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It’s the nerves…right?
She stares at him for a moment longer, then shifts her gaze away. “You have one hour to create one sweet and one savory muffin from the available ingredients.”
Carrie, with her straight, white teeth and her perfect television face, smiles wide for the camera. “Your time starts…now.”
CHAPTER 3
Fallon
There’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she’s doing. Watching Jen work is the most unexpectedly erotic thing I’ve ever seen. She flicks the white sheet off the mystery box and immediately starts cataloguing ingredients. A camera is pointed at us, and Jen either ignores it or is in such a deep zone that she doesn’t notice.
“Start chopping this bacon. We’ll make…” Her eyes roam over the ingredients she lines up on the counter. “Bacon and chive for savory.”
A pack of bacon slides across the counter toward me. “Yes, Chef.”
Jen glances at me, and I wink. Her cheeks flush pink, and I immediately wonder if the rest of her skin would react the same way. Maybe her chest would warm if I ran my lips over her neck? Her collarbone? Her breast?
How many times have I imagined her body reacting to me over the past couple of years, knowing I had no right to find out? I’ve wondered if she’d ever let me kiss her again, if she’d ever melt into me the way she did last year. I’ve wondered if her nipples would pucker if I ran my tongue over them. If the honey between her legs tastes as good as I imagine.
Tearing my eyes away from her, I try to pull myself together.
Now is not the time, Fallon.
Jen turns back to the ingredients. “They haven’t given us any oil or butter. Hmm.” She leans her palms against the counter, staring at the ingredients. Then she glances at me. “Save the bacon fat. We’ll either have to make fat-free sweet muffins or use bacon fat for both recipes.” She taps her chin and glances at me. “What do you think?”
“I think you already know what you want to do, and you shouldn’t waste time asking me my opinion.”
Then, for the first time since before I left Heart’s Cove, I see Jen’s face crack into a smile. She nods. “Bacon fat it is. I’ll play around with a filling if I have time—maybe something like my apple pie muffins. Bacon and apple sound kind of weird together, but if we get the balance right it could taste amazing. We can do a candied bacon topping, maybe?” She bites her lip and looks at the countdown timer on the wall. “No time to hesitate. Let’s just go for it.” She glances at me, that smile still lingering on her lips.
God, she looks good right now. The barn doors are thrown open, the summer sun framing her in a golden glow. Her blond hair is pulled back in a low bun and she’s wearing a white chef’s jacket with her name embroidered on the breast. High cheekbones, sharp eyes, and lips that are thinner than average with an over-defined cupid’s bow. Slight crinkles around her eyes that I find unbearably sexy for some reason. That concentrated frown that makes me want to kiss her brow until she relaxes.
I don’t know what it is about the angular nature of Jen’s face, but it’s always attracted me. It matches her personality. Sharp, to the point, efficient. Like there’s nothing extra added to her features beyond what’s strictly necessary to make her beautiful.
Then the host and judges appear beside us, and they ask Jen what she’s making.
Jen tells them in her usual no-nonsense voice, all while sifting dry ingredients without looking. She looks like a rock star, and she doesn’t even know it.
“You seem very confident,” Bernard says, piercing blue eyes intent on Jen.
I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. My body stiffens as his gaze roams around her face and down her body.
“I am,” Jen tells him. “I’ve made a lot of muffins in my life.”
I was telling the truth this morning when I said I was in Four Cups to see her. After staying away for six months—all those months spent facing the skeletons in my past—I needed a glimpse of her to feel something good, for once.
And when I overheard Gus on the phone? I volunteered for this job before I could stop myself. How could I resist? I signed the contract at once, with only one small change to the clause regarding the prize money.
“And you think you can complete all that work in only one hour?” Heather asks. Her thick braid falls over her shoulder as she leans over to watch what I’m doing.
“Yes,” Jen answers simply.
My lips twitch. That’s so perfectly Jen. No explanation; no excess words. Yes, she can do all this work in an hour, and yes, it’s going to be amazing.
“Well, good luck,” Bernard says, his bright blue eyes intent on Jen. “I like your confidence.”
That flush returns to Jen’s cheeks, and an unholy hatred for Bernard fucking Franco rises up inside me. So he’s a famous chef and Jen admires him? He has no right to make her blush the same way I do.
Reeling myself back in from the edge, I focus on my work. I have no right to be with Jen—I sure as hell have no right to dictate who she talks to.
