“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he said.
“That hardly seems fair unless I know what you’re offering to give up,” she said.
“Okay, tell me how you got started cooking. Where did your culinary journey begin?” he asked, running his finger along the side of her cheek.
She turned her face away from his touch. “And you’ll do the same?”
“Oui,chère,” he said.
She rubbed one finger along his beard-stubbled jaw just to try to keep him off-balance and because she was longing to know what it felt like. He seemed to just reach out and touch her whenever he wanted to.
“Good. I grew up in here in southern California. I’m an only child and was always in the kitchen with my grandmother who practically raised me,” she said. “Your turn.”
“I grew up in Louisiana. Though I live and work in New Orleans now, I spent a lot of time in the bayou as a young boy with my grandmother’s people. I learned to shrimp and cook off of what we found each day. I didn’t realize how great a gift that would be as a chef.”
“I bet. My grandmother used to buy whatever was on sale at the grocery store when we went. She never had a menu and when we’d get home she’d combine the ingredients in different ways.”
“Sounds like we are similar in our upbringing,” he said.
“Maybe. You seem very comfortable surrounded by luxury,” she said.
“Do I?”
“Yes. This is probably the nicest car I’ve been in unless you count the limo I took to prom. I don’t think that’s the case with you.”
He laughed. “Who did you go to prom with?”
“A boy who thought he loved me,” she said.
“Why did the boy think he loved you?” Remy asked.
She was not about to start talking about her rocky past and the loves that might have been. “Don’t avoid the question.”
“What was the question?”
She frowned at him. “You’re difficult and cagey. What exactly are you hiding, Remy Stephens?”
“I believe that some things shouldn’t be spoken of. But you are right, I did grow up in a comfortable home financially. However, that’s not as interesting as a boy who thought he loved you. Didn’t you love him?”
“I’m not talking about that,” she said. She hadn’t allowed herself to really care about anyone when she’d been youngerbecause she’d had big dreams of leaving California and going to Paris. She was going to be the next Julia Child.
“What about emotionally? Was your home as comfortable in that way as it was financially?” she asked. She’d met more than one person who hid behind evasion and had grown up in a difficult home. Having money didn’t always mean that someone had an easy upbringing.
“It was good. My family are all Cajun or French so there is a lot of passion and tempers flaring, but I always knew I was loved.” His voice revealed the truth of those words. And she thought about how he’d been in the kitchen. There was something very controlled about Remy. She doubted he’d be the sort of man who’d let passion for a woman interfere with his desire to win.
She needed to remember that.
“Spoiled?” she asked.
“A little. But I can’t blame my parents for that. I just like to get my way,” he said.
“Like you did in the competition this afternoon. Doing what you thought was best instead of what I told you.”
He shrugged again. “I have to give my all in the kitchen. Even if that means making other chefs mad.”
“Is that why you are between gigs right now? Do you have a hard time taking orders?” she asked.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and pulled his arm off the back of the seat to his lap. She guessed that she’d asked a question that cut too close to whatever he was hiding from her. Whatever his emotional vulnerable point was.Interesting.
