Recipe For Redemption

She needed a teacher.

Her thoughts spiraled around each other as she minimized the application screen and opened a new window, this time checking out the benefits of the upcoming festival on the NCN site. All those chefs, all those people who made creating meals look as easy as opening a door. How hard could it be if she really focused? Maybe it was as simple as reading as many cookbooks as she could get her hands on, and there was a library full of them in the kitchen. Matilda collected cookbooks like Mr. Vartebetium collected bills.

She clicked through the various chef bios, wishing she had their confidence, their talent. Their...

Abby squinted, leaned forward until her nose was practically pressing against the screen. That face. Her heart pounded. She knew that face. She recognized those eyes.

She gasped and looked toward the staircase. It couldn’t be. Energy she thought she’d lost buzzed inside her like a frenzy of bees trapped for too long. He didn’t have a beard and his hair was a lot longer, but there was no mistaking the attitude that exuded off the screen or those blue eyes.

She bolted through the dining room, lifting a hand in greeting as her Babes called out to her. She flicked on the kitchen light and headed for Matilda’s overflowing shelves filled with her collection of signed cookbooks. Meticulously organized as Matilda was, Abby skimmed her fingers across the top shelf and yanked out the copy of All the Best by Jason and David Corwin.

One glance at the back cover was all she needed, except she almost didn’t recognize him. So he could smile. He could even laugh. She could almost hear the brothers as the affection reached off the page and brushed against her heart.

David Corwin. He’d been killed, she remembered, trying to recall the details. Earlier this year in a plane crash. Ursula and Paige had talked about the tragedy at the diner, seen on the news how the entire food community had gone into mourning.

Along with his brother.

Jason. Now the sadness made sense, but she couldn’t dwell on that.

Jay Corwin was a cook. No. She knew him well enough by now to lay odds he’d take exception to that term. Jason Corwin was a chef.

And he was right here. In Butterfly Harbor. At the Flutterby. Before a food festival.

Hugging the book against her chest, she wandered to the desk, dropping into the chair as her thoughts coalesced. She reopened the application, hovered the mouse over the final submission button.

Did she dare?

Her hand shook. No. Not quite yet.

She clicked off the screen, grabbed the brochure and hurried upstairs, turning the book face-out as she knocked on Jay’s door. The TV inside his room went quiet a few seconds before he answered the door, a hesitant look of welcome on his face.

“Good evening, Abby.”

Did he have to sound like Dracula welcoming her to his lair? Abby shook herself out of distracted mode and thrust the cookbook at him.

“I need you to teach me to cook.”

* * *

OF ALL THE things Jason expected to find on the other side of his door—room service he hadn’t ordered, an offer for turn-down service, a poisoned mint for his pillow—it certainly wasn’t Five-Alarm Manning asking for cooking lessons.

He forced himself to resist the urge to glance at his and David’s first bestselling cookbook. The book that had started them on the path to their dreams. “I’m not a chef anymore.”

“Are, were, whatever. You can still cook.” Abby pushed past him and took a seat in the wing-back chair next to the terrace doors. “I know, I’m being pushy and I’m sure you’re still irritated with me over how I spoke to you before. Sorry about that.”

“I really don’t think you are.” Clearly, she wasn’t leaving any time soon. He closed the door.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right.” Her sneaky grin wrinkled the top of her nose and triggered an odd flutter in his chest. “But what are you going to do? Leave? You’ve paid for three weeks.” Why was she looking at him as if she knew some big secret he remained clueless about? “I don’t care about your employment status. What I need is someone to teach me. I thought about asking Paige since Matilda is out of town, but as Lori said, I’d rather stay friends with her, and, well, you and me? Not friends. Problem solved.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow. Another one of those layers, he supposed. “You got this spiel out of a self-help book, didn’t you?”

“No, no.” She waved a hand in the air. Her energy and enthusiasm flitted about the room like a rogue butterfly. “I just meant we don’t have anything to protect. I already irritate you, and, well, the feeling’s definitely mutual, but I need to know how to cook.”

“And you want to hire me?” What grand epiphany could she have possibly had since her scone disaster this morning that would have her asking him for help?

