Scrumptious Page 2

  “You’re just jealous because I went to culinary school, and you didn’t. Chameleon is the only game you’ve got,” he shot back with a sneer.

  “Hardly. Any restaurant in town would have me.”

  “You mean every chef in town has had you.”

  “At least I’m not married, asshole.”

  Keith finally got his pants fastened and brushed past her, all righteous indignation and bruised ego, still trying to bluff like a kid caught cheating on an exam instead of a grown man cheating on his wife. “I’ll be back,” he said.

  “No worries.” Marlene trailed him to the parking lot. “I’ll cover your shifts.”

  He flipped her the bird, and she returned his sentiment with a double thumbs up before heading back into the restaurant to find Olivia.

  Chapter 2

  Joe Rafferty swung his long legs out of his Jeep Cherokee and slammed the door. The tiny parking lot behind Chameleon was nearly empty, but habit had made him park on the street to leave the lot free for paying customers. He approached the back door, breathing in the familiar restaurant smell of old, damp grease. The screen door swung open in his hand. He locked it behind him.

  The kitchen was silent. The dishwasher’s door was down, cycle finished, and the stainless steel table in front of the industrial-size machine was stacked with the dark-red, perforated floor mats used to cushion tired legs and provide a less slippery surface for spills. Wet pans, plastic containers, metal and wooden spoons and spatulas were neatly stacked beside the machine, so he assumed the dishwasher was busy distributing clean dishes around the kitchen.

  He picked his way through the debris on the floor and grabbed a stack of six pans, the size he figured Olivia would use in the sauté station. He carried them through the tiny dish room to the hot line, set them down in the serving window, and looked around, nodding to himself. She had a nice set-up.

  Walking past the hot line, he turned left and passed through a narrow hall into a large room. In front of him, he saw the door to a walk-in refrigerator, held open by plastic trailers tossed over the top of the door. A stainless steel table and two full-size racks formed an island in the middle of the room. Along the wall to his left were two stacked deck ovens, a small electric stove, and a closed door, presumably the business office. On the other side of the racks was a small bakeshop.

  Unable to resist, he walked over to take a look in the glass-front reach-in refrigerator. His eyes skated over the dessert menu taped to the glass. Just as he tugged the seal loose on the refrigerator, he heard the walk-in door swoosh shut behind him.

  “Hold it right there, cowboy!” Olivia’s welcoming drawl brought a smile to his face.

  “You left the back door unlocked, kiddo. No telling who’s gonna walk in.” He tried to frown, but he was too damn glad to see her. He held out his arms instead, and she slid into them, giving him a tight squeeze.

  “With your sweet tooth, I thought you might have put on a few pounds over the years,” Olivia said as she laughed up at him.

  “I move around too much to gain weight.” Joe turned her around to face the dessert cooler. “In fact, I’m starving. Can I do some quality control for you?”

  Olivia snagged a dessert plate from the cart of clean dishes parked in the bakeshop. She looked inquiringly at Joe, and he pointed at the chocolate cheesecake.

  “Good choice.” She slid a piece onto the plate but held it just out of reach. “Ah, ah, ah! We can’t forget the garnish!” She piped whipped cream onto his plate from the bag in the cooler and then added a few raspberries, chocolate-covered espresso beans, and a fork.

  Joe ignored the utensil and picked up the whole piece of cake with his fingers. He dragged it through the pile of whipped cream and took a large bite. Cool, rich flavors exploded in his mouth, exciting and comforting at the same time. This was no dessert for amateurs.

  “Heavy duty,” he said, swallowing, enjoying the nutty aftertaste of the chocolate and hazelnut crust.

  “Over a pound of bittersweet, four shots of espresso, and enough dark rum to knock you on your ass.”

  “Your recipe?” he asked.

  “Nope. My friend Marlene does all the desserts.”

  Her expectant smile begged him to ask, “Is she good-looking?” The role of lady-killer was so easy for him to play that he slipped into it without any effort at all. That was the problem.

  “Don’t you remember? You saw her at the wedding. She was my maid of honor,” Olivia said.

