Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Her stomach twisted as she dressed for the day. Ava exhaled slowly, willing her nerves to settle. The walk and talk with Zach on Wednesday night had convinced her that if they were going to move forward, she needed to clear the air about the review her newspaper had printed.
Zach’s dad had interrupted her before she could talk to him about the review. And then several other people wanted to chat. By the time she had a free minute, he’d already gone.
Yesterday, she’d concentrated on getting enough material for her article series. She hadn’t run into Zach at all. But no more excuses. She couldn’t keep sweeping that conversation under the rug. Maybe she could find a quiet moment after the contest today.
Today’s events were going to be momentous. Was this unsettled sensation because she was worried about the contest or from the prospect of working in a small kitchen with the handsome chef she was finding herself falling for? No time to figure it out now.
But first, she had to keep the secret of her complete ineptness in the kitchen from being the only thing people talked about today.
Right. She checked the mirror. She’d chosen dark slacks and a T-shirt for today and put her hair into a high ponytail.
She squared her shoulders, then tugged her shirt straight.
You’ve got this. If her parents weren’t going to call and give her a pep talk, she’d have to do it on her own.
She’d make it through the day by doing everything Zach told her to do. She tucked her notebook into her shoulder bag and headed out the door. A few minutes later, Dani pointed her to the kitchen station Zach had used for the other competitions.
“I didn’t think there was any harm in giving him the same one,” Dani said.
Today, the tourism director was in a hot-pink T-shirt emblazoned with the Jonathon Island Flavor Fest logo.
It paired nicely with her whitewashed skinny jeans and Converse sneakers.
“Most of the other contestants are repeats too, so they got their old spaces as well.”
Ava looked around. She recognized Patrick Kelley, of course, and Enrique Perez. A few stations down, Val Anderson was prepping something. Their closest neighbor wasn’t someone she knew, however. Time to introduce herself. She took a step in that direction.
“Coffee?” Zach’s voice behind her caused her to whirl around. “Whoa.” He pulled the two cups he held out of the way as her shoulder bag flew around with her. “You almost had to source your own caffeine.” His white teeth flashed in a smile.
She took the cup, but her fingers nearly fumbled the handoff. That stupid combination—chef’s whites and black jeans—shouldn’t be allowed. It was far too effective. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I took a chance and ordered you a fancy coffee.” Zach eyed her over the rim of his cup as he took a long sip.
“A fancy coffee?” She sniffed at the opening in the lid. “What is it?”
“Try it.” His eyes held a challenge. “Tell me what you taste.”
A long swallow revealed warm notes of spice and mellow coffee, lightly sugared with a foamy finish. “Hmm. Cardamom and raw sugar, maybe a light roast coffee…” She sipped again. “Is there pistachio in this cappuccino?”
Zach set his cup on the table and clapped. “Nicely done. I think you might have a future in the food industry.”
“It’s really good.”
“It’s my own recipe. I think Jill at Good Day thought I was crazy.” Zach pulled an apron out from a box under the table. “Here, put this on. Wouldn’t want to ruin that T-shirt.”
“You might have a future as a barista.” She patted his shoulder. “If this chef thing doesn’t work out.”
His laugh rang out as she tied on the apron.
A few minutes later, the competition was underway.
“Ava, chop those mushrooms smaller,” Zach barked.
Ava stiffened. “I thought we could do them a little larger. It’ll take less time to chop.”
“You need to follow my plan. Too big and the mushrooms won’t cook properly.” Zach motioned to the instructions he’d printed out for her, Audrey’s Mushroom Tarts written across the top.
Right. “Yes, chef.” She saluted him and let the brief irritation go. She’d agreed to do what he said, and he knew best in the kitchen anyway.
“Did I tell you I first made a version of this dish in Seattle, fresh out of school?” Zach came alongside her and began chopping too. “A family who invited me home after church every week used to serve it.”
“Nothing like a home-cooked meal after church.” Not that she would know. It was usually a frozen potpie for her. “Do you have a church in Chicago?”
“I used to. But then I had to work Sundays for a while. I probably should start going again. It’s hard to be motivated when I don’t feel like any place I live is permanent.”
“I get that. My apartment in Chicago isn’t anything special. It certainly doesn’t feel like home home.” Ava’s heart pinched. “Of course, I’m hoping to change that when I move.”
