Love in the Morning, page 14
The dining room was full, and her bed was empty. Situation depressingly normal.
The omelet line stretched a little farther than usual today. She slid a bacon and mushroom creation onto a plate and passed it to the man in front of her.
“Do you have poached eggs for the hash?”
The voice came from behind her. Lizzy glanced over her shoulder at a remarkably well-dressed diner. Of course in Salt Box “well dressed” was a relative term. Khakis and a button-down shirt were almost formal wear. “Pardon?”
“Poached eggs,” he repeated. “Are there any poached eggs for the hash?”
Poached eggs? Are you freakin’ kidding me? She managed to push her lips into something that resembled a smile. “Nope, sorry. I can fry you an egg if you like, after I finish these omelets.” She nodded toward the increasing line of omelet customers.
The customer almost looked like he was pouting. His lower lip extended slightly. “No, I really had my taste buds all set for poached.”
For a moment she considered asking Desi to try poaching him one, but the possibilities for disaster were too great. She’d be willing to bet Desi had never poached an egg in his life. “Sorry,” she said again, “we just don’t have them.”
The customer’s pout became more pronounced, and he gave a noticeable sigh as he turned back to the buffet line. Did he actually think she might go back to the kitchen and poach him one while the omelet customers waited? So not going to happen.
She turned back to the next omelet customer, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. “What can I fix for you, sir?”
“How about bacon and mushroom?” He extended his plate as if he expected her to conjure one out of thin air.
She managed to keep her smile in place as she picked up her pot of melted butter. “Coming up.”
Eight omelets later she glanced up to see Clark standing at her elbow. He looked remarkably tense.
“What was that all about?” he asked in a low voice.
“What was what all about?” She handed a spinach-and-parmesan omelet to the last person in line.
“The guy with the hash. What did he want?”
The guy with the hash? It took her a moment to remember. “Oh. He wanted a poached egg, but we don’t have any. I offered to fry him one, but he said he wanted poached.”
If anything, Clark’s expression became even more tense. “Do we ever have poached eggs?”
Lizzy shook her head, frowning. “There doesn’t seem to be that much demand for them. Why?”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I think those three guys may be judges for Best of the Box.”
“Judges?” Her heart suddenly seemed to have turned to lead. “Well, crap.”
He shook his head, giving her a smile so false it made her teeth ache. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe I’m wrong. They might be insurance salesmen or something. Besides, even if we don’t do poached eggs, the rest of the buffet rocks.”
“Right.” She figured her own smile was probably a close copy of his. All their work in coming up with a new menu, getting it up and running, and still they might lose over a poached egg. She took a quick breath, trying for clarity. “I’m willing to bet no other buffet offers poached eggs either. And I did offer to fry him one.”
Clark nodded. “You did. It’s probably okay.”
Two customers stepped in front of her, plates in hand. Omelet time. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure.” He gave her another one of those supremely phony smiles and turned away.
Great. Empty bed, crowded dining room, and fumbled contest. Lizzy felt like groaning. Instead, she grabbed a clean omelet pan and got to work.
*****
Clark told himself it didn’t matter. Repeatedly. The hotel would undoubtedly final in the Best Romantic Getaway category. They always did. He was probably over-reaching to even consider finaling in another category as well. And even if they didn’t place, they’d still gotten a brand-new menu out of the deal. And a brand-new chef.
He ran a hand through his hair. A brand-new chef he was sleeping with, or anyway, had slept with. Once. He sighed. He’d been sighing a lot over the last couple of days. Maybe he needed to get his shit together and stop avoiding Lizzy. Giving her space hadn’t seemed to work out for him. He didn’t know how well it had worked for her, but he sort of hoped she was feeling the same way he was—lonely.
It had now been two days since the guys he’d thought were judges for Best of the Box had wandered through. He’d hoped they might come back and try some of Lizzy’s other breakfast dishes—the pancakes were great, and he was getting used to the tacos, although he still wasn’t exactly sold. Even the creamed gravy on biscuits had had a lot of takers. He’d tried one himself, and he had to admit it was tasty. Of course he could also feel his arteries clogging as he chewed.
And her omelets continued to be celestial. He knew she’d suggested shutting down the omelet line at one point since it was labor intensive, but he considered it labor well spent. Who knew how many guys were showing up every morning just to watch Lizzy flip omelets out of pans?
Of course the idea of all those male eyes fastened on his chef made him feel sort of grumpy himself, but he knew he needed to get over it. If he wasn’t going to stake a claim, it stood to reason somebody else would.
He wondered if he was actually ready to stake a claim himself. He knew he should have an answer to that question, but he didn’t.
He spent the rest of the day in a lousy mood. Even though he knew he was right about Lizzy being a free agent, that didn’t mean he had to like it much. Around four, when he was up to his elbows in a proposal for a new set of winter packages, he got a call.
He checked the number. Crap.
“Hi, Lauren,” he said, trying for the right amount of nonchalance. “What’s up?”
