Falling for Her Rival

NINE


Let simmer

They hadn’t made plans before parting the day before, but Finn woke just before eight the next morning without the aid of an alarm clock—a major feat for someone used to sleeping in—eager to call Lara. He waited until nine, figuring she would be up and hopefully back from Isadora’s by then, assuming she had gone for coffee.

She answered on the third ring, sounding a little breathless.

“Hey, Lara. It’s Finn. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“Just...finishing up...a workout,” she managed to get out between breaths.

His mind went into fantasy mode, picturing her wearing something tight and skimpy, skin aglow with the sheen of perspiration. He just barely held back a moan.

“I can call back.”

“Give me...fifteen...’kay?”

“You’ve got it.” He figured it was going to take at least that long to get his own pulse under control.

His heart was still pumping a bit irregularly when he redialed her number. This time when Lara answered, she didn’t sound winded, but that didn’t prevent him from picturing her wearing curve-hugging Lycra.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Finn glanced at his lap, but decided not to state the obvious. “I know it’s last-minute, but I was wondering if you have plans this evening.”

“No. Well, not unless you count rearranging the furniture in my apartment.” Her tone was rueful.

“Is this a regularly scheduled event?” he asked with a grin as he settled back on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“It is when I’m having a bad week. I’ve done it twice already,” she admitted. “Last night I got up to get a glass of water and stubbed my big toe on an end table.”

“Sounds hazardous.”

“Very.” But she was laughing.

“When I’m having a bad week, I uncap a beer and watch ESPN,” Finn replied, his gaze on the flat screen that was mounted on the living room’s opposite wall.

She laughed again, as he’d hoped she would. He liked knowing he could tease her out of a bad mood, even if only briefly. He wasn’t kidding himself. Lara’s strained ties to her father were well beyond Finn’s ability to fix. Indeed, they were beyond his ability to fathom, given how close he was to his parents.

She was saying, “So, why do you ask? Do you need more help shopping for gifts, or perhaps you’re considering another kite-flying adventure?”

“No shopping. I try to limit myself to once in a blue moon. As for kite-flying, it’s supposed to storm later, and as much as I enjoyed our outing in the park the other day, I’m not interested in pulling a Ben Franklin.”

More laughter flowed through the phone line before she asked, “So, what do you want to do?”

It was an innocuous question that inspired a primal response. He cleared his throat as he attempted to clear his mind of inappropriate thoughts. “I’ve got two tickets to a Broadway musical. The network gave them to all of us as a way to apologize for the inconvenience of this week.”

He winced upon saying it. Way to make her feel better.

But Lara didn’t sound offended when she replied, “Well, then, it’s only fair you take me, seeing as how I provided the inconvenience in question. What’s playing?”

“Annie.”

“And you want to go see it?” She sounded doubtful.

He couldn’t blame her. The family-friendly musical about a spunky orphan wasn’t high on his list of must-see productions. But...


“I want to go see it with you,” he replied truthfully.

It was three painfully long heartbeats before she replied. Finn knew because he counted them.

“All right. But I have one condition.”

“What’s that?” he asked, ready to agree to almost anything.

“You’ll let me make you dinner beforehand.”

* * *

It seemed like a fair trade to Lara and an opportunity to show off her skills in an atmosphere that might not be competitive, but definitely counted. What Finn thought of her ability in the kitchen mattered. It mattered a lot.

So, she found herself going to three of her favorite markets before noon, on the hunt for the perfect green beans, the freshest salmon and the ripest melons to create the meal she had in mind. Finn had insisted on bringing wine, so that was taken care of. As for rolls, since she didn’t have time to make them from scratch as she would have preferred, she stopped at a bakery not far from her apartment and picked up half a dozen hard-crusted baguettes.

Meal preparations were well under way, and she had showered, dressed, applied makeup and managed to do something with her hair by the time the buzzer announced his arrival at five o’clock.