  “Redhead?”

  “Not this week, but yeah, that was her. You can refresh your memory in a few minutes. She went over to Johnny’s to grab us a spot at the bar.”

  He definitely remembered the redhead. Great rack. Nice ass. She’d had curves that made him want to strip off her blue satin bridesmaid’s dress and explore how her body came together. He probably would have too, if he hadn’t gotten called home to the hospital. That had been the beginning, his mother’s first surgery.

  Joe redirected his thoughts to the redhead. His cock stirred. She was hot all right. Or else this cheesecake was even better than he thought.

  Olivia untied her apron and folded it into a neat square. “Joe, I need your help,” she said.

  “Anything, kiddo.”

  She boosted herself up onto the prep table and stared at her lap. Then she blew out a deep breath and met his eyes, but she didn’t say anything. He stopped chewing for a moment to examine her. Her eyes were clouded, not their usual keen green, and she was stalling. Very unlike Olivia. She was a straight shooter, a bottom line, no bullshit, get-it-done kind of girl, which was why they had become such fast friends in culinary school.

  Joe set his plate down and leaned against the table, waiting.

  She finally spoke. “I need a chef.”

  “What happened to Wonder Boy?” Joe tried to look surprised.

  She stared at the ovens behind his head. “He couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

  He said nothing. It was the kindest thing he could do. He had never hidden his opinion of Keith Watson.

  “It won’t change things too much around here to have him gone, really,” Olivia admitted. “He’s been a lazy pain in the ass for at least a year. Marly and I have been working doubles for weeks. I’m exhausted and bitchy and strung out, and if I have to break down one more stupid chicken or peel one more potato, I’m going to lose it. Just freakin’ lose it, I swear!” Olivia’s voice, which had been gaining steam, trailed off. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing this place go under without him. And I can’t do it alone.”

  Admission of weakness from Olivia was the equivalent of a nervous breakdown from anyone else. That fact alone told him she must really be up against a wall. He frowned.

  His plans had been set for months. He had to be in Kentucky by the Fourth, then in California by the second week in July to audition for a resort job with killer benefits, two of the three things he’d promised his mother before she died. Joe shook his head, thinking hard, trying to rearrange the details.

  “Don’t say no, Joe. Just think about it,” she begged.

  “I’m on a tight schedule, kiddo. Give me a minute. How’d it get so bad?”

  “Heck, I don’t even know.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “One little thing at a time. Partying with the waiters. Then a few other women. I ignored it. If Keith had just been able to pull his weight in the kitchen, I could have made it work, but I can’t do my job, his job, and run the business too. Not if he’s going to start screwing around with the staff.” Olivia paused. “It doesn’t help either that Marlene hates his guts.”

  “She’s good-looking and smart? I like her already. Can she cook?”

  “Anything that doesn’t cook her first.” Olivia sighed. “My parents would have sent her to culinary school with me, but she refused to go. She said someone needed to be here to cook while I was gone.”

  “Can Marlene be your chef?” he asked.

  Olivia shook her head. “She flat out t
old me she couldn’t stand to be on the line another minute. Can’t blame her. We both know it’s a bitch of a job.”

  Joe nodded. “Only an idiot would want to cook for a living.”

  She smacked his arm. “Oh, shut up. You know you love it.” Her lips twisted. “Please stay, Joe. Just for a little while. It won’t take me long to figure this out, I promise.”

  Her green eyes were soft and pleading, but it was the desperation in her voice that got to him. If it had been any other woman, Joe would have thought she was hitting on him, but he and Olivia had veered off that road a long time ago. Way off.

  Gently, he grasped her by the arms and made his decision. “Kiddo, it’s not that I don’t sympathize, because I do, but if you really want my help, then you’re going to have to suffer a little first. There’s something I need to say to you.”

  His grin must have tipped her off because she bared her teeth and snarled at him. “Don’t you dare.”

  Joe chuckled and ignored her. “I told you so.” He said it again, slowly, deliberately shaking her shoulders to punctuate each word.

