But the kitchen stole the show—gleaming countertops, polished wood, well-used pots and pans hanging within easy reach. It was a space that begged to be cooked in, and watching Jack move through it was like watching an artist in his element.
He pulled out ingredients like it was second nature, spreading them on the counter. “How do you feel about frittatas?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder like he hadn’t just caught her staring at the flex of his bicep.
“I love them,” she replied. “I once built a whole pitch around the rise of fancy brunch bowls. Frittatas are like the gateway drugs to bougie Sunday mornings.”
Jack paused, clearly impressed. “Lolly said you worked at a food magazine.”
“I’m a food trend forecaster,” she explained, leaning against the counter. “Or was. I helped restaurants predict what people would be craving next season. Matcha everything, sweet-potato cocktails. That kind of thing. You name it, I pitched it.” Her smile faltered. “But, uh, then I lost my job. Long story. Messy ending.” She reached for a cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth before he could ask more. “Anyway. Carry on, Chef. I’m just here to critique your food.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Jack’s grin was infectious and, for a moment, everything else melted away. She was just a girl, watching a boy cook, wondering how someone could make the simple act of whisking eggs look so attractive.
The next hour passed in a blur of chopping, stirring, and banter that danced on the edge of flirtation. Jack moved with casual confidence through the kitchen, tossing out instructions like he was narrating a cooking show just for her. The smell alone was enough to weaken her resolve. Cora hadn’t thought bacon and sauteed onions were an aphrodisiac, but they were tempting enough to have her making a mental note to add them to her next Valentine’sDay forecast. By the time Jack slid a plate in front of her, her sides ached from laughter and her stomach growled in anticipation.
She didn’t even pretend to wait. The frittata was golden on top, the edges were crisp, and the inside was flecked with green herbs and pockets of melted cheese. He’d added a handful of arugula tossed in lemon, and a thick piece of toast he’d griddled in the same pan he used for the bacon.
She took a bite, then stilled, a moan of appreciation slipping out. “Okay,” she said after a beat. “That’s annoyingly good.”
Jack grinned, settling onto the chair next to her with his plate. “Annoyingly?”
“Because now I have to admit you’ve got skills. Part of me was hoping you’d be bad at this.”
“I’m bad at a lot of things,” he said. “Breakfast isn’t one of them.”
“You should put that on your résumé.”
He took a bite, then nodded toward her plate. “Lolly used to make something like this, didn’t she?”
Cora nodded. “Hers had sweet potatoes and thyme. She called it her ‘clean out the fridge’ special.”
“I found the recipe scrawled on the back of a grocery list. There weren’t any measurements, of course. Just reminders to use the good cheese and add a handful of whatever herbs were on hand.”
“Sounds about right. Except with biscuits. Those she treated like gospel.”
“Rightfully so,” Jack said. “She kept that recipe locked up tight.”
They ate for a moment in comfortable silence.
“I’ve been digging through some of her old notebooks,” he said quietly. “There’s real magic in them. Recipes. Notes. Memories. The Spoon meant so much to all of us.”
“Maybe the new owners will use some of the recipes.”
His grin faded. “Right. Because you’re still planning to sell.”
“I still need the money,” she said, setting her fork down a little harder than necessary. “And you still want to play chef in a place I’m trying to unload as quickly as possible.”
Jack tilted his head, voice cooling. “Funny. For someone so eager to leave, you’re awfully involved all of a sudden.”
“Well,” she said carefully, “I actually came here to ask for your help.”
He blinked, then laughed. “That’s rich. You want me tohelp yousell the café?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, I thought?—”
“Not a chance. I’m not helping you kill the one good thing this town has left.”
They stared at each other, the warmth between them gone in an instant.
