Chapter 22
CLEMENTINE
The hotel spa was exactly what my soul needed. The dim lighting, soothing music, and the promise of someone else taking care of me was perfect. I settled into the pedicure chair next to Simone and felt some of the tension I’d been carrying since Miami start to melt away.
“Oh my God,” I sighed as the warm water began working on my tired feet. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“When is the last time you treated yourself to something like this?” Simone asked, already looking more relaxed than I had ever seen her.
She was wound tightly but she always had this calm expression. I could feel her tension. She just did a good job keeping it under wraps.
“Honestly? I can’t remember. My feet have been taking a beating.”
It wasn’t just the standing, though that was part of it.
It was the constant awareness of being watched, evaluated, judged.
The pressure of being Desman’s daughter while trying to earn respect as a chef in my own right.
And lately, it was the exhausting emotional gymnastics of working alongside Rhett every day while pretending his proximity didn’t affect me.
“You seem really stressed,” Simone observed gently. “I mean, more than usual tour stress.”
I glanced at her, weighing how much to share. We had been friendly throughout the tour, but this felt different—more personal, like actual friendship instead of just professional courtesy.
“It’s complicated,” I said finally.
“Rhett?”
The fact that she could read the situation so easily made me wonder if everyone could see what I was feeling. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been watching the two of you dance around each other.
And someone that knows him very well. Maybe better than he knows himself.
He pays me a lot of money to know him. To anticipate his needs before he knows they exist.” Simone smiled sympathetically. “He’s not easy to figure out, is he?”
“That’s the understatement of the century. One minute he’s this demanding perfectionist who treats me like I’m some amateur who doesn’t belong in his kitchen. The next minute he’s different.” I stopped, not sure how much I wanted to reveal about Miami.
Simone nodded knowingly. “That’s Rhett. He’s always been a lone wolf, you know? Walks to the beat of his own drum, doesn’t let people in easily. But once he does let you in, even a little bit, all his pieces start to make sense.”
“You’ve known him long?” I asked, suddenly curious about their professional relationship.
“A few years. I started working with him when he was still building his reputation, back when a lot of people in the industry didn’t take him seriously.
” She paused while her nail technician switched to a new tool.
“He’s not who he seems on the surface, Clem.
He’s broken a lot of expectations put on him and made a life for himself that he had to fight for.
That’s why he takes everything so seriously. ”
I thought about the culinary students in Miami, how they’d talked about him with such reverence. The careful way he mentored them. That version of Rhett seemed to contradict the harsh taskmaster who’d humiliated me in front of the kitchen staff.
“I take it seriously too,” I said, hearing the defensiveness in my own voice. “I’ve worked just as hard as anyone to be here. He thinks I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. Maybe I did, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t worked my ass off to learn.”
“I know you have,” Simone said quickly. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. But your challenges are different from his, aren’t they?”
She was right, and we both knew it. I had advantages Rhett probably never dreamed of. I had financial security, family connections, access to the best culinary schools money could buy. But those same advantages came with their own pressures.
“I’m always at risk of being accused of nepotism,” I admitted. “People assume I got opportunities because of who my father is, not because of my skills. It’s part of why I’ve held myself back sometimes.”
“Held yourself back how?”
“I’ve been afraid,” I said, the words tumbling out fast. “Afraid of what people would think if I failed, afraid of what they’d say if I succeeded.
Afraid of taking up space that someone else might deserve more.
I push myself to be better through practice.
It’s not like cooking is a skill you actually inherit like you inherit blue eyes.
I’ve had to work hard. My dad is a great teacher, but we have very different styles.
And flavors. That’s all me but no one sees that.
They see Desman’s daughter and assume I’m just a carbon copy. ”
It felt strange to voice these insecurities out loud, but also oddly liberating. I had been carrying this fear for so long that it had become background noise in my life.
“But when I’m in the kitchen with Rhett?” I paused. “When I’m working next to him, creating something beautiful, it’s like everything else disappears. It’s just me, the art of cooking, and the knowledge that what we’re creating will bring families and friends together around a table.”
Simone smiled. “That’s beautiful, Clem. And it tells me everything I need to know about why you’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Rhett are more alike than you realize.”
I nearly choked on the cucumber water they’d offered me. “Yeah right. We’re nothing alike.”
“Are you kidding? You both come from big families with complicated reputations. You both believe that food brings people together in meaningful ways. You’re both perfectionists who care deeply about the quality of what you create.
