Could this be the same person?
One way to find out. “Ava?” he called across the room. She looked up and met his eye. Guilt immediately filled her gaze. Ducking her head, she furiously chopped at another onion.
His heart rate spiked.
He stalked to her bench.
“Ava Harper?” He pitched his voice low even though he wanted to howl. “You are Ava Harper, right?” She nodded. “I knew I knew you from somewhere.”
She paled. “I don’t?—”
“Stop.” He clenched his fist and tapped it on his thigh. One. Two. Three. Four. Keep it conversational, no need to involve the whole class in his business.
Ava opened her mouth. Closed it.
“Trying to tank this job for me like you torpedoed my restaurant? Why are you here?”
She put a fisted hand to her hip. “I would tell you if you’d let me get a word in.”
A burning began in his belly. “Just answer the question.”
“I didn’t even know you were going to be here.” She looked down at the workbench, then picked up her knife and began chopping again. “I signed up for the class, but it didn’t say who the instructor would be. I didn’t even know you lived here.”
He barked out a laugh. “That’s rich. Are you trying to make sure I never work again? To humiliate me with your skills?”
She set her knife on the bench with a slap. He winced. Expensive knives shouldn’t be manhandled like that.
She jabbed him in the sternum with her pointer finger. On second thought, he was glad she’d put down the knife. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, Mr. Almighty Chef. No. I didn’t follow you here to make you lose your job. Get over yourself. That thing in Seattle was six years ago.Six years.” She snapped her mouth shut and glanced past him.
Zach looked around.
Oh.
Nine pairs of eyes had turned in their direction. RJ stood mid-chop, mouth open. A few of the bachelorettes giggled.
He unclenched his fist and forced a smile. “Sorry, everyone. Sorry. I got a little carried away. Won’t happen again.” The class dropped their gazes and busied themselves with their work again. “Lea.” He put a hard emphasis on her fake name, careful to keep his voice down so only she could hear him. “I should make you show us how to sauté our mirepoix for our first sauce.”
She mumbled a response.
He looked at her. “What was that?”
“I don’t know how to do that.” Her voice was still only a little above a whisper.
He crossed his arms. “I don’t believe you. Aren’t your parents chefs? I saw them on that luxury yacht show. I looked them up after they started sharing all your stuff on social media.” She nodded. “Don’t you write a very successful column in the newspaper not only critiquing restaurants but also telling everyone else how to cook?”
She nodded again. Squared her shoulders. “But I never learned how to do it.”
He glanced around the room again. No one was paying attention to them. He kept his voice low. “So, you’re telling me you have enough pull to land a job at theSeattle Courierbut you don’t know how to cook?” The woman was unbelievable. “Why should anyone ever read your work or trust your opinion?”
She pulled herself together. “Please, keep your voice down.” Her eyes pleaded with him.
“Of course, we wouldn’t want anyone knowing you’re a fraud.” She couldn’t be serious right now, could she? “It’s okay for you to ruin my life, but I should protect yours?” As he spoke, the voice of his Uncle Bryan rang through his mind.Real menprotect the people around them.Sorry, Uncle Bryan. He didn’t think he could manage that with Ava-slash-Lea. Not after she’d taken down his restaurant and all his savings with it.
Her eyes flashed with hurt. Shoot. Regret curled through him. He should apologize. Be a better man.
“Lea, I?—”
She spoke at the same time. “It wasn’t like that. I?—”