“Hi.” Lauren didn’t sound any more enthusiastic than he did. “I just wanted to pass on some good news.”
He frowned, trying to remember if he had anything pending with the resort. He didn’t think so. “What good news is that?”
“Praeger House finaled in two categories for Best of the Box—romantic getaways and breakfast buffet. Congratulations.” For someone passing along great news, she sounded pretty unimpressed herself.
Clark didn’t care. The good news itself made up for any snottiness on Lauren’s part. “That’s great. How did you find out?”
“The resort association is running the competition this year. We’ll be sponsoring the big Taste of the Box after the finalists are announced. We’re doing it in conjunction with that Lovely Ladies reality show.”
“Oh, well, thanks for telling me.” He wondered if there was anything else he should say. How did you talk to somebody you used to have sex with after you’d dropped each other like a pair of hot potatoes?
“There’s some promo attached to this—pictures and a short description for the magazine. I’ll set up a time for the photographer to come around sometime this week.”
“Okay, great.” He felt like he was repeating himself, but he didn’t have much else to say.
“Talk to you later, then. Congrats.” Her disconnect snapped in his ear.
Clearly, Lauren wasn’t delighted to be the one who had to deal with him. But he didn’t give a rat’s ass.
He pushed up from his desk, heading for the door. He’d make a general announcement to the staff, but he wanted to tell Lizzy first.
He paused for a moment. Was this really the way he wanted to tell her? Pass on the news in the kitchen with Desi, Marco, Betsy and who the hell knew who else hanging around? An announcement like this deserved special treatment. And it might be the perfect opportunity to make up for all his idiocy over the past week.
He turned up the hall toward his apartment. Might as well get a few things ready first. Assuming, of course, Lizzy was amenable to a little celebration in honor of their success.
Or a lot of celebration. He was really hoping for a lot himself.
*****
Lizzy sent Desi home early after he’d mixed up all the muffins for the next day. His pumpkin spice still wasn’t quite right, but it was in the neighborhood. She bundled the last of the reserved muffins in plastic wrap and prepared to put them in the refrigerator case. And then she’d have to check over the leftovers in the refrigerator for her dinner. She was a little tired of hash, but it beat scrambled eggs.
She leaned into the sale case and started loading muffins onto one of the shelves. Christine, who ran the gift store, peered at her from behind her cash register. “What flavor this time?”
“These are raisin bran. All the other muffins got eaten at breakfast.” She finished loading the muffins and stood back to check the arrangement.
Behind her, Christine sighed. “No zucchini? The bran ones are good, don’t get me wrong, but those zucchini muffins are out of this world.”
Lizzy allowed herself a small grin. “Thanks. I’ll tell Desi you like them. Maybe we’ll make extra next time.”
“Yeah, even the guys from the risk assessment seminar love them.”
“Risk Assessment Seminar?” Lizzy cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds…boring.”
Christine grinned. “Those guys look as if boring is their native element. Who the hell wears khakis and button-downs in Salt Box?”
Lizzy lowered the tray slowly to her hip. “Khakis and button-downs. Those guys were here for a seminar?”
Christine nodded. “Yeah, but they’re gone now. I think it was just for a couple of days.” She picked up a bran muffin. “Oh well, I guess I’ll have to settle for healthy.”
Lizzy nodded, barely listening, then turned back to the dining room. So the judges weren’t actually the judges. She should have known. Who the hell wanted poached eggs on hash anyway? Fried eggs were the standard. She couldn’t decide if this was good news or bad news or just—news.
She opened the refrigerator door, peering at the few containers of leftovers. If worse came to worst, she could always make herself a sandwich.
She’d just picked up a box with a couple of servings of hash when the kitchen door swung open again. She turned to see Clark striding into the room he hadn’t visited for the past week.
Not since her other recent debacle—the date where she’d basically lost it over food safety. Lizzy closed her eyes for a moment. Good times, good times.
She managed to manufacture a more or less sincere smile as she turned to him. “Hi, what’s up?”
He folded his arms, leaning back against the counter. “Are you free for dinner?”
She managed not to stare at him. Dinner? You actually want to go out with me again? Her stomach promptly filled with fanged butterflies. “Sure, I guess.” She pushed the hash back into the refrigerator. She’d have it for breakfast tomorrow. “Let me get cleaned up and changed.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”
She glanced down at her scuffed sneakers and aged jeans. She really did need to do some shopping. “This isn’t exactly a going-out outfit.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on going out.”
Lizzy frowned. “Okay. So where are we going?”
“My place.” He pushed himself up from the counter, extending a hand in her direction.
His place. She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it sounded interesting. Of course it didn’t do much to calm the butterflies. She put her hand in his. “Are you cooking?”
He shrugged. “We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”
Celebrate? She bit her lip, as her pulse sped up. She was almost afraid to ask. “We did it?”
He nodded. “We did. You did, that is.”
She threw her arms around his neck, almost without thinking. Of course, she began to think as soon as she’d done it. Holy crap. And of course now she couldn’t jump back without seeming really weird. Just a friendly hug here, nothing to get excited about.