“Not hire, exactly.” Her face turned bright red but her expression remained determined. “I’m not exactly flush at the moment, so I was hoping you’d be willing to lend your expertise in exchange for my undying gratitude?”

“Your—what?” Had he missed the spaceship that had dropped her off? She wanted him to teach her and she was broke? “Okay, rewind. How about you start by telling me why you want to learn to cook.”

“Oh.” She held out a skinny pamphlet. “I want to enter this.”

“The By the Bay Food Festival.” Again. Everywhere he turned, he was reminded of that blasted festival. “Wait. A televised cooking competition?” How had he missed that little detail? He reviewed the dates. “You do realize this starts in two weeks.” He’d been right. Gary’s booking him at the Flutterby was on purpose. Tricky son of a—

“Yeah, I know,” Abby said. “But you’re good at this stuff. You said so yourself. It’s in your back cover bio.” She waggled his book in front of him like a red flag in front of a very irritated bull.

His mouth twisted. “Not funny. And not interested.” Even if the idea of stepping foot in a kitchen again didn’t make him twitchy, some people were beyond hope.

“Oh, come on! You’re already bored out of your mind and you’ve been here less than a day. You need something to do. What else is there besides biding your time between sunsets?”

“Someone told me the sunsets are worth the wait.” Clearly his refusal needed an explanation in order to wipe that puppy glimmer out of her all-too-tempting gaze. “Learning to cook in the best of circumstances takes time and patience.” Something he was willing to bet she didn’t have much of. “It’s stressful and demanding.” And required human interaction.

“I don’t have to be able to cook for the president.” Abby rolled her eyes. “I need to learn enough to compete and not set anything on fire. And maybe not poison anyone. Oh, and win, of course.”

Yeah. Nothing to it. “After what I saw this morning? In two weeks? No, I’m sorry. It can’t be done.”

A bit of the fight drained out of her, but in its place, a spark lit her face. That same spark he’d seen when she’d battered that smoke detector. “Is that why you’re hiding out in Butterfly Harbor? Did the stress of running a restaurant get to you after your brother died?”

“No.” His lungs tightened. “No, it wasn’t the stress.” Exactly.

“Then what?”

“Leave it to me to find the one person in the hemisphere who hasn’t heard.” He plucked his tablet from beside the bed to search for himself, a humbling experience for sure, then skimmed past the links detailing David’s crash. “Why don’t you read this and then we’ll see if you want to continue this conversation.” He held out the pad and ignored the unease circling in his stomach. At least Abby’s dislike of him from the start had been genuine and not based on gossip rags and internet features.

She exchanged the pad for his cookbook that he set, cover down, on his bed. Needing some air, he pushed open the terrace doors and leaned his arms on the railing, waiting for the inevitable shocked and disgusted reaction he’d come to expect. Maybe paying for the room in advance hadn’t been such a smart move.

Normally it took a couple of minutes for the facts to hit, but, as he’d begun to learn about Abby, she was ahead of the curve.

“I am sorry about your brother.”

He squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars. He hated the sympathy, the concern, the apology that accompanied the comment that was cursory at best. He’d heard hundreds if not thousands of them in the last six months. But none had been spoken in Abby’s soft voice, with a gentleness that brushed over his ears as gently as if she’d touched his hair with the tips of her fingers.

“Thank you.”

“Is this true? Did you really cheat in the last round of that competition?”

He didn’t hear shock in her voice, or condemnation, but genuine curiosity. As if she didn’t quite believe he was capable of sinking so low.

“It says you brought in a ringer to help you win this reality show thing.”

Jason leaned over and stared into the bottomless surf. “I tried to pass off a dish my sous chef cooked instead of the one I attempted myself. I needed to win.” Because losing hadn’t been an option. Not with his brother’s memory and his family’s reputation on the line. Not with his father’s expectations set so high he’d have to use a jet pack to reach them. “And then I lied about it.” Which was, when all was said and done, his real crime. “On live TV. You can watch it on YouTube if you want. It’s been viewed over two million times. How do you not know about this?”

“Do I strike you as an avid NCN viewer?”

Her sarcasm pulled a deeply buried smile out of him. “It also made national news. I was every media outlet’s disgrace story for over a week.” While Marcus Aiken, his sous chef, had been given his own show and a font of new endorsement deals.

