Matched to the Mountain Man (Seeking Curves), page 1
Matched to the Mountain Man
Seeking Curves
Frankie Love
Contents
Matched to the Mountain Man
1. Truett
2. Story
3. Truett
4. Story
5. Truett
6. Story
7. Truett
8. Story
9. Truett
10. Story
11. Truett
12. Story
13. Truett
14. Story
15. Truett
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Seeking Curves
About Frankie
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Copyright © 2021 by Frankie Love
Cover By Lori Jackson
Edited by Happily Ever Author
Proofread By Norma’s Nook Proofreading
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Matched to the Mountain Man
Series Title: Seeking Curves
By Frankie Love
At the height of my career, I left the bullshit of the culinary world.
Best decision I ever made.
But hell, I miss the food. A chef at heart, sometimes I really crave a good meal. And after three years in the mountain, I’m damn near starved.
So when I hear about Perfect Pair – the hottest, most secretive dinner experience in LA – I must get a table.
Trouble is, the reservation requires an interview. A convincing display of perfection between two people.
I hire a matchmaker for one reason and one reason only: I need a dinner date that can pull off this meal.
When Story Cook arrives as my plus one, I’m sure this dating service is worth the hefty price tag. She’s a delight from head to toe.
Curvy, cute – and while I usually prefer savory to sweet – I want nothing more than to eat this cupcake.
Lick her, too.
But when Story hears about my little plan, she’s pissed.
This isn’t a game to her. She doesn’t care about dinner.
This woman? She’s wants forever.
Me? I’m a mountain man who can’t commit.
How many courses does this prix fixe meal have?
Someone’s got to change their mind if they want dessert.
Get Matched in September.
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1
Truett
My phone rings, waking me up. Seeing it's my mother, I pick it up off my nightstand.
Yes, I may be an asshole, but I don't ignore my mother's phone calls. That has to count for something, right?
"Hello?" Blurry-eyed, I sit up, my feet touching the hardwood floor of my cabin nestled in the foothills of Big Bear Mountain.
"Truett? Honey, you should be up by now. It's nearly seven o'clock."
"Mom, seven o'clock in the morning does not mean I should be up by now."
"I know dear, but the early bird gets the worm."
"Mom, I'm not looking for any worms."
"What are you doing though, sweetheart? I worry about you. I was thinking, maybe I should come for a visit."
"A visit?" I croak, rubbing my eyes. Coffee. I need coffee for this conversation. Outside, I see it's going to be a gorgeous fucking day like every one out here. It's a goddamn paradise. "Mom, did you call for something? It's really fucking early."
"Language, Truett."
"You kidding me?"
"No," she says, "well, maybe. I don't know. Honey, I was thinking I should come see you. I just worry about you out there all alone."
"I've been out here for three years, Mom. It's not like this is something new."
"I know, but I thought I could make you a good homecooked meal. When's the last time you've had someone cook for you?"
"It's been a while," I say, as I begin to prepare a pot of coffee. Basic black coffee. Sure, I like a fancy dinner, but my morning joe? Basic, simple medium-ground filtered coffee.
"You know, everyone's been buzzing about this new restaurant in LA. Have you heard of it? Perfect Pair?"
"Yeah, Mom. I've heard of it. Everyone’s been talking about it."
"Oh, so you are talking to people, just not your mother?"
"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"
"Sure, you are, but–"
"Mom, really?"
"Well, who were you talking to about the restaurant?"
"Not talking, I guess,” I clarify. “I was just reading about it. You know, food blogs, the internet, news sources."
"Well, I heard it was supposed to be a really secretive place."
"Not so secret if you're reading about it in Colorado and I'm reading about it out here in the woods."
"I suppose not. Well, what if we got a reservation, you and me? Wouldn't that be so fun? We could get a table and I could fly down and you could drive in and we could have a little dinner date. Mother-son bonding. It's been a long time, True. I miss you, baby."
"You really don't need to call me baby. I'm nearing 30."
"I know, your birthday is in a month. Should we do something? Take a trip? Maybe Sedona? You know, I heard Arizona is a really great place to meet single women."
"You're looking to meet single women?" I ask, deadpanned. God if she could see my face.
She cackles. "Truett, you know what? I'm getting too old for this. I need grandchildren and I need them now."
I chuckle. "Mom, I know you do, but I'm really not in a place to settle down and knock up some single Arizonian woman."
"Oh, True. All I have is your poor father and he's working all the time. Besides, this place is too big for just the two of us."
"You could sell the house, Mom. Why don't you move somewhere smaller, closer to me?"
