Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Colby felt like she’d barely blinked and dinner service was already half over.
Miller had been right. The restaurant was packed tonight.
Locals mixed with the spring break vacationers enjoying one last meal before heading out of town tomorrow.
If they were this busy now, which was twice as busy as it had been last year, what would it be like in a month?
Would she really be able to take time away for photoshoots?
To work on the cookbook? She wasn’t CC. She didn’t write down anything.
It would take time to put the recipes in her head to paper and to thoughtfully comment on why those desserts and those places were connected.
She needed Ford to run the numbers, to assure her it was doable and that Ada, her second on pastry, would be ready to step into her shoes. But Ford was hours late getting back from the city with nothing more than a Be there by nine text.
“Table one’s dessert is up,” Ada said as she slid a steaming golden-brown pie in front of her. One of their regulars was celebrating his fiftieth birthday tonight, their party taking up the entire farm table, and he’d requested his favorite dessert.
“It’s gorgeous!” Colby swiped her finger through the filling oozing out the side and took a taste.
Sweet strawberry and tart rhubarb burst on her tongue.
“And delicious too!” A slice would be absolutely divine with a scoop of the local hand-churned ice cream they’d started to serve and stock in the store downstairs.
“Do we still have the vanilla from Kimbers to go with?”
“Sure do,” Ada said with a nod. “Was gonna finish it with a little yuzu zest and a drizzle of balsamic.”
“Genius!” Fuck the numbers. Ada was ready. “Where are we on the rest of the pastry tickets for first seating?”
“All caught—”
A commotion from the other side of the hearth interrupted Ada’s words, and a moment later, a familiar towheaded now grade-schooler came barreling around the hearth, hollering for “Uncle Miller!” and “Auntie Colby!”
“Amos!” Colby said, arms open wide for the grinning boy who careened into them. “What are you doing here?”
“He tagged along with me.”
She’d know that New Orleans drawl anywhere.
Her gaze collided with Greg’s sparkling brown one, her former head chef all smiles where he stood between Ford and Clancy at the expeditor’s station.
Before she could ask why Greg was there, Amos spun out of her arms and held his own out like a plane, dipping and swerving in the narrow space between stations.
“We flew around and around and around. I didn’t think we were ever gonna land. ”
“Ground stop at Logan,” Ford said as he dodged Amos and stepped toward her. “Sorry I’m late.” His tone was apologetic, his blue eyes a mix of excited and something else, but his smile was so wide it looked like it hurt. Like he was trying to tell her something with it.
Oh shit.
Realization hit and hope exploded, bright enough to blot out her earlier doubts. She reached for her phone on the station charger but Ford beat her to it, snagging the device and holding it above her head. “Not so fast.”
She was tall but not that tall. Damn it. She swung her gaze back to a laughing Greg, asking the same question she’d asked his son. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here because the James Beard Foundation would like me to inform you, Colby Clarke, that you are a short list finalist for this year’s best pastry chef.”
A clap sounded behind her and flour filled the air, raining down around her as Miller and Ada led the rest of the kitchen in cheers and applause, along with more puffs of flour and a long line of congratulatory hugs.
Ford’s embrace was last and the tightest. He drew back, holding her face in his flour-covered hands.
There was something she couldn’t put her finger on still lingering in his gaze, worry or sadness, she wasn’t sure, but it was only there for a split second before he shuttered it with pride and affection. “I told you so.”
“You did.” She bounced on her toes and returned his smile, reveling in this moment of happy satisfaction, of reaching this milestone.
She’d worked hard, and all these people in the kitchen with her, Ford included, had supported her, had helped make this achievement possible.
She’d worry about the rest of it, about expectations, tomorrow.
Tonight was for celebrating. “I’m a fucking Beard finalist.”
He rested his forehead against hers, breath ghosting over her lips. “You deserve this. Congratulations, baby.”
Fuck, she wanted to kiss him.
And fuck, she’d told him first.
A champagne bottle popped at their side, startling them apart as Bollinger mist joined the flour shower. Clancy shoved a glass in each of their hands and laughter resumed, the celebration carrying all the way out to the dining room where more glasses and bubbly were being handed out.
“I’m so proud of you,” Ford murmured at her other side.
She turned to give him a kiss on the cheek but stopped short at seeing the hickey beneath his collar. “Did someone have fun with Dr. Silver Fox?”
Ford’s answering grin was sinful and sent a tendril of heat snaking down her spine. “We’re meeting up again when I take Greg back to the airport on Sunday.”
Ah! She hadn’t actually told Ford first. Greg had on the way from the airport. It didn’t count.
Relief fizzed through her like the yeasty champagne that tickled her tongue. She discreetly reached a hand back to smack Ford’s ass. “Way to get back on that horse. I’ll make you some more sweets for him.”
“Colby.”
She rose on her toes and planted the smacking kiss on his cheek she’d meant to before. “Just say, ‘Thank you, Colby.’”
He said more than that, throwing an arm around her shoulders and lifting his glass in a toast. “Cheers! To the sweetest spot we all know and love!”