“Big deal. So was the governor, and her approval ratings went up. So you made a mistake. People, humans, make them all the time.”

She sounded so much like Gary she gave him a headache. “People are allowed to make mistakes. Celebrities, Corwins are held to a higher standard, especially in the food industry. Scandals like mine kill careers, Abby. Especially after you’ve been built up as some kind of icon. I’m proof of that. My own shareholders ousted me from the company my bro—” The word stalled in his throat. “The company we built.”

“Icon. Wow.” She sighed and shook her head. “Ego check on aisle seven. So, what? You ran? You’re hiding out here because a bunch of people know you cheated and you were a jerk about it? You’ve been a jerk about a lot of things with me. What’s the big deal?”

When had this conversation veered off the verbal cliff? He hadn’t run away from New York, he’d walked away after it had been made abundantly clear he was too much of a liability for Corwin Brothers. “When you’re one of the faces of a million-dollar brand, people—shareholders, specifically—shift into damage-control mode.”

David had been the negotiator, the peacemaker. David had been the diplomat while Jason had been the moody artist few people wanted to deal with. Without David as a buffer, he’d had no patience or charisma to keep anyone on his side. He’d lost count of how many so-called friends had made the suggestion in less than understanding terms.

“Corwin Brothers is beyond my help,” Jason continued. “And don’t get me started on how my father plans to fix the company.” By going against every principle their grandfather had held dear. But not even that was enough to push Jason back into the kitchen.

“Pfffh.” Abby waved her hand again and shrugged. “What do network executives and shareholders know? On the bright side, if you tell me your girlfriend dumped you and then your truck broke down, I bet you could start a new career as a country music singer.”

Jason marveled. She had the oddest view of the world.

“There was no girlfriend.” That’s all he would have needed to complete the equation. He faced her, part of him worried about what he’d see on her face, but all he saw was the same Abby he’d met in a billowing fog of smoke. Part energetic bunny, part warrior woman who would fight smoke and burned scones to the death. “I’m toxic to anyone and everyone in the industry. Nobody wants me.”

“I want you.” Abby jumped to her feet, then, as her words sank in, her cheeks went that brilliant—and all too familiar—shade of pink. “I mean, oh, buttered biscuits!” She spun in a circle as if she could go back in time. “You know what I mean. I don’t care about some scandal from your past or the fact you tried to cheat your way out of something or even that it sounds as if you ran away instead of fighting for your career. And I’m sorry, but what kind of father lets a bunch of shareholders oust his son so he can slither into his position? That’s disgusting.”

He stared. Wh-what?

“Okay.” She plunged ahead. “So, yeah, maybe cheating was a dirty move, but are you sorry you did it? I don’t mean are you sorry you got caught,” she added when he started to respond. “If you had it to do all over again, would you?”

“No.” That pressure valve he’d been waiting months to release finally did. Her question stunned him. No one had ever asked him that before. No one had seemed to care enough to, not even when he’d been so mired in grief he couldn’t think straight. “Cheating was the worst mistake I’ve ever made and lying about it made it worse. It cheapened everything I worked for, everything my brother stood for. I’ll never take a shortcut again, no matter what it might cost me.”

“So help me.” She seemed bolstered rather than deterred by his admission. “I need to do this. The inn needs it. And maybe you can find a little redemption for yourself in the meantime.”

The desperation in her voice wasn’t something he wanted to hear, but he had the feeling she’d let something unintentional slip. “What do you mean, the inn needs it?”

She bit her lip, eyes darting around the room. He recognized that expression. He’d seen it on enough faces in the last few months to know it was someone’s way of coming up with a story or plausible explanation.

“Finances are tight. If I do this, the inn will be featured in the network special,” she said. “Butterfly Harbor needs all the word of mouth it can get, and we need guests. I’m sure you noticed we don’t have many. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up. Even if I am a hopeless cook.”

“Not the best attitude or selling point when looking for a teacher.” Jason stepped into the room and glanced over the rest of the pamphlet. “Hang on. You just said finances were tight and that you can’t pay me. How are you coming up with the entry fee?”

She dragged her parents’ rings across their chain, her smile tight. “I’ll find a way.”

