“Well?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow at her.
“It’ll do.”
That startled a laugh out of him and she caught her breath as he smiled at her for the first time since they’d met. Really smiled so that his whole face lit up.
“Oh, it will more than do. Let’s see if you are up to snuff,chère.”
She knew the flat bread she made was the best that he’d ever taste. “Angels weep because they can’t get my bread in heaven.”
He quickly tore off a piece of the bread still on the tray and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and she found herself watching his mouth. She wondered how his lips would feel on hers.
“It’ll do.”
“I know,” she said. She glanced around and noted that the judges were getting closer to their station. They had been directed to stand back from the table until the judges approached them.
Hamilton was the first judge to reach them. He motioned Staci and Remy forward with an arrogant wave of his hand. Staci remained where she was before Remy nudged her with his foot. She hated arrogance in a man. It was okay to be proud of what you accomplished but it was something else entirely for a person to act like such a jerk.
“Your dish looks interesting,” Hamilton said. “A little plebian.”
“Our taste is anything but,” Staci said.
Remy elbowed her. She glared at him.
“Once the camera crew is in place we will ask you about your dish, then taste it,” Lorenz said coming over.
The cameraman got into place, a make-up person arrived and brushed something off of Staci’s cheek. “What was that?”
“Flour,” she said, then with a final whisk of her make-up wand she walked away.
Great, Staci thought, she’d been standing there looking like a messy little girl with flour on her face. She wished she’d known...but then it was a good thing she hadn’t. It might have affected how she’d acted toward Remy and Hamilton and she didn’t want that. She was serious about her food and this competition and she wanted to let the boys know she’d come to win.
“I think we are ready,” the director said. “Go.”
“Tell us a little about yourselves,” Pete invited them. “Staci, you’re a baker?”
“Yes, I co-own a cupcake bakery in San Diego called Sweet Dreams. I was trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.”
“And Remy?” Lorenz asked in that sexy Italian accent of his.
“I’m from Nawlins,” he said, combining the two words into one with his smooth southern accent. “I learned to cook at my granddad’s elbow. I’ve been working down there but am currently between gigs.”
“Staci, you were the leader on this dish, tell us what you prepared for us.”
“We combined what makes both of our culinary influences so great. A mixture of street food from the Big Easy and So Cal. Its a trio of po-boy tacos.”
“Remy, what did you make?” Hamilton asked as Lorenz cut the first taco into thirds.
“The filling,” he said.
“What’s in them?” Pete asked.
“Shrimp and andouille, lime crusted tilapia and Portobello mushrooms Vera Cruz style.”
“Sounds interesting,” Lorenz said. “We are going to taste now.”
All three men sampled the tacos and Staci felt her heart in her throat as she waited for them to give their critique. She’d tried the food. She knew that she and Remy had put together a good dish but now she was so nervous. She reached over and grabbed his wrist, as the silence seemed to grow.
Hamilton glanced at Lorenz and than at Pete.