He patted her back a little awkwardly, then drew away slightly so that he could smile down at her. “Congratulations, Lizzy. You deserve it.”
“We deserve it,” she said firmly. “It was your idea.”
“It was.” He nodded. “Which is why you’re coming to dinner at my place. I may not be able to cook like you do, but I can give you dinner. And champagne.”
And afterward? But asking questions like that would just create problems. “Champagne sounds great. Lead on.”
Chapter Fourteen
Clark’s apartment was actually on the same floor as Lizzy’s, although at the opposite end of the hotel. It looked like he’d taken a couple of rooms that had been off by themselves and knocked them together into a single space. The room had an open floor plan—living room straight ahead, with the dining area near the windows at the side. The kitchen was set in an alcove across a tiled hall.
The furniture looked like the same stuff they had in the lobby, the same large overstuffed chairs and sofa, with rustic wood trim. The coffee table was beetle-kill pine. It was what was sitting on the table that caught her attention, however—a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket. And…a pizza box.
He shrugged a little apologetically. “I didn’t have time to order something from one of the fancy places up at the ski area so I went with Crostini’s pizza. At least it’s close.”
She grinned. “It’s fine. I love pizza.”
“Toasts first.”
He pulled the foil off the champagne and began working the cork loose. Lizzy felt like ducking. “You might want to do that with a towel.”
“Do what?”
“Take off the cork. Those things can come off with a bang.” She pulled a dishtowel off the rack near his kitchen sink, handing it to him.
He frowned. “So how am I supposed to do this?”
Hell, she’d probably bruised his masculine ego. Way to go, Lizzy. Great start for the evening. But now that she’d started there was no way to pull back. “Just put the towel over the cork and work it loose. That way the towel helps you catch it if the cork pops. And the champagne probably won’t go bubbling up if it does.”
After a moment he gave her a slow grin that made her toes curl slightly. “Nice. Wouldn’t want to lose any of this.”
“No, it looks like good stuff.” She gave him a small answering grin. Saved. Maybe.
He wrapped the towel around the cork and worked it carefully from side to side. After a moment, she heard a muted pop.
“Grab those glasses, will you?” He nodded toward a pair of champagne flutes on the coffee table. She picked them up, then leaned forward so that he could pour.
He put down the bottle, then took one full glass from her fingers, raising it slightly. “Here’s to the Best of the Box. Which is us.”
She nodded, clinking her glass against his before taking a sip. “You said we finaled. Does that mean we won?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. We’re in the top three. They don’t have a single winner—fewer bruised feelings that way. We all get bragging rights. They’ll have a big Gala at the resort this year where all the restaurants get to strut their stuff.”
“Oh. Should I work up something special to cook for that?” Visions of scones danced before her eyes. Possibly maple nut for a nice fall flavor.
He grinned again. “Haven’t a clue. Just drink your champagne, Lizzy. Enjoy the moment. You earned it.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly as she took another sip. She had earned it. For once, the combination of hard work and luck had paid off for her. As opposed to giving everybody food poisoning. Right. She’d worked hard then too, and the only payoff had been disaster.
“Why isn’t this woman smiling?” Clark raised an eyebrow as he watched her.
She blew out a quick breath. “Just thinking about cooking for the Gala. Whether we should try something new or go with a recipe from the menu that would make people want to drop in and try the breakfast.”
His smile turned dry. “Lizzy, what part of enjoy the moment don’t you understand?”
She nodded. “Sure, right, I know. I guess I just have a hard time turning my cooking sense off.” Or believing that good luck lasts. She took another quick sip of champagne. At least she could savor it right now. Enjoy the moment. Absolutely. She, of all people, needed to learn to do that.
“Which is one of the reasons you’re an awesome cook and I’m one lucky bastard.” He was grinning again. “What were the odds you’d walk in here just when I needed somebody to take over for Clarice? The gods were definitely smiling that day.”
She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Your place was the first one I tried. I was just lucky that you needed somebody.”
“To luck.” He clinked his glass against hers again and took another swallow of champagne.
She did the same, draining her glass. Let’s hear it for luck—and hope it holds.
He picked up the bottle again, topping them both off. “Are you hungry?”
She considered the question for a moment. She’d been hungry when she’d been in the kitchen, but now that she was in Clark’s apartment she didn’t exactly feel the same way. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the fact that she was in his apartment. Where there was presumably a bedroom…close by.
She shrugged. “I can eat if you want to. But I’m okay for now.”
He nodded slowly. “Good.”
Lizzy licked her lips. She wasn’t sure what to say next. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say—or do. Liar, liar, Lizzy. Well, okay, she knew what she wanted to do. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up. He was the one who’d left her alone for a week, after all. Maybe he’d decided they were better off not having sex.
In which case, he was clearly an idiot.
He stared at her for a long silent moment, then set his glass down on the coffee table. “Want to take this celebration elsewhere?”