Conversation ceased as Zach cooked the mushroom mix on the stove, then they both worked together to fill tiny dough cups with the filling before topping them with cheese and popping the tarts into the oven.
“We should have time to wipe everything down while we wait.” Ava reached for the bucket of soapy water Zach had stashed under the side table.
“You know I always love a clean kitchen,” he said.
The timer on Zach’s phone chimed. He pulled the pan of mushroom appetizers out of the tiny oven at the back of their station.
“Audrey always finished this dish with just a dash of Himalayan salt. She said it was love.” Zach sprinkled a small amount of pink salt across the tops of the tarts. “I’ve tried making it without that final step, and it’s never the same.”
Ava tried a quick bite. They only had minutes before the round completed. “Zach, you might not be able to share your feelings with words, but you put your heart into everything you cook.”
“Plate up, sous chef.” Zach’s growl made a grin spread across her face.
Their appetizer was met with oohs and aahs from the judges.
“You’ll be moving on to the next round tomorrow morning,” Anne Green said. She clapped her hands lightly before heading to the next cooking station.
Ava squealed. Zach picked her up and spun her in a circle, laughing.
He set her down. His gaze drew her in, a hint of gold ringing Zach’s pupils.
She swallowed hard, then put her hand on his chest and pushed away from him. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Zach’s brow crinkled, but his eyes still danced. “Don’t you know how ominous it sounds when someone says ‘I need to talk to you’?”
She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face despite the pounding of her heart. “Sorry. But I do need to talk to you. Hopefully, somewhere more private?” She gestured at the crowds still swarming the tent.
“Gazebo?” He jutted his chin in the direction of the structure.
“Gazebo.”
They were quiet as they walked across the spongy grass. With every step the damp grass released the scent of spring—loamy, fresh, green. Ava’s hand brushed Zach’s, but she tucked it into her pocket. It was better if he heard her out before they held hands.
Thankfully, the crowd at Flavor Fest hadn’t drifted over to this area of the hotel grounds. The gazebo waited for them without other people around.
The air cooled by a few degrees as they entered the shade of the wooden structure. A few steps in, Ava turned to face Zach.
“I think we need to talk about the review in Ava Harper Chows Down.”
Zach’s eyes clouded. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Ava rubbed her clammy hands on the front of her jeans. “I just wanted to explain—”
“Ava, I’m having a hard enough time putting the whole thing behind me without you dredging it back up again. Can’t we just leave it?”
“I don’t think I can spend any more time with you until we hash it out. Plus, I think you’ll appreciate what I have to say.”
“Fine.”
Zach’s grunt left her unconvinced, but she forged on. “Do you want to sit down?” They sat, Zach’s back ramrod straight. Ava fought the urge to put her hand on his and massage the tension away.
She cleared her throat. “When I worked at the Seattle Courier, it was my first real column out of journalism school. A column with my own byline. I couldn’t believe I’d landed the position. It was a way to stay connected to the food scene without being in a kitchen myself.”
“So, you thought you’d score off me?” The hurt in his voice sent a spear through her. “Sorry. Still working on the forgiveness thing.”
“No. Just listen to me.” Ava put out her hand. “I went to your restaurant and ate close to the best meal of my life. I thought one of your waiters would have to roll me out, I ate so much that night.”
Zach’s mouth dropped open. “What are you saying? How could you write those things about me, then?”
“At one point you came out of the kitchen, and I heard you talking to another patron. I don’t remember exactly what you said, but you sounded so full of yourself, talking about the ‘proper way to do things.’ I know now that it was your commitment to excellence talking—and maybe some self-doubt.”
“Ava.” Zach’s voice was low, dangerous. “I fail to see how any of this is supposed to make me feel better. You wrote a critical review because you thought I was stuck-up.”
“No! I didn’t write a bad review. By the time I got home, I’d decided to ignore my observations of you and just focus on the food.
” She needed air. “But then I sat down in front of my computer and froze. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
So”—she swallowed hard—“I tried using a writing prompt from school where you write the opposite, or at least something different than what you plan to say. It unlocked my brain from having to be perfect so I could write the real thing.”
“The real thing.” Zach leaned forward. “So, the review printed in the newspaper was the real thing?”