barely spoken to me since.”

It was none of Finn’s business and the answer seemed obvious. Still, he heard himself ask, “Did you love him?”

“No.” Lara’s regret was plain. “I married him solely to piss off my father. And I did a bang-up job of that. As for Jeff, he didn’t love me either. I think he just liked the idea of making my father squirm, which makes our marriage all the more...unforgivable.”

“Yet you want forgiveness.”

Lara swallowed. “I want a relationship with my father before it’s too late, one that isn’t filled with acrimony and distrust. The odds for that aren’t looking all that good at the moment.”

From Finn’s perspective, Clifton had wronged Lara as well, but rather than point that out, he opted to change the subject. This one was only serving to make her sad. Already, she was frowning.

“I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

She blinked, but nodded. “I guess so.”

“My mom’s birthday is coming up. She’s turning sixty. My sisters are planning a big family party, and I’ve been told that I can’t cop out and bring flowers this year. I need to buy an actual gift.”

“And you want me to help you pick out something special for her?”

“Yeah. So, will you help me?”

“Sure,” Lara said. “I guess I can do that.”

“Terrific. Thanks.”

She rested her elbows on the edge of the table. “Why don’t you tell me a little about her? What are her interests, her hobbies?”

He scratched his cheek, thinking. “Well, she likes to cook. In fact, once she heard about the party, she took over the menu and is insisting on making all of the food.”

“Is that how you first became interested in the culinary arts?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, warmed by the memories. While Lara’s father apparently had turned cooking into a chore if not an outright punishment, Finn’s mom had made it fun. Helping her prepare meals and make desserts in the family kitchen had been like a reward. For keeping his room clean, she’d shared her double-chocolate-brownies recipe. And when he got straight A’s on his report card, she’d taught him how to make the stuffed pork chops his father claimed were the best in the state. “She’s a great cook, even if she’s not formally trained. A lot of her recipes came from her mother.”

Some of those recipes had made it onto his restaurant’s menu. A couple, including the one for meat sauce, had made it into the cookbook. Sheryl had laid claim to them all in the divorce.

“She must be really proud of you.” Lara didn’t quite sigh afterward, but her envy was plain.

Finn took a moment to count his blessings. “She is. Both she and my dad made a lot of sacrifices so they could send me to culinary school.”

And they’d made even more sacrifices so he could open his restaurant. Finn took a sip of his coffee, but was unable to wash away the sour taste in his mouth. He felt he’d let them down, even though they had assured him repeatedly that that wasn’t the case.

“Does she need anything for her kitchen? A new stand mixer, maybe, or a food processor?”

He shook his head. “I think she has every gadget known to man.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should go the noncooking route, then. What are her other interests and hobbies?”

“Well, she likes to garden, but we don’t have a lot of yard. Mostly she just grows herbs in pots on the back patio.”

“Nothing like fresh herbs,” Lara said on a smile. “I have some in a planter on the fire escape. A houseplant, maybe?”

He shook his head. “She already has a veritable jungle indoors. My dad complains it’s like living in the tropics.”

Lara sipped her coffee. “You said she’s turning sixty?”

“That’s right.”

“Sixty is a milestone birthday. Is there something she’s always wanted to do? Or maybe someplace she’s always wanted to visit? I don’t know what your budget is or if you and your sisters could go in together, but a trip...” She shrugged. “It’s just a thought.”

Finn smiled. “I should have come to you sooner. My sisters already have their gifts. The same for my dad. If they didn’t, I would suggest we all pitch in to send her on a European riverboat cruise. She’s always talked about going on one.”

“I’ve seen the television advertisements for those. I’m not much for structured tours. I’d rather kick around on my own. But they look like they could be a lot of fun, especially for older couples. Maybe you and your sisters could send your folks on one for their anniversary.”

“That’s a thought,” Finn said, filing Lara’s suggestion away for later. Then, because he was curious, he asked, “Did you enjoy the time you spent in Europe? I know you were apprenticing, but I assume you had time to get out and see the sights.”