"Everywhere's expensive in California. And we love living in the Rocky Mountains. It’s where we’ve always lived, out here on the river. It’s where your father and I grew up, we love how peaceful it is."
I understand, I love their property, and would hate the thought of them selling. It’s nestled next to a big river, where my dad goes fishing, and my mom has a big garden. It was living out there, in nature, that I learned techniques that helped propel me to fame, making me a “mountain man chef”.
"You could always move to Arizona," I tell her, humoring her. God, I love my mother, but she does drive me insane.
This woman, though, she's the one who knocked sense into me three years ago when I was on the edge of collapse, working myself into the ground and for what?
I wasn't happy. I was miserable. Living a life I never wanted.
Opening restaurants left and right, writing cookbooks. I was making television appearances, late-night shows, daytime shows. I was on the covers of magazines. At 23, I was allegedly the hottest thing the food industry had ever seen.
By 26, I could do anything I wanted. But what I really wanted was a break. I needed one. I couldn't take it. It wasn't that I was weak or that I didn't have the ability to just go, go, go, but I didn't want to. I never wanted all that fame and attention. I wanted to go to culinary school to make a fine-ass steak.
I learned how to make it. I just never intended to make an entire empire out of it.
Mom, though, she knew before I realized what was happening. She made sure I got some help before I fucking collapsed.
I owe that woman everything. But it doesn't mean she should call me at 7:00 AM.
"Look, I haven't even had a cup of coffee. We're not going to Arizona for my birthday and we couldn't go to Perfect Pair together even if we wanted to, which is a bummer. Because I would have loved to be your date.”
She laughs. "True, sometimes I don't know when you're joking and when you're being serious."
"I'm being dead serious, Mother. I would love to go to a romantic dinner with you in LA."
"True, that's why I love you. You are the best son."
"I'm your only son, your only child, actually. If you want to come visit me here, that would be great. And honestly, if you want me to come see you in Colorado for my birthday, I'll make it happen. I love you, Mom."
I could practically hear her beaming. "Oh, True, you mean it?"
"I don't want to let you down."
"You really should go to Perfect Pair,” she says. “If you won't go to Arizona to find a single lady, maybe you should go to LA and just eat with a friend if not your mother."
"That's not how that restaurant works."
"No? How does it work?"
"It's a whole thing, Mom. Didn’t you read the articles? You have to make a reservation, but in order to get a table, you have to pass an interview to prove that you and your date are compatible. The food is prepared with true compatibility in mind and the ambience requires complete and utter tranquility."
"Do you believe that?" Mom asks. "Do you believe that food pairings and mood are simpatico?"
I laugh, pouring my coffee. "I don't know. I mean, it is a little woo-woo, right?"
"I don't know," Mom says. "It could be real. The whole restaurant could be very lovely, I suppose. Maybe your father and I should go."
I chuckle. "Sure, Mom." I try to go easy on her, but it's hard. My dad would never set foot at that restaurant. He prefers trout fishing and foraging for mushrooms, grilling out on the deck. He's not going to go to a Michelin restaurant that requires a pre-dining interview. No way.
"You're probably right. That was ridiculous of me to suggest. Well, anyways, we have reservations at the club this weekend."
I chuckle. "I'm not sure I could get a table anyhow."
"Maybe not," Mom says. "Sounds like you have to have a perfect pair in order to go."
"That's true," I say, running my hand over my jaw, "but damn, I really want to try the food. I want to experience this perfect pairing. I mean, does the perfect pairing really give you a better dining experience?"
Mom laughs. "Oh, True, I haven't heard you this excited in three years. When's the last time you've even considered food pairings?"
"Mom, don't get any ideas in your head. You sound a little too excited yourself."
"Well, it's only 7:15 and listen to you, dear."
"Mom, it must be the coffee kicking in. It's a new blend."
"Did you order it or did you go to the actual grocery store to get it?"
"I ordered it. I don't go to the store for anything, you know that."
"I worry about you, True. I think you need to get out more. If not Arizona, somewhere. Surely you can find a date."
"In the woods?" I ask, looking out my kitchen window. There’s not a single soul, a single car, a single house as far as the eye can see. "I'm not sure that's going to happen out here."
"Well," Mom says, "maybe you need a change of scenery, Truett."
"I told you, I'm going to come visit you for my birthday."
"I know, but maybe you shouldn't wait a month. Maybe you should find a date and go to this restaurant."
"You think so?"
"I'm usually right about these things, sweetheart. I think you need to go get a meal at a restaurant. I think you need an excuse to put on a nice outfit and go sit down and have some wine poured for you."
"Mom, I think you're pushing it."
