“Don’t worry, Bessie.” Rex soothes while reeling her in. “I’ll handle the technical stuff; you handle the charm.”
I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at him. He’s saying all the right words and doing all the right things. With moves like that, Bess might justmoveherself.
At station five, Elodie has somehow acquired a distinguished gentleman who looks like he stepped out of a Napa Valley wine ad, although she seems more interested in the wine tasting portion of the competition than the actual cooking. Her partner gazes at her as if he’s just discovered his cooking partner is a beautiful distraction in human form. He’s not wrong. But he’s underestimating her if he doesn’t know that her claws can rival any blade in this place.
Tinsley has a silver fox of her own, and the two of them have transformed their station into what appears to be a military command center, complete with a clipboard, atimeline, and what looks suspiciously like a battle plan. She’s already barking orders like a drill sergeant with excellent organizational skills and serious control issues, and the silver fox seems to like it. You know what they say—every pot has a lid.
At station four, Nettie has paired up with her speed dating champion—a gentleman who looks simultaneously terrified and charmed by whatever chaos she’s already planning and probably calculating the distance to the nearest exit while trying to maintain a polite smile.
I give them ten minutes before something catches fire.
Jazz and Rob Stone occupy station six like Zen masters preparing for enlightenment through food, though Jazz looks slightly panicked while Rob appears to be meditating over an onion with the concentration usually reserved for achieving inner peace.
The most interesting pairing sits at station one—Claudette and Mark, who are approaching this cooking competition like marriage therapy disguised as culinary arts. Mark’s forehead tattoo is already glistening with nervous sweat, while Claudette organizes their ingredients with the precision of a woman who is determined to win at life, marriage, and culinary competitions alike.
Wes stands near the judging area, looking devastatingly handsome in his off-duty captain’s attire, surveying the romantic chaos as if he’s about to witness either beautiful teamwork or spectacular relationship disasters. Most likely a dash of both.
“Well, well,” Nettie calls out from her station. “Look at all these lovebirds trying to cook their way to happiness! Trixie, honey, you and Ransom are too cute for words over there. I say there’s nothing like a lesson in proper knife safety to ratchet up the steam. And with all the prospects for bloodshed, it’s really going to get the two of you going. Get a room already.” She winks our way.
“We haven’t done anything yet,” I protest, although I’m already tying my apron with enthusiasm because I’m about to combine two of my favorite activities—eating and spending quality time with my husband.
“Cooking together is very revealing of relationship dynamics,” Elodie observes, because, let’s face it, she’s made a career out of analyzing human behavior through questionable research methods. “The way someone wields a knife says everything about how they’ll handle you later.”
Ransom leans closer to me with the hint of a wicked grin. “Good thing I’m excellent with knives.”
“And your hands,” I add with a wink.
The head chef, a woman with a dark bun who looks like she could win culinary competitions globally while blindfolded, steps forward with a microphone and the kind of authority that makes every adult in this room stand at attention.
“Welcome to Love is in the Kitchen!” she announces with professional enthusiasm. “Today you’ll be preparing classic French coq au vin with sides, appetizer, and dessert. You have ninety minutes, and the winning couple receives a romantic dinner for two in the captain’s private dining room.”
Ninety minutes to create a three-course meal while maintaining romantic harmony and competitive edge. This should be interesting.
“Your cooking wine and tasting wine are at each station,” she continues, “and remember—teamwork makes the dream work!”
Ransom’s radio crackles to life with the kind of urgent static that means someone’s evening is about to get significantly worse. I’m guessing mine.
“Security to the bridge immediately,” Quinn’s voice cuts through the kitchen’s romantic atmosphere like a cleaver through baked Brie. “We have a situation.”
Ransom’s expression shifts from lusty husband to professional security officer in record time. “I have to go.”
“Now?” I ask with clear disappointment. I can’t help it. I’ve been looking forward to ninety minutes of uninterrupted husband time.
“I can’t leave you partnerless,” he says, clearly torn between duty and domestic bliss.
“If you do, I’ll have to withdraw from the competition,” I sigh, already calculating which other activity I can crash to salvage my evening. There’s always the movie theater. Or the silent disco. Or the ice cream parlor. I think we all know which delicious dairy direction I’ll be headed in.
“I’d be happy to step in as Trixie’s partner,” Wes offers from the judging area with the kind of gallant gesturethat makes every woman in the room swoon his way—me included. A little. Okay, a lot. But in my defense, I really wanted to participate in the culinary madness about to take place.
The entire kitchen goes silent except for the sound of wine glasses being set down and competitive couples suddenly paying very close attention to our domestic drama.
Ransom’s jaw tightens with the internal struggle of a man weighing security emergencies against potentially dangerous romantic implications.
“It’s just cooking, Ransom,” Wes continues with a touch too much diplomatic charm. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“Fine,” Ransom agrees with reluctance. And judging by the look on his face, you’d think he was authorizing a treaty with questionable terms. “But if you burn down my wife, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
“Well, well, well!” Nettie practically shouts with glee. “Look who’s trading one handsome partner for another! Way to go, Trix!”
