Sweeter With You Read online

  59 2”Hey,” he said. “Right on time. Come on in.”

  She did as he requested, trying not to let him know that her tummy suddenly felt weird and she couldn’t say why. There were flutterings and odd zings of electricity. Had she eaten some bad fish?

  “Hi.” She stepped past him and shrugged out of her coat. “Great place. So is it all yours? What about a roommate? A girlfriend? Because working with you is one thing, but working with a cast of thousands isn’t possible.”

  His dark gaze settled on her face. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Oh. Are you sure? Because you always did. Constantly. It was a steady stream of women.”

  That half smile appeared. “I’ve grown up since then.”

  An intriguing statement that told her exactly nothing, she thought in frustration. Which was just so like him.

  Determined not to give him the satisfaction of asking or acting as if she cared, she dropped her coat and bag on the bench in the foyer and walked into the small house.

  The view from the living room stretched all the way to the end of the valley, but what really caught her attention was the huge kitchen. She stumbled toward it, drawn by deep sinks, plenty of counter space and a six-burner stove. There were two ovens, a warming drawer and a knife collection that nearly had her drooling with envy.

  “Wow,” she said, turning in a slow circle. “I mean wow.”

  There were racks and lots of cabinets and a double pantry. To the left, one section of countertop was done in marble. The cool, smooth surface was perfect for rolling out dough and making cookies. Through the glass door of the top oven, she saw a rotisserie. While she loved her little trailer kitchen, comparing this to that was like comparing truffle oil to cooking spray.

  Greg leaned against the door frame, his broad shoulders filling the space. “I did some remodeling before I moved in. I still have to get to the bathroom.”

  “Who cares about a bathroom?” she told him. “Or furniture. For a kitchen like this, I would be willing to sit on crates and sleep on the floor.”

  “No need for that. I have a bed.”

  A comment that caused the fluttering inside to increase for a second before she decided to ignore the sensation.

  He pushed off the door frame and walked toward the dining alcove. She saw that he’d placed a couple of folders and an open bottle of wine on the butcher-block table.

  “Shall we?” he asked, holding out a chair.

  “Sure.”

  She took the seat he offered, then nodded when he held up the wine bottle. Maybe sipping the excellent cabernet would settle her nerves. It wasn’t that she was nervous, she told herself. This was a new situation—that was all. She was being forced to share her dream. That would be uncomfortable for anyone. Her fluttery tummy had nothing to do with being around Greg.

  He sat across from her and picked up his glass of wine. “To the Fool’s Gold Cookbook,” he said, touching his glass to hers.

  Before she could respond, he chuckled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this. After all these years.” He shrugged. “I still remember the first time I saw you. We’d just moved to town. I was seven and I didn’t know anyone. My mom told me I should sign up for the second-grade play as a way to make new friends. I walked into tryouts and there you were. All blond curls and big eyes.”

  He sipped his wine. “I went home and told my mother I’d fallen in love.”

  Ana Raquel felt herself blink. “With me?”

  “Yup. When I was picked to be Prince Charming, I knew it was meant to be.” He smiled again. “Of course, I was only seven.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANA RAQUEL HAD no idea what she was supposed to say to Greg’s confession. Not that his feelings for her when he’d been seven had anything to do with what was happening today, but still. She stared blindly at the folders on the table.

  “We, ah, should talk about the cookbook,” she murmured.

  “Good idea.”

  While he fanned out pages, she went back to the foyer to get her notebook out of her bag.

  “I thought we’d divide the cookbook into seasons,” she told him. “That way people can simply flip to the time of year and buy whatever is fresh and local.”

  Greg’s expression turned smug as he passed her his notes. The first page was a division of the cookbook into seasons.

  “We think alike,” he told her. “Interesting. I thought we should divide each season into everyday recipes and those for special events. Like brunches or parties.”

  “Celebrations,” she said.

  “Right.” He flipped through her pages. “Like this one. Birthday Party Banana Layer Cake. That’s spring.”

  “And Celebrations,” she added.

  “Exactly.” He studied what she’d written. “You have too many salads. I like a salad as much as the next guy—”

  “Which means not at all.”

  He chuckled. “They have their place, but we need more substantial food. Chili or some casseroles. People in town are always bringing each other casseroles.”

  “And if it were a chili casserole it would be perfect?”

  “You’re reading my mind.”

  “You’re such a guy,” she told him. “I suppose you’re also going to tell me there should be plenty of pies in the book?”

  “Sure. Who doesn’t love pie?”

  He was less intense than she remembered. The Greg she’d known had been one determined soul. He’d run his bid to be student council president with a focus that would have left a national campaign manager envious. She had wanted to win, too, but she’d also made time for her friends and her family.

  “How many hours a week do you work?” she asked.

  “Sixty, maybe seventy.”

  “No wonder there’s no girlfriend. Life is more than what we make in the kitchen.”

  “You really believe that?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and picking up his wine.

  “Sure. Mostly.” She laughed. “Okay, not always, but it’s important to have balance.”