“I did. I hit the museums and did some of the touristy things, but mostly I ate.” Her expression was satisfied and all the sexier for it. “As much as a country’s art and architecture, its food makes a statement about the people who live there.”

Finn knew exactly what she meant, so he asked, “Your favorite dish—what was it and where did you eat it?”

Lara didn’t hesitate. “Veal scallopini. I ordered it in an Italian restaurant in Paris.”

“Italian food in France?” He couldn’t help but be skeptical.

“It was very authentic. The owner was from Ceprano originally. He made the scallopini in brown butter and capers.” She made a humming sound of satisfaction that had a decidedly disturbing effect on Finn’s body.

“That good?”

“I’ve never had better.”

“That sounds like a dare.”

Her lips twitched. “Just stating fact.”

“I make a mean veal scallopini.”

“Really?”

“You doubt me?” he challenged—enjoying himself, enjoying their conversation.


“No. But, you know.” She lifted her shoulders along with one of her eyebrows. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“I’ll cook it for you sometime.” Finn didn’t make the offer lightly. He hadn’t cooked for a woman since his divorce. Cooking was personal. In his mind, it was every bit as intimate as making love.

“Okay. I’ll hold off passing judgment until then.”

They studied one another in potent silence. Because he was sorely tempted to lean across the table and kiss her, he said, “Getting back to my mom and a suitable birthday present, what do you think about a necklace?”

Lara pursed her lips. “Does she wear jewelry?”

He mulled the question a moment. “Not really. She has a mother’s ring with our birthstones in it, and her wedding ring, of course.”

“Then I don’t think it’s a good idea, especially for an important birthday like sixty. A woman who’s turning sixty deserves a gift that recognizes not only what she’s accomplished, but what she still wants to do with her life.”

Finn snapped his fingers as the idea came to him. “Tap shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“My mom told me once that she took tap lessons when she was a girl, but had to drop out after the first year. Her father got sick and there wasn’t any money for nonessentials. She still does this little shuffle-step thing around the house sometimes.” He chuckled softly at the memory.

“Then you should get her those shoes and maybe lessons to go along with them. Totally beats a necklace that she isn’t likely to wear.”

“Yeah, it does.” He nodded, both grateful for Lara’s help and amazed by how perfectly she seemed to understand him.

* * *

Lara offered to go shopping with him. Neither of them had a clue where to look for tap shoes or lessons, but Finn’s smartphone solved that dilemma. He punched in some keywords and a moment later he had a list of options. They started with the one closest to Isadora’s.

It was within walking distance, and the weather was pleasant if humid. A storm was predicted for later in the day. At the moment, Finn felt one building inside him, especially when his hand accidentally brushed Lara’s as they walked. When it did so a second time, he took hold of hers. When their palms met, he felt thunder crash in his chest and lightning streak up from the point of contact.

What kind of heel did it make him, Finn wondered, that he was glad they were no longer competing against one another?

It took three stops before they found what they were looking for: a studio that had beginner classes specifically aimed at adults. The bonus was that particular business operated a second studio in Queens not far from his parents’ duplex. Since he was uncertain what size his mother wore, Finn took a picture of a pair of tap shoes with his phone. Lara suggested he have the photo made into a card and tuck the gift certificate he’d purchased for lessons inside.

All in all, he was pleased with himself. And he was grateful to Lara.

“Going to your parents’ for dinner tonight?” she asked.

“Not tonight.”

“You’re not working, are you?”

“No. I cleared my schedule for the next several weeks to accommodate the competition.”

“Several?” she asked drily.

He offered a lopsided grin. “What can I say? I’m feeling optimistic.”

“I hope you win.” Her tone had turned serious. “I...I’ve been thinking about this. I wanted that job. I wanted a fresh start with my father, and I wanted to show him what I can do. But if it can’t be me running the Chesterfield’s kitchen... Well, I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

“Thank you,” Finn replied. “That means a lot to me.”

This time he didn’t wait for their hands to brush as they walked. He took hers and held it as a feeling of rightness settled over him. For the first time in a long time, everything was going Finn’s way.