She laughs. "Oh, you're probably right, True. You know best."
"Right," I say, doubting my own words. Love you."
"Love you too, True."
I end the call and I pour another cup of coffee. Reaching for my iPad, I pull up the morning news, flipping to the food and wine tab for the LA Times.
Of course, one of the articles is on Perfect Pair, another glowing, mouth-watering review.
I swear, every damn day there's a new one.
Boasting the delectable meals that this restaurant serves, and all of it sounds really fucking good.
Not to mention, the pairings truly do sound perfect. My stomach growls.
I look around my empty cabin. It may be beautiful, but it is lonely.
I'm hungry. Lonely and hungry.
I shake my head, setting down my cup of coffee.
Where the hell do I find a date in these woods?
2
Story
"Really?" I say into my phone. The matchmaking service I hired finally called with good news,
I'm pacing my apartment. Well, more accurately, jumping up and down. It's hard to stay still and contain my excitement. I have been waiting for a match for weeks, ever since I bit the bullet and forked over the majority of my life savings, which I know may not be the most typical investment for a 23-year-old woman in Los Angeles, which is yes, a very expensive city.
But I am not a typical 23-year-old. I am an entrepreneur. I am a go-getter. I am recklessly, ridiculously, hopelessly ready for the next chapter of my life to start.
I know, I know. There's no reason to rush my way to the altar. And there is no guarantee of a happily-ever-after with a white picket fence and 2.5 children.
But I want to try.
That might be in part because I had a not-so-perfect childhood. A broken family is the nice way of saying it. And it also might be because I watched way too many romantic comedies growing up.
I want a chance at that sort of happiness, the kind of happiness that comes from a stable family. I want to be a mom.
That's why I became a baker in the first place.
Sure, that might be a little ridiculous – to choose a career based on wanting to make your unborn child birthday cakes. But that is exactly what I did.
I thought, "When I grow up, I am going to be a mom who makes birthday cakes," because that was not the kind of mom I had.
The mom I had didn't even remember my birthday.
So I thought, "When I'm grown up and have children, I'm going to make birthday cakes that they remember." Then I thought, "Well, maybe I could go to college and I could learn how to make really, really good birthday cakes." And so that's what I did.
I put myself through pastry school with scholarships that I got from Rotary clubs and the local offerings that my high school guidance counselor pushed me toward. And thankfully, because I didn't exactly have much in the way of financial aid, I took advantage of each and every opportunity that came my way.
So with my pastry chef degree in hand, I have now prepared myself for the next phase of life.
I can make a really, really good cake, the best birthday cake you've ever seen.
It's pretty much my specialty.
Problem is, I don't have those children yet, to make them for, so I am making them for TikTok.
Yes, my fanbase is small, but it's growing. And, oops...
"Sorry?" Helena says through speakerphone. "Are you still there?"
"Right! I'm here, I'm here," I say. "Yes, I'm here. I'm sorry. I was just kind of lost in my own imagination."
"Right. I remember that from your intake, that you tend to get swept away sometimes."
"I do. I was just excited. So you found me matches?"
"Yep, three. As you might remember from the intake, we make three different matches. If you want to come into the office, we can do it that way, or we can just do this over the phone right now. What works best for you?"
"Well, considering the time of day, it'd probably be better to just do it over the phone, so I don't have to deal with traffic and the bus schedule or Uber. Man, have you been in an Uber lately? Because the prices are just surging."
Helena laughs. "Actually, I haven't been in an Uber in a while."
I groan. "Right, of course. You probably have like a private driver or something?"
"Something like that," Helena says. I hear her nails click-clacking over a keyboard.
I pour myself a cold brew from my refrigerator, topping it off with half-and-half and a pump of vanilla syrup. I add in some ice cubes and a pink straw and swirl it around before forcing myself to sit down on a chair at my kitchen table. With a notepad and a pen in hand, I'm ready.
"So, my matches?" I say.
"Right," Helena says. "I’m sure you remember filling out a very detailed form, asking you all sorts of questions?"
I laugh, remembering the embarrassing ones. "Right, I remember the questions."
"And so we've matched you with three people, rating them from most compatible to least. Would you like to hear all three?"
"Honestly?" I say. "I mean, sure, but I really only need the most compatible because I'm really interested in this for a true, forever match. Like the match-match."
"A match-match, right," Helena says.
It's hard to know if she's being condescending or completely genuine, but in this moment, I don't care. I'm going for genuine, because I just need this to happen. I am ready for my true love, happily-ever-after, the man-of-my-dreams match. I am ready for the next chapter of my life to start.