  “I’m into balance. I’d like to have someone in my life, but finding the right girl isn’t as easy as it sounds.” He shrugged. “I have very specific wants.”

  She took in the handsome face, the long, lean body. “There have to be plenty of volunteers.”

  “Some.”

  “Many.”

  “I have a type.”

  “Which is?”

  “Funny, pretty, creative.” He put down his wine. “Ana Raquel, we have to talk about the elephant in the room.”

  Elephant? There was no elephant. He couldn’t possibly mean... Only, staring at his face, she knew he could and he did. “Prom?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Prom night,” he correctly gently.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ANA RAQUEL’S WARM, relaxed feeling faded as heat burned on her cheeks. Was he kidding? There was no way she wanted to talk about that night. She’d been so determined to tell him exactly what she thought of him, only to end up giving him her virginity in a hotel room. Worse, she’d realized that she might have feelings for the one guy who’d made her totally crazy. And not in a good way. That wasn’t the sort of thing she was likely to reminisce fondly about.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “You seem upset.”

  “I’m not.” At least she wouldn’t be when they stopped talking about that night. Because she couldn’t explain what had happened. One second she’d been yelling and then they’d been kissing and then...

  The thing was, she wasn’t that kind of girl. She’d never been serious about a boy in high school. There had been too many other things to do. Besides, bei
ng annoyed with Greg had taken all her emotional energy.

  Since then, no one had really captured her attention. After having lost her virginity so foolishly, she was determined to be more careful the next time. No doubt he was happy to jump from bed to bed. It wasn’t as if she’d been his first. If she had been, he wouldn’t have been able to figure out how inexperienced she was. Yet another humiliating moment he had to answer for.

  “Ana Raquel? We have to talk about it. I tried to talk to you afterward, but you’d left town. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  He was going to keep talking, she thought frantically. Talking and talking and she couldn’t stand that. There was no way she was going to talk about that night. Not now, not ever. Her choices seemed to be either figuring out how to shut him up or bolting. And since they still had a cookbook to organize, she decided to shut him up.

  She made sure she wasn’t in danger of knocking over her wine, then reached for the front of Greg’s shirt. She grabbed the soft fabric with both hands, pulled him to her and pressed her mouth to his.

  They’d kissed before, she thought hazily, feeling the warmth of his mouth on hers and the way his arms came around her. But that had been different. More frantic.

  This kiss was soft. He had an air of patience about him. As if they had all the time in the world. His strong arms drew her close. They were sitting in chairs, so there was no way for that to happen. Still, the pressure was insistent, so she unexpectedly found herself standing.

  He rose, as well, which meant he was now a lot taller than she was. She had to tilt her head back and then raise herself up on her tiptoes. But it was worth it. Because kissing Greg was like tasting the first maple syrup of the season. Sweet and filled with promise.

  It was a good kiss, she thought, her eyes fluttering closed. The kind of kiss that changed a woman’s perspective about nearly everything. It was a kiss that could make her want to dream about possibilities. About—

  No, she thought, pulling back in a panic. This was Greg Clary, her nemesis. She might not hate him, but she really, really disliked him. They couldn’t kiss. This was a kiss-free project.

  She stared at him for a second. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say, she didn’t want to hear. She bolted from the room, raced to the foyer, where she grabbed her coat and her bag, and then she was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DESPITE THE SHORTER days and cooler temperatures, Ana Raquel was still busy through lunch in her trailer. She’d found a spot that attracted good foot traffic and didn’t offend any of the already established restaurants in town. As she scooped out another serving of Mushroom and Three-Cheese Lasagna, she wondered what she was going to do with herself when the weather got really cold. No one was going to dash out to eat at a street cart when it was close to freezing and damp.

  She had already made arrangements to store the trailer, but she was more worried about herself. Should she look for a job in town? Leave and head south? Backpack through Europe? While backpacking across the continent sounded like fun, she didn’t have the money. Besides, she had a cookbook to work on. Which meant that getting a job locally was her best option.

  Without wanting to, she remembered her brief evening with Greg two nights before. They were supposed to have talked about the cookbook. Unfortunately, fate in the form of a yummy kiss had intervened. She still wasn’t sure what to do about that. Should she talk about what had happened or simply pretend everything was normal between them?

  “This is probably stupid.”

  Exactly what she was thinking, Ana Raquel thought, only she hadn’t spoken. She glanced at her next customer, then smiled when she recognized Dakota Hendrix—one of the Hendrix triplets. Only she was Dakota Andersson now. Like all her sisters, she’d married and started a family. The circle of life, Ana Raquel thought wistfully. She wanted to be in a circle, too.

  Dakota held out the sheet of paper in her hand.

  “What is stupid?” Ana Raquel asked. “Because if you’re thinking you want to save room for a muffin with your lunch, you’re right. I have two choices today and they’re both great.”

  Dakota, a pretty blonde with a toddler on her hip, laughed. “I meant this.”

