Detour Ahead

He waited for the commotion to die down, then consulted his next card. “Third place goes to the chocolate strawberry cake. Number twenty-seven.”

Laughter greeted this announcement. After a pause, a burly young man wearing a letter jacket from the local high school shuffled to the platform. The group of high-school girls giggled and whispered behind their hands as he approached. Apparently things hadn’t changed all that much since Craig’s school days. A boy who cooked was still something of a novelty.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked as he shook the young man’s hand.

“Uh, it’s Mike. Mike Brewster.”

“Congratulations, Mike. You might make a great chef someday.”

Mike looked uncertain, then grinned. “Thanks. I guess that’s pretty cool, huh?”

“I always thought so.”

As Mike returned to his place at the back of the crowd, he walked with an extra swagger, his shoulders straight. “Did you hear what he said?” He showed the ribbon to his friends. “He said I could be a great chef—like him.”

“Second place goes to the strawberry tart. Number forty-eight.”

The sour-faced woman who’d confronted him earlier made her way to the platform with much dignity. She accepted the second-place ribbon without a smile. “I’ll have you know this is the first time my strawberry tart has failed to take first place,” she said. “That’s what happens when you bring in outside judges. All that fancy nouveau cuisine has obviously ruined your tastebuds for good, American cooking.”

He tried not to cringe, and reminded himself that he would in all likelihood never have to see this woman again. Thank God for that.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” Now that he’d been up here a while, he wasn’t so nervous. “I have to say, this was a really tough choice. Most of the entries were excellent and you are all to be commended.”

“Just tell us who won!” a man shouted from the back.

“Right.” He double-checked his notes. “The winner is the strawberry cream tart, number forty-seven.”

A woman squealed and the next thing he knew the buxom blonde was on stage beside him, her arms wrapped around him. “I told you you’d love it,” she exclaimed, and kissed him soundly, to the laughter and hooting of the crowd.

Somehow he managed to extricate himself from her grip while Nancy distracted her with the trophy. He took out his handkerchief to wipe lipstick off his face. As kisses went, this had been nothing spectacular.

Now his kiss by the creek with Marlee—that had been a spectacular kiss. A woman who could kiss like that didn’t need to know how to cook. It made him wonder what other “special talents” she might possess.

Don’t go there, he told himself. That kiss had been a mistake. He couldn’t imagine what had come over him. Maybe the watercress he’d picked was some wild hybrid, with hallucinogenic properties. How else to explain his sudden attraction to a woman who was so far from his ideal match it was ludicrous? No sense wasting their time with each other. The thing to do was to get back on the road and get to the wedding as quickly as possible.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.