She was waiting at the door when he came up the stairs. He stopped at the landing with half a flight to go, his smile as slow and deliberate as his gaze while he took in her attire.

Lara had gone with a skirt and silk top. She didn’t wear a skirt often. When styling food, she preferred to wear pants, since she sometimes found herself kneeling or crouching to survey a shot from all possible angles. But she liked getting dressed up every now and then, and putting on high heels. Her legs, which were slender at the ankle and curved at the calf from rigorous workouts, were one of her better features, or so she’d been told. Finn’s approving grin made it plain that he concurred.

“Don’t you clean up nicely, Ms. Dunham,” he drawled when he reached the top of the stairs.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Lara replied.

He’d tamed his hair and shaved off the stubble that she’d found sexy. But she had no complaints. Wearing dark slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt that he’d left open at the throat, he looked every bit as delicious as the melon sorbet she’d prepared for dessert.

He handed her the wine and then took her face between his hands. He leaned in for a kiss that had her toes trying to curl inside the narrow points of her pumps.

Afterward she asked breathlessly, “What was that for?”

“I wanted to thank you for dinner.”

Still feeling a little dazed, she said, “We haven’t eaten yet.”

“Just getting it out of the way.” He grinned and she felt her heart rate spike.

Inside her apartment, Finn sniffed the air. “It smells like heaven in here.”

“Thank you.”

“Tarragon?” he asked.

She nodded and waited, knowing that, as a chef, he would want to identify the spices himself.

“Dill.”

“Yes.”

“Lemon and garlic.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You made salmon.”

“Herb-crusted with blanched green beans drizzled with lemon and olive oil and a pinch of sea salt.”

He made the appropriate sounds of appreciation in return.

They’d walked while they talked, so they were now in her kitchen. It was smaller than she would have liked, but actually quite large by New York real-estate standards. Still, the room had all of the essentials for a chef, including a six-burner gas stove, a decent amount of prep space and a French door refrigerator that could hold more perishable food than Lara could eat in a month.

Because she loved to cook for more than just herself, and considered it a sin to throw out the fruits of her labor, she’d gotten to know several of her neighbors and routinely dropped off meals to them. Dana, of course, was a regular, too.

“Nice,” Finn said.

“Thanks. It was the only room in the apartment I remodeled after I bought the place a couple of years ago.” Her tone turned wry. “The bathroom is still a disaster with this really ugly green-and-orange tile, but this was my priority.”

“I can understand that.” He smiled, nodded. “So, do you want me to open the wine?”

“Yes, thanks. The corkscrew is in the top drawer on the far left, and I have an aerator in the cabinet just above that along with wineglasses.”

While Finn got to work on that, Lara started plating. Her apartment was too small for a separate dining room, and when she’d enlarged the kitchen, she’d used any space that might have allowed for a table. As a result, whenever she had company for dinner, they ate at the small bar area that was mounted flush against the far wall. Since she didn’t entertain often, she’d had to clear off the stack of magazines and cookbooks to make room for her and Finn.

When it came to setting the scene, she preferred a real table, but she’d made that meager strip of butcher block look pretty good, if she did say so herself. While out shopping, she’d picked up some blue hydrangea, and she’d arranged the fat blooms with some greenery in a squat, square vase. On either side of the arrangement, she’d placed white taper candles in delicate glass holders.

With the food plated, she set it on a pair of blue-and-white-checked place mats that gave off a French country vibe. White cloth napkins finished the look.

“You do know what you’re doing,” Finn said, coming up beside her. He handed her a glass of wine.

After taking a sip, she told him, “I could say the same for you when it comes to picking out wine.”

The full-bodied wine would hold up nicely against the salmon.

“You said red and this is my favorite.”

“Mine, too, now. I’m catching a hint of vanilla and oak,” she said.

He nodded. “It was aged in oak barrels.”

“French or American?” she asked. In wine circles there continued to be a raging debate over which country had the best.

Finn apparently knew this, because he grinned and neatly sidestepped the issue. “I’ll never tell.”