  Olivia covered her ears and closed her eyes. “Shut up! I’m going to impale you with Marly’s dough hook.”

  Joe crowed the words one last time. Nothing he had said two years ago could talk Olivia out of marrying that useless son-of-a-bitch pretty boy, and he had said plenty. Damn, but he was glad she’d given Keith the boot.

  Olivia gave him a shove. “You are such a jerk. Why does everyone blame the victim? Has it even occurred to you that I might have a broken heart here? I was married to the guy for two years!”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t like him either. You just liked him liking you. C’mon.” Joe slung his arm companionably around her shoulders. “Let’s go find that pretty pastry chef of yours. You need a drink.”

  “Want a drink,” Olivia corrected him. “The day I need one is the day I’ll quit drinking. Way too many alcoholics in this business.”

  “Hey, I resemble that remark!” Joe grinned.

  “Speaking of which”—she squeezed his arm—“how’s your dad?”

  “The same.”

  “Sober?”

  “Hardly ever.”

  “I’m sorry, Joe.” Olivia flipped off the lights, automatically grabbing his dessert plate and carrying it with them to the dish room.

  He shrugged. “Not gonna stop me from having a beer.”

  “Good. Wait here. I want to double-check the front door.”

  “Where’s your dishwasher?” he asked.

  “Out early for good behavior.”

  While Olivia darted to the front of the house, Joe leaned against the screen door, breathing the dark, sulfurous breeze coming from the cooled-down blacktop parking lot. Across the street, the neon beer lights of the bar beckoned to him. For most of his adult life, a bitter brew and a sweet, willing woman were all he wanted out of a good night.

  There hadn’t been any good nights since his mother had died six months ago. She’d ruined his idea of paradise but good. Thirty-three years old and what did he have? Beer and women. No house. No wife. No kids. Nothing to call his own but a first-class résumé which didn’t get him anything but more work.

  Joe made a sound which might have been a sigh. From him, it was more of a half cough, half groan. Ignorance hadn’t exactly been bliss, but at least he hadn’t had this dull ache in his middle, this sick sense of guilt. He felt like he was strangling. Would it be any easier to breathe in California? It had to be.

  He would help Olivia first. Then he’d keep his promises to his mother. He’d go to Kentucky and set his father straight. He would start over, settle down, find a woman who could mean more to him than just one night.

  Easy, right?

  Chapter 3

  The door to the bar opened, and Marlene’s pulse kicked up a notch.

  Perfect did not even begin to describe Joe Rafferty. The man was flawless, she decided, watching Joe and Olivia make their way across the bar. His wide shoulders were a revelation, broad and elegant, flowing into strong, well-muscled, but not freaky-big biceps. In the dim light, his eyes flashed the light—piercing blue she remembered from the wedding. If anything, his attraction had intensified over the past two years because there were intriguing shadows in those pale eyes now.

  Joe held out his hand to her, and she took it, noticing that his tan forearm was crisscrossed with burns, old and new. She could actually see the raised, red splatter pattern of a grease burn on the inside of his right wrist. Was he careless or just plain tough? Either way, his wicked grin was a welcome sight, and his hand felt strong and solid. She slid her thumb across his palm to get a cheap thrill. The firm ridge of callous at the base of his index finger confirmed her guess: he was a working chef, not just a paper boss. Joe raised a dark eyebrow as Marlene caressed his finger, but he didn’t pull away.

  “Joe Rafferty.”

  “Marlene Bennet,” she replied, one degree short of an obvious purr.

  The knot of tension she had been holding between her shoulders all day began to disentangle. Of course, the loosening could have something to do with booze on an empty stomach, but Marlene attributed it to the fact that she was going to get laid tonight. She swayed too close, caught by the warm, breezy scent of the road on his skin. She felt as if they’d done this dance before and were just waiting for the room to clear. Any second, she expected his arms to go around her, his lips to take hers in a hard kiss.

  She cocked her head and gave herself a mental shake. Whoa, maybe she should have waited for Olivia and Joe to arrive before finishing her second martini.

