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“Have you read them?”
Her forehead wrinkled in obvious confusion. “Of course I did. Are you not supposed to?”
I shrugged, chuckling. “I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone write one for me.”
She sucked in her bottom lip, looking at me with wide eyes. “I’m sure someone would if you asked.”
“I didn’t need a letter. That’s why I opened my own restaurant.”
“Right, yes. That would be nice to have that kind of opportunity, but I’m afraid that’s not been the case for me.”
Great. I sounded like an arrogant, spoiled jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like…however I sounded.”
“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have said what I said either.” She shifted in the chair, looking as though she wanted to run out of here.
Could I bungle this any worse? It was this small office. The way she looked and smelled—it was like getting too close to the sun. I knew a sunburn was coming, but I couldn’t leave its warmth.
“When my parents made our family ranch into a tourist destination, it was an obvious fit to open a restaurant.” I cleared my throat. “When I was a kid, we served standard grill stuff like hot dogs and hamburgers. But when I grew up and went to culinary school, I convinced the rest of my family that opening a restaurant here on the property, cooking from mostly local ingredients, was what I really wanted and would be good for business. We have a lot of sophisticated eaters and foodies who come out here for the ranch experience who also enjoy a good meal.”
“Have you always been your own boss?”
“I learned at school I didn’t really care for people telling me what to do.”
She touched her knuckles against her jaw, nodding in that way people do when they related to what you’re saying. “I’m that way too. Not that I should admit that during an interview.”
“I like honest people,” I said. “As far as running things, as pastry chef, you call your own shots. Desserts are not my specialty. If customers are happy and buying, I’m good.”
“Do you really mean that?” Her eyes bored into me, searching for the truth.
“I never say things I don’t mean.”
She continued to watch me, but her gaze softened. “I’d like to run things the way I want to, but at the same time I like to please my boss. It’s a terrible dichotomy.”
“Not a bad combination, in my opinion,” I said, forgetting for a moment we were in an interview. An intimacy between us had come from nowhere. “I’ll read through the letters later. And make a few phone calls.”
“Great. You’ll find the letters are complimentary, but if you’d like to call Ibis or Tom, I believe they’d take your call. Ibis’s letter surprised me a little. He never once said he valued me when I worked for him. In fact, he rarely spoke to me after I turned down his advances.”
“But you’re not a hostess,” I said deadpan, hoping she would get the joke.
She laughed, low and rumbly. “He made exceptions.”
“Did his inappropriate behavior factor into your decision to leave?”
“No, no, he hit on me my second day on the job. To his credit, once I said no, he didn’t press me further. We both pretended it had never happened. For five years, no less.” She paused, looking at her hands that rested in her lap. “Tom recruited me after having my flourless chocolate cake when he dined at the restaurant. I think he wanted the recipe with my secret ingredient more than me.”
“And what would that ingredient be?” I asked.
Her eyes twinkled, and her mouth curved into a closemouthed smile I hadn’t yet seen. “You’ll have to hire me to find that out.”
“I see. Maybe I’d like to try this cake first.”
“Right now? I can make it. If you want?” She fiddled with her gold hoop earring again, watching me.
“Why not? What better way to evaluate you than to eat what you’ve baked?”
“Great. Bring it on.” She grinned, rubbing her hands together. “But be warned. I’ll spoil you for all other flourless chocolate cake.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I was a mimic, grinning back at her, falling under her spell. “Before I show you the pastry station and get you started, do you have any questions for me?”