She set her wine on the place mat. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

While Finn settled on one of the backless stools at the bar, she turned down the kitchen light, which was on a dimmer switch. Then she picked up the remote control and hit play. Miles Davis’s trumpet wailed from the speakers for a brief moment before she lowered the volume to a level more conducive to conversation.

“A jazz fan?” Finn asked when she joined him at the bar.

“Since my first year of culinary school,” she replied. “I dated a moody guy who loved Coltrane, smoked clove cigarettes and drank bourbon. I never acquired a taste for hard liquor or cigarettes of any variety, thank God. And the relationship only lasted half a semester, but I was hooked on jazz. If you’d prefer another genre of music, I can change it.”

“No. I don’t listen to jazz often, but I don’t mind it.” He regarded her for a moment and then picked up his glass. “I feel like I should propose a toast before we begin eating.”

“All right.” She wrapped her fingers around the thin stem of her glass and lifted it halfway to her lips.

“To happy beginnings.” He smiled and clinked the rim of his goblet against the side of hers.

It was an interesting toast, one that conveniently overlooked the fact that Lara had recently suffered both a personal and professional setback. Yet, she agreed with Finn. In spite of everything, this was a happy beginning.


* * *

Finn wasn’t a fan of musical theater, especially productions that included spunky children belting out catchy show tunes that he’d bet his bottom dollar he would be singing in his head for a good week to come. That said, he enjoyed Annie. A lot.

In fact, he was sorry to see the curtain come down, because unless Lara agreed to go someplace and have a drink with him, it meant their evening out was drawing to a close.

The feelings she’d inspired in such a short time were crazy. They scared the hell out of him. Once burned, twice shy and all that. Scared or not, he couldn’t stay away.

A little while later, they followed the crowd as it spilled outside onto the street. Then they walked aimlessly for a couple of blocks, making their way to Times Square.

“It’s getting late,” she said.

“Too late for a drink?”

She turned, smiled. “No. It’s not like I have to get up early.”

He nodded. Neither of them had to be up early. They could sleep as late as they wanted...assuming they slept at all.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

After clearing his throat, he said, “I know a place not far from where we first met that has a decent wine list. It also serves amazing appetizers.”

“Sounds good. Is that where you were coming from when you stepped out to hail the cab?”

“Actually, I was coming from my apartment. I have a studio not far from there.”

Her steps slowed, but she was grinning when she asked, “Is this place that serves the amazing appetizers yours, by any chance?”

“No. It’s a real pub. Spanky’s. Ever been?”

Finn wasn’t sure if she looked relieved or disappointed that they weren’t heading to his apartment, although he knew which category he fell into.

“No. But I’ve passed by it several times on my way to the magazine for styling jobs.”

It didn’t take long to get to Spanky’s. Even though it was a weeknight, it was relatively busy. The after-work crowd of suited professionals had long since moved on. The people seated at the tables and along the bar were mostly college-aged with a few saltier old-timers thrown in.

“Nice place. Comfortable,” Lara said as they wound their way through high-top tables to a booth in the back.

“Yeah. I think so, too.”

No big-screen televisions were mounted on the walls, tuned to sporting events. No kitschy flea-market finds hung from the ceiling. The decor leaned rustic—not so much mountain cabin as family lake cottage. Specifically, his family’s cottage on a small lake in Vermont. The theme should have been an odd fit for Manhattan. In fact, a couple of bank loan officers had warned against it, but his cousin Joanna, the proprietress, had held firm and scraped together her start-up money despite their predictions. Spanky’s hadn’t hurt for customers since its weathered doors had opened the spring before last.

Finn credited his cousin’s vision for that. Spanky’s was the sort of place where people could gather and relax while tossing back a cold one, whether that beer was microbrewed or imported, or sip a quality glass of Chardonnay without overpaying. Add in good, reasonably priced food and word had gotten around quickly.

“I think the woman standing behind the bar is trying to get your attention,” Lara remarked.