  Joe dropped her hand and turned his attention to the bar. Johnny responded to his signal immediately, unusual on a busy night.

  “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

  “Guinness.” Joe laid two twenties on the bar. “Ladies?”

  “Gin and tonic,” Olivia said.

  Joe chuckled.

  “Just one, I swear. I’m beat.”

  “The last time I saw you drink gin and tonic, you drank half a bottle,” Joe reminded her.

  “You drank the other half!” she protested.

  “I’m a guy.”

  Their easy banter sparked a brief flash of jealousy in Marlene. She didn’t want to feel like a third wheel tonight.

  “Marlene? Can I buy you a drink?” Joe asked.

  “Absolutely.” Anticipation made her insides fizz.

  “Marly special, coming up,” the bartender said.

  She hopped off her stool and linked her arm through Olivia’s, then winked at Joe. Time for a little bathroom reconnaissance. “We’ll be right back.”

  She could feel Joe’s eyes on her as they walked away. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Tripping would be bad. She barely managed to acknowledge a greeting from Danny, who was sitting with some of his friends in the back. He was lucky Olivia was having too much fun to give him hell for showing up at the bar when he’d called in sick to work.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Marlene could see Olivia’s smug grin. They slipped into the rose-colored bathroom and dropped the hook and eye lock into place. It was a tiny space lit with a bare, pink bulb. Olivia sat in the rickety, wicker chair in the corner while Marlene collapsed against the sink.

  “Olivia, honestly, you don’t want some of that?” She gestured through the door in Joe’s direction.

  Olivia shook her head firmly. “Not interested.”

  “Not possible. I can’t believe you two never hooked up.”

  “Only once.” Olivia’s smile was Mona Lisa annoying.

  “You never told me!” She leveled an accusing glare at her friend.

  “Total non-starter. It was before I met Keith.” Olivia continued, “Joe goes through women like other guys go through socks. I’m not one of them.”

  “I want to be one of them,” Marlene said fervently.

  “Good for you.” Olivia stood. “Are we done here?” she asked, her hand on the knob.

>   “Yeah, I just wanted to make sure. I’ll be out in a minute.” Marlene caught her arm. “Olivia? Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was flat.

  “Promise?” Marlene pressed.

  “Yes.”

  Marlene waited for a couple seconds. “You did the right thing.”

  “I know.”

  She could see from the steady look in Olivia’s eyes that she did. Really. Olivia sighed quietly.

  “It’s okay, Marly. I’m fine. I just feel like an idiot. It’s not just Keith’s girlfriends. It’s all the other stuff. We met in culinary school. He got good grades, top of the class. I learned to cook. Why didn’t he? How did Keith get around that one simple thing?”

  Marlene had a few theories, but she kept them to herself. She was just glad Olivia had come to her senses. “You knew how to cook when you got there.”

  “I guess I did.” Olivia bit her lip. Her eyes were doubtful. “He was charming, right? I mean, I’m not crazy. I’m not an idiot. I was head over heels for the guy. Keith had something, right? Something?”

  Marlene wrapped her arms around her. “Yeah, he had something. He talked a good game. He really did. He had me going for a while too.” She ended the hug with a hard squeeze. “Not as long as you, though. Seriously, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I knew it was coming.” Olivia brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Then she squared her shoulders, opened the door, and stepped out, shutting it behind her. Typical. No more discussion. Once Olivia made a decision, she moved on and shut the door behind her.

  Marlene turned to the mirror and saw a frown on her face, so she blew a breath out through puffed cheeks to erase it. Her heart ached for her friend, even though she knew love was a loser’s game. Anyone reckless enough to get married should expect disappointment. Her own father had only stuck around long enough to leave at the worst possible time, and her mother still hadn’t learned her lesson. She was about to marry number five. Other than celebrities looking for publicity, who actually did that? That kind of optimism was lethal. It was much safer to stay single and move on to the next guy before things got complicated. The world was full of next guys. In fact, there was one waiting for her in the bar.