  She held out the paper. Ana Raquel took it and studied the recipe. It was for roast chicken and mashed potatoes. A seemingly simple dish made delicious with a few key ingredients.

  “I heard about the cookbook,” Dakota told her. “That you wanted people to volunteer recipes. This isn’t that fancy...”

  “Stop!” Ana Raquel shook the paper. “This is exactly what I’m looking for. Thank you.”

  Dakota ordered lunch, then took her food and stepped away.

  Ana Raquel glanced at her watch. It was nearly time for her to close. She was going to miss her customers, she thought as she turned back to start cleaning up her kitchen.

  “Any chimichangas left?”

  She looked up and saw Greg standing at the open door of her trailer. The sun was behind him, putting him in silhouette. The second she recognized him, her heart began a strange kind of two-step. Part anticipation, part need to sputter and apologize. Because the last time she’d seen Greg, they’d been kissing. Well, technically she’d been running, but only after the kissing.

  She forced herself to pretend a calm she didn’t feel as she put the last chimichanga on a plate. He took it and settled at the small table in the trailer. As if he belonged there.

  “We never did get a schedule together for working on the cookbook,” he said as he unwrapped a plastic fork. “We’ll need several meetings to cull the recipes, then some time in the kitchen to try each one. I’m thinking we’ll need around a hundred and fifty in total. What do you think?”

  She thought he was amazingly cool and collected, considering the whole kissing thing. He was sitting there, eating, as if their lips had never touched.

  “A hundred and fifty sounds right,” she said at last, because she wasn’t going to bring up the you-know-what.

  “I’m working most nights at the restaurant,” he said, when he’d chewed and swallowed. “Delicious, by the way.” He pointed his fork at the chimichanga. “Just the right spices. We should put this in the book.”

  “Thanks. Sure. I have a list of street food I thought would be good.” She cautiously sat across from him. “I’m going to be closing down the trailer in the next couple of weeks. Once that happens, we can start testing the recipes. If we have our list of maybes together by then, we can be ready to start cooking.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Want to use my kitchen?”

  She was nervous about going back to his house, but her kitchen was the size of a shoebox, and, while the trailer kitchen was pretty sweet, it wasn’t exactly built for two.

  “Sure.”

  “What time are you done here?” he asked.

  “About two or two-thirty.”

  “Do you mind coming by the restaurant after that? I can start my prep work early so we have an hour or so to go through the recipes.”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard good things about your place,” she admitted. “People really like the food.”

  “I’m enjoying the work and being creative. But it’s a lot of work. More than I expected.” His expression turned rueful. “My uncle warned me that being my own boss was harder than I thought. He was right.” His gaze turned intense. “What are you going to do when you shut down the trailer for the season? I could use someone like you at the restaurant.”

  Work for Greg? Could she? Did she want to? She had no idea if their styles would be similar. Besides, this was Greg. They weren’t friends. They were...

  She realized she no longer thought of him as someone she had to best. That in the years since she’d last seen him, he’d become a great guy. Or maybe he’d always been great, but
she’d been too busy—

  There was a monstrous crash as something collided with the entire trailer, which shuddered and leaned distinctly to the left. The walls shook and Ana Raquel was nearly thrown from her seat. Greg was out of his chair and pulling her close before she’d even caught her breath. Outside, someone screamed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GREG GRABBED ANA RAQUEL by the hand and led her out of the trailer. They turned and saw that a large SUV had backed into the front corner of the trailer. The outside was ripped and cracked, but more upsetting was the big buckle in the frame.

  Ana Raquel pulled free of his hold and moved toward the damage. A man in his thirties jumped out of the SUV and hurried over.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with anguish. “I have allergies. I sneezed and my foot slipped and I hit the gas instead of the brake. Are you okay?” He barely stopped speaking for Ana Raquel’s nod. “I have insurance. I’m going to call my agent right now.”

  He pulled out a card from his wallet and started to dial on his cell.

  The rational side of her brain knew that the trailer could be fixed. That while the frame damage meant more time in the shop, nothing was irreparable. But her heart whimpered about another truth—that by the time the repairs were done, the street food season would be over. Instead of ending things with a fun weeklong party of different dishes, as she’d planned, she would be forced to simply call it a season.

  A crowd began to gather. This was Fool’s Gold and everyone’s business was fair game. There was also plenty of concern as people she knew hurried forward to make sure she was okay.

  “We weren’t hurt,” Greg said, moving close and lightly putting his hand on her shoulder. “We were in the trailer when it happened. It rocked some, but we’re fine.”

  Ana Raquel nodded because she was afraid that if she started to speak, she would begin to cry. She told herself that one great summer was enough. That she would have the trailer back for next year.

  Greg shifted his hand so he had his arm around her. When the tourist who had backed into her started giving her his insurance info, Greg was the one who wrote it down. When the tow truck showed up, he helped her make sure all the propane lines were turned off, and together they packed up the perishables. Less than an hour later, Ana Raquel watched as her dream was towed away.