He didn’t need to look over to figure out whom she meant. At this time of night, Joanna would be at the tap. And the fact that Finn was there with a woman would have sent his cousin’s curiosity into overdrive.

“Try to ignore her. I do.”

“I take it she’s a friend of yours.”

“More like family. She’s my cousin. And she owns this place.”

“She’s Spanky?” Lara’s lips twitched with a smile that went on to dance in her eyes.

“A nickname from childhood.”

“Let me guess,” Lara said drily. “You gave it to her.”

He spread his hands wide and shrugged. “What are cousins for?”

“Hmm, I’m guessing if that cousin also is a talented chef, he helped put together a menu.”

He nodded. “Spanky’s may be more bar than restaurant, but Joanna didn’t want to serve the standard pub food, so when she opened, I offered a few suggestions.”

“That was nice of you,” Lara said.

He shrugged. “We’re family.”

“Not all families are like yours.”

Lara’s specifically. He swallowed an apology he knew would only make her uncomfortable.

“Now that I know you had a hand in the menu, I’m eager to sample those appetizers you mentioned earlier.”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

Lara merely smiled at the boast.

Rather than sending one of her waitstaff, Joanna came over to take their orders. Finn had expected as much. Since the dust had settled on his divorce, all of the women in his family had been doing their damnedest to set him up on a date. He had little doubt that news he’d been spotted out with a woman would make it through the Westbrook grapevine before he paid the check.

No sense throwing kerosene on a fire that posed the threat of raging out of control all on its own. So, as soon as he saw her heading in their direction, he said to Lara, “I’m going to warn you, the women in my family are notoriously nosy. She’s going to try to pump you for information. Reply with one-word answers.”

“And if she threatens to march me into the back room and break out the truth serum?”

“Go ahead and laugh,” Finn said, having a hard time not doing so himself. Managing to keep his tone dire, he added, “Don’t complain later that you weren’t warned.”

“No complaining. Got it.” Lara executed a jaunty salute just as his cousin reached the table.

Joanna was five years Finn’s junior. She was tall for a woman at just a hair under six feet. As kids, he had been able to hoist her over one shoulder without much effort and lock her in the creepy cellar at their grandparents’ house. These days no one got the upper hand on Joanna, which was why he didn’t worry about her working a bar in the city late at night.

“Hello, Finn,” she said, drawing even with their table. “I didn’t know you were coming in this evening or that you’d be bringing a...friend.” She bobbed her eyebrows.

Subtle. The word wasn’t in her vocabulary, or the vocabulary of any of the women in his family, for that matter.

“It was a last-minute thing. Lara and I were out not far from here and...” He shrugged and left it at that, knowing full well Joanna would fill in the blanks for herself.

“Well, you know I’m always happy to see you.” Joanna smiled before adding meaningfully, “And it’s great to see you out with a...friend.”

It was all Finn could do to hold back a groan.

“Are you going to introduce us?” his cousin asked.

“Joanna, Lara.” He made a sweeping motion between them.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Lara offered her hand.

“Same here.”

“I like your place. It’s very comfortable.”

“Thank you. That’s exactly what I was going for.” Joanna’s gaze swung to Finn. “I like her.”

“That makes two of us,” he said.

“What can I get for you?” she asked Lara.

Lara tucked the wine list back into its spot amid the condiments on the tabletop. “I’d like a glass of the house red, please.”

“Coming right up.” To Finn she said, “Your usual beer?”


He nodded. “And a plate of the asparagus.”

“Asparagus?” Lara asked.

“It’s wrapped in prosciutto and flaky pastry dough,” he told her.

“It’s excellent. Customers rave about it all the time,” Joanna offered as a testimonial.

“Lara will be the judge. She’s a chef.”

“No kidding?” His cousin’s eyes rounded. “I never thought you’d hook up with another one of those.”

That statement had Lara’s eyebrows rising.

While Finn hoped his cousin would retreat to the bar, she rattled on, peppering Lara with questions.