” Simone giggled. “The only difference is he’s an abrasive asshole and you’re a cinnamon roll. ”
Despite myself, I laughed. “A cinnamon roll?”
“Sweet, warm, makes everything better just by existing. But still capable of burning someone if they’re not careful.”
The image was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve never been compared to baked goods before.”
“Trust me, it’s a compliment. Especially when you’re dealing with someone like Rhett. He needs someone who can match his intensity but temper it with kindness. You’re the warm and gooey and he’s the hard and crusty.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with that observation, so I focused on the pedicure process instead. The nail technician was now working on the massage portion. I had to bite back a moan of pleasure as she worked out knots I didn’t even know existed.
“Can I ask you something?” I said after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“Of course.”
“What’s going on with you and Conroy?”
Simone’s cheeks immediately flushed pink. “That’s complicated too.”
“Seems to be the theme of this tour,” I said wryly.
“He’s not what I expected,” she admitted. “When I first met him, I thought he was just this big, goofy guy who didn’t take anything seriously. But he’s actually incredibly thoughtful. And funny.”
“And good with his hands?” I suggested, waggling my eyebrows.
“Clementine!” But she was laughing, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I’m just saying, the man has impressive knife skills even one-handed. I’m sure that translates.”
We dissolved into giggles like teenagers. I’d missed having female friendships. The culinary world was still largely male dominated. I spent so much time trying to prove myself that I had forgotten how good it felt to just be silly with another woman.
After our pedicures were finished—my toes now sporting a cheerful coral polish that made me smile every time I looked down—we decided to explore downtown Austin.
The city was buzzing with pre-concert energy.
There were people in cowboy boots and sundresses heading toward the venue where Blake Shelton would be performing later.
“We should get boots,” Simone said suddenly as we passed a Western wear store with an impressive window display.
“Boots?”
“When in Texas,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, we’ll look ridiculous if we’re the only people in Austin not wearing cowboy boots.”
“And hats?” I asked with a grin.
She shrugged. “May as well.”
The store was a wonderland of leather and fringe, with boots in every color and style imaginable.
I found myself gravitating toward a pair of royal blue ones with intricate silver stitching and sparkly silver tassels that hung down from the back.
They were completely impractical and absolutely perfect.
I had nowhere to wear the damn things and wasn’t sure I was brave enough to try, but there was just something about them that drew me in.
“Those are amazing,” Simone said, though she was holding a much more sensible pair of black boots. “They’re so you.”
“They’re ridiculous,” I said, but I was already asking the salesperson for my size.
“Ridiculously perfect. You should get them.”
I tried them on, and despite the fact that they were unlike anything I had ever worn before, they felt right. Bold and confident and unapologetically feminine. I liked color. I liked breaking the mold. And I had a feeling it would piss off a certain someone.
“What do you think?” I asked, doing a little spin in front of the mirror.
“I think you look like someone who knows exactly who she is and isn’t afraid to show it.”
When had I stopped being that person? When had I started hiding behind careful neutrals and safe choices?
“You’re getting the black ones?” I asked, nodding toward her selection.
“They’re practical. They’ll go with everything.”
“Simone, when is the last time you bought something just because it made you happy? Not because it was practical or professional, but because it brought you joy?”
She looked down at the black boots, then over at a pair of burgundy ones with beautiful, tooled leather designs. “Those are gorgeous, but they’re not really me.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”
She sighed and picked up the burgundy ones. She tried them on and grimaced. “I really just don’t think these are me.”
“Do you wear black because Rhett tells you to or because you like it?”
She thought about it. “I like it. I like the mystery.”
That was good enough for me. “Alright, then I guess it’s the black pair.”
“You think I’m boring.”
“Not at all,” I said with a laugh. “If the dark and mysterious thing is your jam, do it. Don’t let me influence you.”
Twenty minutes later, we walked out of the store with our purchases—my ridiculous blue boots and Simone’s burgundy ones, along with a promise to each other that we would wear them to dinner.
We decided to do a little more window shopping. The pedicure had relaxed my body, the shopping was pure fun, and the conversation with Simone had given me a new perspective on both Rhett and myself.
Maybe we were more alike than I wanted to admit. Maybe the intensity I found so frustrating was born from the same passion that drove me. We were like fire and gasoline. I was the gasoline to his fire. Or vice versa. He infuriated me and I seemed to know exactly what to say and do to fire him up.