Dennis filed past, a large flat bowl in his hands, eyes ahead and a serious look on his face, followed by Evan, who was also carrying a platter. Harry glimpsed prettily decorated oysters balanced on crushed ice. Harry grinned at Evan as they made eye contact and tilted his head towards the platter.Impressive, he mouthed. Evan shrugged and sent a quick wink his way. Harry could feel the blush heating his face. Thank God he could blame the warmth of his cheeks on the heat of the kitchen—not that they were actually in a kitchen.Oh, well.
The judging didn’t take long, Mei suitably impressed with Dennis’s simple but tasty offerings. Chef Marshall gave top marks for taste and presentation, as well.
All too soon it was John’s turn, and that meant Harry had to sit at the judging table. He walked to the front, dragging his feet on the deck as if he was walking to the gallows. He hated the pressure of being filmed and worried about doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing… He could already picture the reaming he’d get from John if he didn’t display a certain level of appreciation for whatever John had prepared, and so braced himself to be suitably awed.
By the time John and Stephanie had placed the dishes in front of him and Chef Marshall, his nerves were at straining point, but he was pleasantly surprised to see the quality of the offerings. The adage “we eat with our eyes” sprang to mind, and if the visual presentation was anything to go by, he was actually in for a treat.Thank God.It appeared as if he wouldn’t have to lie his way through the judging, and he relaxed slightly. The first course consisted of shot glasses filled with a chilled tomato soup. A tiny triangle of grilled cheese on toast was wedged in the top of each glass. He downed the soup in one mouthful before popping the tiny triangle in his mouth. The combination was surprisingly delicious. “This is excellent. Really tasty,” Harry said with a genuine smile.
John beamed at the praise.
“I like the contrast of the chilled soup with the warm toast,” Chef said. “Perhaps a little more seasoning wouldn’t go astray, but all in all a solid effort.”
John’s grin widened.
The second dish looked fancier than the first. Served on a flat piece of black slate were half a dozen stuffed mushrooms that looked awesome. They were brimming with stuffing and topped with browned breadcrumbs and parsley. Small wedges of lemon were scattered about the slate tray, the colour of the segments adding a bright appeal against the dark plate. Harry picked up a piece of lemon and squeezed it over half the mushrooms before looking to Chef who indicated for him to squeeze the fresh juice over the rest of them.
“So, what do we have here?” Chef Marshall asked, using his fingers to lift a mushroom, and raise it to his lips.
“It’s a Portobello mushroom stuffed with a mixture of onion, garlic, and prawns, finished with fresh breadcrumbs, Parmesan, lemon, and parsley, Chef,” John said, absolutely brimming with enthusiasm.
Harry blanched at John’s words, and halted with the mushroom halfway to his face.Oh no!
“Sounds delicious,” Chef said before popping the morsel into his mouth.
“It’s a recipe I picked up during my travels. I tasted them at a little trattoria in Italy and I knew I justhadto recreate them when I came home,” John said.
Fuck. What do I do now? Do I suck it up and eat it?The choices flashed through Harry’s mind. Endure John’s wrath and decline to eat the bloody thing, or swallow it down, say how delicious it was, and then put up with an allergic reaction in about thirty minutes or so. He quickly calculated how long filming would have until the segment was wrapped up and doubted he’d have time to get back to the cabin before the hives appeared and the nausea and vomiting set in.
“Harry?”
John’s voice made him realise he’d been still for too long. He glanced around in horror, sure he looked as white as a ghost. He met Evan’s eyes. Evan was shaking his head slowly. Harry could almost hear the words he was mouthing.Don’t do it.
He set the mushroom down.
* * *
“What the fuck, Harry?”John asked as soon as the cabin door shut.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Harry said, stomping across the small room and turning to face the man who’d nearly poisoned him. “Why the hell did you decide to cook prawns? You know I’m allergic.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Harry was incredulous. “I was sick as a dog on our first date due to prawns, and I thought that would have made it fairly memorable. Didn’t the how-well-do-we-know-each-other session trigger any memories? Not to mention the number of times it’s come up when we’ve been questioned about dietary requirements when eating out.”
John huffed and rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, it’s an intolerance—”
“It’s not a fucking intolerance. I get sick. Nausea, vomiting, the full works. What part of that don’t you understand?” Harry crossed the room, wishing he had more room for pacing. His pulse sped up as his irritation grew. He knew John was self-centred, but did he really have so little disregard for Harry that he could dismiss something that could have such serious consequences? He’d learned what an arsehole John was, but to be that bad?
“I’m sorry—”
“Sorry!” Harry swung around and faced John. “You’re sorry? What part are you sorry for? For potentially making me sick, or even for killing me? For putting me on the spot in front of all those people? For being my so-called boyfriend for a year and not remembering enough about me—fornotcaringenough about me—to pay attention to something so important as an allergy and care about my health and well-being?”
John shrugged, and Harry’s anger ramped up a notch—then realisation hit. His eyebrows rose as he looked at John in shock. “You’re not sorry about what happened to me. You’re sorry that you didn’t remember, or care enough to remember, and it caused you to fail in the challenge. You’re sorry that you failed, that you looked like an insensitive, uncaring bastard who didn’t even consider his own boyfriend’s life. You just wanted to serve up something you thought would impress the judges and give you a chance to brag about heading to Italy.” He put his hands on his hips. “Well, I have news for you, John. You definitely failed to impress me, and after the ruckus, I’m sure you failed to impress anyone else either.”
“Chef said the mushrooms were great.”
“You hang on to that, John, because it’s probably the only nice thing to be said about you from that whole sham of a segment.”
Harry gave John one last look of disgust and stormed out of the cabin. He couldn’t bear to be with him another moment.