“Are you a private chef like Finn? Did you meet through work? Oh, my God, you’re not in that competition he’s doing at the Cuisine Cable Network, are you?” She took a breath, sighed. “Star-crossed chefs.”

“Lara’s not on the show,” Finn said. If only he’d stopped there, but the word anymore slipped out.

“Oh? Oh, no! You’ve already been eliminated. Gosh, I am so sorry.”

The light in Spanky’s was low, but Finn was able to see color flood into Lara’s cheeks.

“Jo—”

But his cousin was on a roll. “That’s a real bummer, but hey, better luck next time, right? You’ve got to keep at it. I mean, look at Finn here. He’s had some hard knocks, too. That’s life. It’s taken some time, but he’s picked himself up, dusted himself off and now he’s finally back in the game.” Joanna cleared her throat. “Um, not that dating is a game, but, well, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, we know,” Finn said drily. “Can we get our drinks now?”

“Sure.” Joanna pulled a face. “Listen to me, going on and on.... Just for that, your first round will be on the house.”

“What happened to one-syllable answers,” Lara murmured as his cousin walked away.

Finn laughed. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s all right,” Lara replied. “Actually, she answered a question for me.”

“What might that be?”

“How often you get out. From her barely contained excitement over your bringing in a friend, you’re obviously not much of a player.”

He chuckled drily. “I’ve never been much of a player. But, um, I haven’t been involved with anyone for a while.”

After that, they made small talk until their drinks arrived. A group of tourists came in, keeping Joanna busy behind the bar, so a waitress delivered their beverages.

“Your appetizer will be up in a minute,” the young woman assured them before leaving.

Lara sipped her wine, savoring it in a way that made Finn want to groan.

“This is very good. It would pair well with this veal dish I make.”

“What’s in it?”

She described a dish that had his mouth starting to water not only because of the ingredients, but because of the woman he envisioned working with them.

“You’ll have to make it for me next time. Or you can show me how to make it.”

She nodded, seeming not the least bit surprised that he was already planning another dinner date with her.

“I’d like that.”

* * *

Lara eyed her nearly empty glass. The merlot had left her feeling warm and relaxed. The man sitting across from her had helped even more. Finn was a welcome respite from her current reality.

No, not a respite. That diminished his importance in her life. He was a bright spot, a highlight. He was the unexpected, but breathtaking rainbow after a particularly vicious storm.

“You’re smiling,” he said.

“Yeah.” Her lips bowed further. “I am. Thank you.”

“For?”

“Just...thank you,” she replied, feeling embarrassed.

“I think I know what you mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right back at you.”

When the waitress arrived with their appetizer, Lara ordered another glass of wine and told him, “If you’d like a second beer, this round is on me.”

“All right.” He nodded to the waitress.

“These look good,” Lara told him as she picked up one of the prosciutto-wrapped asparagus spears. The flaky pastry that spiraled around it was baked a light golden-brown.

“So says the food stylist. I’m more interested in how you think they taste.”

His ribbing was good-natured, so she wasn’t offended. Still, she made a tsking sound before reminding him in a haughty tone, “First and foremost, food is a visual experience. We see a dish and we smell it, before we finally taste it. For a truly satisfying experience, you have to use more than one sense.”

He leaned over and took a bite of the appetizer she held. A sexy smile appeared afterward when he added, “Eating is not the only activity I can think of that uses a few of our senses for a truly satisfying experience.”

Sparks shot up Lara’s spine along with the first licks of excitement. She sampled what remained of the appetizer in her hand.

“Well?” he asked afterward. “What do you think?”

“It was every bit as good as you promised it would be.”

Maybe even better since the man responsible for the recipe was so damned tantalizing.

Her mouth watered when he smiled and said, “It makes an excellent first course.”

She pretended to mull that over before asking, “Care to tell me what you would make for the main dish?”

Lara swore the temperature in the bar spiked by several degrees when Finn replied, “I’d rather show you.”