He smiled and lifted his glass toward hers. “To confidence.”
He noticed that she kept eye contact when she took her first sip of the wine. It was something that his father said only people with great gumption did. The wine was dry and cold just the way he liked it.
“Ready to be impressed.”
“Always,” she said.
He pulled out the dishes he’d packed and the containers. “While I’m getting our dinner ready why don’t you tell me something about the other chef you mentioned.”
Her hand shook as she was taking a sip of her wine and a drop of it spilled onto her lip. She stared over at him and he wondered what he’d said that upset her. “I assume it was just another man who didn’t cherish you.”
THE LAST THINGTHATSTACI wanted to talk about was the past but today Jean-Luc Renard seemed to be everywhere. But she knew she had to at least say something. Remy had gone to more effort with this meal side-bet they’d had than she’d expected.
Her hand trembled again. Was she seriously thinking they might be a couple? She thought of how she handled her relationship with Alysse and they had a business contract as a safety net to ensure that Alysse lived up to her side of the bargain. Though now that she knew Alysse she understood the other woman would never leave her hanging.
But she hadn’t known that at first.And weary of being hurt again she’d done everything she could to protect herself. She’d come away from Sweet Dreams Bakery with the belief that she could trust women but not men. Now she was looking at Remy and wondering if she could trust him.
She wanted to.
“Are you going to take the plate or simply keep staring at it?” he asked, his voice quiet as if he sensed she was dwelling on deep thoughts.
She wanted to scream at frustration with herself. Any other woman would just enjoy the night and the romance of it but she was weighing his every move against her tender heart and trying carefully to get to know him while protecting herself. It was harder than it should be because she felt as if she could believe him.
She wanted Remy Stephens to be just what he appeared to be—an out-of-work chef who could cook like nobody’s business and charm her socks off.
“Yes, I’m going to take it. The food smells delicious,” she said.
“I hoped you’d like it. Why don’t you save your story of past loves for another night?” he suggested. “I don’t want you thinking about another man while savoring my dishes.”
She nodded. She didn’t want to think about Jean-Luc either. And one thing that made it easier to ignore her past lover was the fact that three-star Michelin chef that he was, he’d never cooked for her. That should have been her first clue that what they had wasn’t real...
“What have you prepared?”
“New York City,” he answered with that rogue’s grin of his. “You said your happiest memories were associated with your mother and that city.”
“You know New York?” she asked. “How does someone from New Orleans become familiar with a big city like that?”
“I do get out of the bayou occasionally,” he said wryly.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry, it’s just you seem very rooted in the South,” she explained. “It’s a surprise that’s all.”
“Well taste it and tell me if it’s a good surprise or not,” he said.
She shook off the mantle of the past and instead concentrated on the now. Remy hadn’t proven himself to be anything other than a white-hot lover, first-class chef and a really nice guy who liked her. She set her wine glass down on the tabletop Remy had made with the cooler lid and took the heavy silver fork he’d passed to her.
Carefully she arranged a bite of the meat, which was breaded and had a sauce on it, the creamy risotto and lifted it to her mouth. It smelled incredible and her mouth was already watering. When she opened her lips she noticed that Remy stared at her mouth. She let her tongue dart out to taste the food before taking the first bite.
His eyes narrowed and suddenly she was lost in the food as the feeling of New York City was on her palate. The food had that warm comfort that Staci had always gotten from her mother, but also the edge that she’d felt when in New York. She closed her eyes and forgot about everything and admitted that if he cooked like this next week then she and the other contestants were out of the running.
“It’s good,” she said at last, well aware that her words were faint-praise for the dish she’d just sampled.
He nodded. “Thanks. I won’t let all the effusive praise go to my head.”
“Like you need me to tell you that you’re good,” she said. “The dish is New York, but my experience there. How did you do that?”
He leaned over and touched the side of her face. As if she could ever not pay attention to Remy Stephens.
“I listened to you,” he said. “Everything that you said this afternoon about food memory made me realize I was missing apowerful spice in my chef’s kit. And it was the personal experience.”
