Chapter Two
As Ava entered the restaurant, she was assaulted by a cacophony of voices. The ceilings were high, the floor concrete, and all the noise seemed multiplied in between. Diners shared deliciously scented plates, servers rushed back and forth, and a great flame rose up from the open kitchen, where some specialty of the house was being crisped to perfection.
They were all there, her big, beautiful family, seated at a center table. Just looking at them, her heart swelled. They’d gone through so much together, both before and after their parents died. And they’d made it out the other side, all of them doing so well for themselves, and with a closeness that other people envied. If any one of them had a problem, they all pitched in to help. She’d been known to make and receive midnight phone calls, sometimes for a shoulder to lean on, sometimes just to shoot the breeze. They were totally there for each other.
Her big brother Dane looked positively domestic, his arm draped around Cammie seated next to him. He was still her tall, dark, and handsome brother, like all her brothers were, but there was a new contentment about him. Cammie ran his life for him, and now Dane had finally realized she was the love of his life too. Ava would say he glowed, but he’d probably bop her on the arm for that as well. She was happy for him. For Cammie. They made her wonder if there was hope for the rest of the family.
Except for her. She’d pretty much proven she sucked at the love game.
As she made her way around the table kissing cheeks—Dane and Cammie, her brothers Clay and Troy, her sister Gabby—she stopped in front of Fernsby. Good old Fernsby. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that was a scowl on his face. But that was just Fernsby. He’d probably worn that look as a baby. Except it was hard to imagine Fernsby had ever been a baby. And yet, over the summer, since he’d won the top prize on Britain’s Greatest Bakers—or maybe because of Dane and Cammie—Fernsby had actually loosened up. Not much. Just a bit.
“Miss Harrington, may I say you look lovely this evening,” he said in his cultured British tones.
The consummate British butler, he went everywhere with Dane. But to the family mastermind? Well, yes. Fernsby was part of the family.
“Thank you, Fernsby. Where’s T. Rex?” Dane and Cammie’s excessively adorable long-haired mini dachshund also went everywhere with them.
“Since this is a restaurant and they don’t allow dogs, Lord Rexford,” Fernsby drawled, because he always used the dog’s formal name, just as she was always Miss Harrington, “is at the Nob Hill flat.” While Dane’s main estate was down in Pebble Beach, he kept a pied-à-terre in the city.
Ava smiled and took the seat between Clay and Gabby at the round table. Though she’d called for these meetings, she was still the last to arrive. It was always the one who came the least distance, right? While Cammie, Dane, and Gabby—who ran a vegan café in Carmel—had driven up from Monterey Bay, both Troy and Clay had probably come straight from the airport, the two of them always on the move.
Despite the Maverick holiday events and weekly barbecues, Ava had opted for instituting their own family mastermind once a month. Distance and travel made weekly an impossibility.
Ava beamed at her family. “I’m so glad you all made it.”
A smile in his dark eyes, Dane said, “Cammie and I thought we’d combine the trip into the city with a show tomorrow night that we both want to see.”
Below the table, Gabby nudged her, and Ava knew exactly what her sister was thinking. Neither of them had thought Dane would admit he was in love with Cammie, even though the entire family had known it right from the beginning. Well, except Troy, who’d had the temerity to ask Cammie out. Dane had tried to explain away his histrionics as Troy trying to poach one of his employees. But everyone knew he never would have gone nuts like that if Troy had tried to poach Fernsby. Not that any of them would dream of poaching Fernsby. The man was simply unpoachable.
She and Gabby shared a smile. It was so good to see their big brother finally happy.
He’d built his business from one small resort in Napa to a multinational corporation that was the leading name in luxury resorts. And Cammie had been right there, backing him all the way. Now they were embarking on their most ambitious resort yet—one for people with special needs, which would combine resort quality with therapy, team sports, and camaraderie.
After a swig, Troy set his beer bottle on the table. “Sorry to say I’ve only got a couple of hours. I have to fly out again tonight for a conference tomorrow.”
A gold-medal Olympic diver and owner of a billion-dollar sports equipment empire, Troy was a regular keynote speaker, telling young athletes of his own journey, of his parents’ deaths, and how his siblings never let him give up his Olympic dreams. He inspired young people to go for their aspirations, to strive to be their best, to never give up. Her brother’s heart was as big as the number of trophies and medals he’d won.
Ava blew him a kiss. “Then it’s even more sweet that you’re here tonight.”
He grimaced at the word sweet, and Clay took the heat off him by saying, “I’ve got a flight out tomorrow morning. Meeting a new prospect in New York.” His eyes gleamed at the potential.