As little as he knew about her, he didn’t doubt it for a second. “I’m not saying yes.” How could he, when it meant returning to the life that held nothing but dark memories and disappointment? “But if I were to agree to this, you should know up front you’ll need to take time off work and it’ll be long hours. I can probably keep you in the running long enough for you to get those ads, but fair warning, two weeks isn’t enough to get you ready to win. Plus, you could hate me even more by the time we’re done.”

“You mean I’ll get an even closer look at arrogant, egotistical, judgmental Jason Corwin?” She fluttered her lashes at him as if he were a teenage heartthrob. “Yay. He’s so dreamy.”

“He’s also a class-A jerk with antisocial tendencies.” He couldn’t help it. Her teasing and calling things as she saw them amused him. How could anyone take himself seriously when she was around? “But since you know that going in...” She was right. He was bored and he didn’t have anything else on his agenda for the foreseeable future. Besides, teaching someone to cook wasn’t the same as cooking. “I’ll make you a deal. If you come up with the application fee, I’ll do what I can to teach you. But again, I can’t guarantee—”

“I know, I know.” She flew across the room, grabbed his shoulders and kissed him full on the mouth. A quick kiss. One of gratitude and happiness with a touch of that electric excitement he was fast becoming familiar with. He also, in that moment, tasted fire and determination.

She must have surprised herself, because she rocked back on her heels and lifted her stunned face to him as his lips curved. He clenched his fists to stop himself from touching her cheek, from finding out if her skin was as soft as he imagined it would be. “You heard me, right? This is going to be hard work, Abby.”

“Anything worthwhile always is.” She grabbed his book. “I’m going to start reading this tonight, but first, I’m clicking Submit on that application! How about you meet me at the Butterfly Diner for an early lunch tomorrow, say, eleven o’clock, and we’ll go from there?” She set her jaw and grinned at him, challenge issued.

“The diner, huh?” His stomach rolled at the thought of it. What was it she’d said earlier? Holy hamburgers? “Has anyone ever tried to say no to you?”

“Once or twice. Didn’t work. Good night, Jay. And thank you.”

He caught her arm as she passed, looked into her eyes for a second longer—not long enough. “My name is Jason.”

She nodded as if she was coming out of some sort of trance. “Jason, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hugged his book like she was an anxious freshman headed off to her first day.

He opened the door for her, waited until she disappeared down the stairs before he closed it again. The doubt crept in, slow and slithering, working its way into his overwhelmed brain.

Whatever desire, whatever passion he’d once held for his profession was gone. He’d lost his appetite for all of it. The idea of diving back into that world that haunted him was enough to freeze his feet to the floor. Which left him with one question.

What had he just gotten himself into?

CHAPTER FIVE

“ABIGAIL MANNING!” HOLLY glared at Abby as if she wanted to crawl over the counter and strangle her. “Things cannot be so bad at the inn you had to sell your parents’ wedding rings.”

“I know.” Except they were. Abby forced a smile. The ache in her chest remained and she could still feel her hand burning from when she’d handed over the rings, but she refused to look behind her. Sometimes it took sacrificing the past to try to save the future. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

If anything, spending three hours early this morning replacing another two showerheads, tightening valves under sinks and touching up chair-rail paint in the soon-to-be-occupied rooms was all the reminder she needed of how much there was to do. “I don’t think my parents would want me to have to put Gran in a home, which is what’s going to happen if the Flutterby closes. This is the only way out I can see.”

Holly moved aside for the ever skinny, fashion boundary–pushing server Twyla, who grabbed a fresh pot of coffee and warmed up the late-morning customers’ cups. “And for what?” Holly lowered her voice. “To enter a cooking competition. A cooking competition? You know that means you’ll have to cook, right?”

Abby inclined her head and pressed her lips into a hard line. Sometimes Holly’s sarcasm rankled her nerves.

“Oh, wow.” Holly crossed her arms. “I thought maybe you were exaggerating yesterday.”

“That was before I looked at the accounting records. Mr. Vartebetium has been using his personal savings to balance the books for over a year. He’s also neglected to pay the property taxes for the last four, which that prize money would cover. The inn is hemorrhaging, Holly, and Gran needs stability, especially since her diagnosis.” Abby needed stability.

“And what’s Gran going to say when she hears you sold those rings?”

