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Alex didn’t know the whole story, but he knew Jan’s heart had been broken to bits and pieces. Unlike her Disney princess card carrying bestie, Jan was not a believer in fairytales and happily ever afters. It was probably another of the reasons they got along so well.
“My daughter showed me this before I left this morning,” said Rogers. “I’m not usually one for gossip magazines, but she knew I was coming to see you. I assume this is the special chef you are partnering with?”
“Yes, that’s Jan, but that picture … it’s …” Alex’s tongue tied. The picture was what?
It had been captured in a moment of pure joy when Jan had agreed to partner with him. He’d reveled in pulling her close. He’d said he could kiss her.
But he knew better. He knew Jan was the one woman he could never kiss, at least not again. Even more than proving his seriousness to this group of investors, he had to prove it most to Jan. If she walked, he’d be left with nothing.
“Or am I wrong?” asked Rogers. “Is she just an affair?”
“Jan isn’t an affair. We’re going to be partners for life.”
They were. This restaurant would be open for generations. Alex believed that in his bones. He just had to make these other investors see that without the need for any collateral.
“Good.” Rogers’s eyes brightened with relief. “I’m truly happy for you both. You’ll have the wife you want along with the inheritance and a restaurant all in the same year. Makes me even more excited to be a part of this venture.”
Rogers stuck out his hand. Alex gulped, but his mouth was dry. The throb at the back of his head chose that moment to pound and cloud his judgment. Instead of setting the investor straight, Alex grasped the man’s hand with his own clammy palm.
Chapter Eight
There was nothing like the smell of fruit on fire. Or the sight of golden brown crust. Or the heat from opening an oven door and getting a facial.
“What have you got there, Jan?”
Jan rose from the oven with her latest creation. The pie looked like a sand castle. The top crust spiked up like turrets. The pastry dough covering the sweet and savory filling was a golden brown, much like an undisturbed beach just waiting for its first footprint. Around the center of the pie, sugar crystals sparkled as though diamonds were buried in the sand of the dough.
“It’s a chicken pot pie, but with rabbit meat instead of chicken. And I also used quince, which is like a pear but more acidic. There are chanterelle mushrooms, butternut squash, and purple carrots.”
Jan beamed as she held the masterpiece high in her mitted hands. Her chest swelled with pride that the ingredients in her mind had come together so well and so cohesively. She couldn’t wait for Alex and the investors to arrive and try the dish. She should probably keep the specialty pie in the back so that other customers wouldn’t see it and ask for a slice.
“Ah, that sounds nice,” said Mr. Dalton. “Can I get a helping of shepherd’s pie?”
Jan’s shoulders slumped, and her smile pressed into a closed slash. She turned before she rolled her eyes, sitting the prized pièce de résistance on a platter. “Of course.”
She couldn’t get upset. There was one slice of shepherd’s pie left on the dish, but she knew there was one more in the fridge. It was possible that she’d made her last shepherd’s pie today.
She’d thought more about Alex’s offer since last night. Perhaps it had been the flash from the photographer’s camera that had done it, but a light bulb had gone off in her mind. Alex had essentially presented Jan with a dream job. Cook exciting new foods, her way, for customers who were interested in trying new things, all in an exotic locale. Where was the downside?
Sure, Alex had a short attention span. But they would have a business contract. Jan knew from experience those were harder to get out of than a marriage. Not that she ever had or ever would be married. But she knew her parents hadn’t gotten any refunds from her doomed nuptials with Chris.
On the one hand, the business with Alex might fail. Most restaurants failed within five years.
On the other hand, she’d have five years of living her dream. How many people got to say that? The past three years had been a stifling nightmare living near and working with her ex. She hadn’t received an ounce of support from her family or friends back home. But in Cordoba, she’d have Esme. And then there were all the new recipes she could try.
Jan served Mr. Dalton his pie with a renewed smile. She was starting to get truly excited about her future. And then the bell over the door dinged, and a cloud came in.
“I was supposed to pick up lunch for Marisol for a picnic in the park. But I’m running late. I’ll just grab a pie from the display.” Chris didn’t even look up at her as he made his way around the counter.
Not only had Marisol stolen her wedding, reception, and honeymoon, now Jan was expected to cater their afternoon rendezvous? Enough was enough. But the crust nearly hit the fan when Chris reached for the special pie.
Jan placed her body at the pass through where Chris would have to exit to leave. He nearly bumped into her before he was forced to look up.
His gaze was a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and expectance. “I’m running late.”
“That’s not for you.”
He opened his mouth as though to argue, and then he squinted, peering at her face. “You look like you’ve had a busy day. Though it’s not very full in here.”