“Gran won’t say anything, because no one is going to tell her,” Abby warned Holly. “I did what I had to, Holly, and I sent in the entry fee forty minutes ago.” No turning back now. All those rules. No wonder she’d woken up with a headache. “It’s a done deal.” She was locked in tighter than plastic wrap over a steaming bowl.

Hey. She jolted in her chair. She’d learned something from Jason’s cookbook last night after all.

“On the bright side.” Holly shifted her gaze out the glass door. “You found yourself one handsome cooking teacher. Nicely done.”

“Yeah, we’ll...” Abby spun on her stool as she saw Jason bending down to give Cash, Luke’s beautiful golden retriever, a hearty pet of greeting. “We’ll see,” she croaked. He’d certainly never smiled at her like that, and was that a chuckle she heard as he stood up and followed Luke into the diner? If anything she seemed to put his face in a permanent state of disapproval.

“Ladies.” Sheriff Luke Saxon in all his uniformed finery led the parade of his overactive soon-to-be stepson, with Jason bringing up the rear. Cash remained outside the front door, peering inside with a look of resignation.

“Am I too early?” Jason slipped his hands into the pockets of his oh-so-nicely fitted jeans. Abby nearly toppled off her stool but then covered by grabbing hold of Simon and yanking him in for a hug.

Holly straightened to her full height, an amused gleam in her eyes as she glanced between her best friend and Butterfly Harbor’s recent arrival. “Abby’s always early. A good thing for any instructor to know about his student.” Holly strode around the counter and held out her hand. “You must be Jay. Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks. It’s Jason, actually.” He cleared his throat, inching his chin up as if accepting a challenge. “Jason Corwin.”

“Welcome to Butterfly Harbor, Jason. Tell me something.” Holly leaned in as Luke slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Will you be videotaping your cooking lessons with her? I’m thinking they’d make great holiday entertainment—ow!” She glared at Abby, who had yanked hard on her ponytail. “Seriously?”

“Very seriously,” Abby said as she hugged the stuffing out of her godson until he squealed. “You, sir, have been MIA for too long. I miss my movie and pizza buddy.”

“Sorry.” Simon grinned up at her, those big brown eyes of his even bigger behind thick black-rimmed glasses. “Charlie and I have been busy.”

“I knew it.” Abby sighed and spun him around so she could lean her chin on the top of his head. “I’ve been replaced by another woman. You two aren’t trying to take over the world again, are you?” She peered over his shoulder at the haggard notebook clutched against his chest. Simon and his notebook. A dangerous combination.

“Not the world,” Simon said with a little too much seriousness, that jolted Abby’s nerves and was reflected in Holly’s suddenly attentive expression. “Just Butterfly Harbor.”

“Don’t worry. The sheriff is on full alert.” Luke shifted on his feet, barely leaning on the cane in his hand. “His school starts soon, so we stopped in for a quick snack before heading out to find the perfect backpack. Jason, good to see you again. Remember that poker game I told you about.”

“Sure. Yeah. Sounds great.”

Abby wasn’t entirely convinced Jason thought so.

“Give Paige your order.” Holly patted a hand against the front of Luke’s khaki shirt before she lifted up on her toes to kiss him. “But I’ll make your mocha shake.”

“You realize that’s why I’m marrying you, right? No one makes a mocha shake like you.”

Holly eyed him with suspicion. “Hmm. And here I thought it was my homemade pies. Simon, let’s leave Aunt Abby and Jason to their lunch, shall we?”

Abby would not blush. She would not... Too late!

“Back corner booth is free.” Abby hopped off her stool by the register and hurried off, hearing the muted rumblings of manly farewells and fellow customers’ conversations.

“Tell me something.” Jason slid into the booth across from her. “Is Butterfly Harbor a news dead zone, or does no one care about my past?”

Abby eyed him as she sipped the water she’d set on the table when she’d first arrived. “As far as scandal rankings, I would put cheating on a national TV show somewhere between Mrs. Greely’s penchant for pilfering neighbors’ flatware and whoever’s been snipping buds off Mr. Rondale’s prized roses. Someone will probably say something at some point, but if you’re looking to have that past held against you, the last person you want to talk to is Luke. He’s a big believer in second chances.”