While both her brothers were based in the San Francisco Bay Area, they did their work all over the country. Clay, their tech wizard, had started a new internet platform for artists, from painting to woodworking to metalwork to music to writing. He searched for new talent and brought them onto his platform, a safe place for artists where no one would rip them or their work apart. Right now, it was by invitation only. Clay toured the country interviewing potential candidates, and his platform was growing exponentially. Ava secretly wondered if it would soon outpace the giant video platforms out there right now.
“And thanks to you too.” Ava squeezed Gabby’s knee.
Her sister had torn herself away from her vegan café and bakery. Gabby, only thirty and herself a vegan, had franchises all over the country, but she chose the Carmel bakery to test new recipes before distributing them to her franchises.
Eighteen years ago, when their parents passed away, who would have thought that they would all accomplish the amazing things they had? Ava knew in her heart it was due to their loyalty to each other, their willingness to help. And she needed their help now.
The tapas plates began to arrive—spicy roasted potatoes, bite-sized empanadas, some made with veggie ingredients and gluten-free, plant-based crusts for Gabby. But Ava adored the coconut shrimp, the spices piquant on her tongue.
She laid aside a shrimp tail and held up her hand for their attention. “After I say this, you’ll think I brought you here just for my own benefit. But I have a problem that only came up today, and I need to talk it over with you guys.”
Dane’s eyes flashed with interest, and he leaned forward, elbows on the table. The entire family followed suit. This was what they loved to do, even when they were younger. Just as they’d kicked around the soccer ball with Gabby when she’d joined her middle school soccer team—they were still known to indulge in a cutthroat game or two even now—these days they enjoyed kicking around ideas.
“It’s my catering at the five Bay Area care homes.”
“But the catering was great down in San Juan Bautista,” Cammie said.
The facility provided care at all levels, from independent living to assisted living to memory care, and Cammie had stayed there a few months ago while taking care of her uncle Lochlan who, sadly, had recently passed away from Alzheimer’s. Cammie had been the only one who could keep her uncle calm, despite Ava’s excellent staff.
“I liked to take Uncle Lochlan into the dining room as often as possible,” she said. “Even if he wasn’t aware of much.”
Ava nodded sadly. “It’s not the food. The company we were using has been under new management for the last few months. And things have taken a nosedive.” She related what had happened to Mrs. Greeley and the reports of bad behavior by the catering staff at other care homes.
Cammie gasped. “That’s awful. There was nothing like that when I was there.”
“The management change occurred after you left. I spoke with their president today. His answer was that my residents were too touchy,” she finished with a growl.
Fernsby harrumphed and muttered, “A disgustingly poor excuse for bad behavior.”
“That’s what I said when I fired him.” She sighed heavily. “I’ve found a group who can manage the catering for a couple of weeks. But I need to find someone longer term ASAP. The problem is that I’ve tried every name in the book.”
“Tell us who you’ve talked to,” Dane said.
She pulled the list from her purse and laid it on the table. Every single caterer had been crossed off.
Dane shook his head gently. “What about Ransom Yates?”
Ava jumped on that immediately. “Why would you bring him up? He doesn’t do retirement homes. He’s a superstar chef,” she said, using air quotes. “This is more like cafeteria work. He does resorts and cruise ships and big galas and five-star restaurants and TV shows.”
But did she really know what he did these days? She’d been so careful never to look him up on the internet. Except for seeing his TV commercials or his face on the sides of buses and his cookbooks in bookstores, she’d avoided finding out anything more about him.
But her brothers were still friends with Ransom through various functions they attended. Dane still used him at his resorts. In fact, Ransom had catered Gideon’s New Year’s Eve gala at Dane’s Napa resort. Ava had made sure not to run into him.
But the food had been pretty darned amazing.
Dane shrugged. “Who knows, he might do it—at least for a while, until you find someone permanent. There’s no harm in asking.”
She would rather cut off a limb.
She’d met Ransom Yates more than fifteen years ago, when she’d taken care of his grandmother at the convalescent home where she’d worked after leaving university. Her parents had left behind massive debts. There’d been no money to finish college, not even enough for the basic needs of her younger siblings. So she and Dane had gone to work. But that first job was exactly why she’d chosen eldercare, why she’d pursued a degree in healthcare and senior living management. Because she’d wanted to provide homes and staff that gave older adults the respect they deserved.
Ransom had come often to see his grandmother. Then he’d started coming to see Ava.
Of course the family didn’t know about it. They didn’t know how it had ended either.
Dane pushed. “No, for you—for family—he’ll do it.”
She was still shaking her head.
Clay chimed in. “Come on, you’re being ridiculous.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You’ve got a big need. Sure, your residents aren’t rich people in fancy resorts, but in fact, their needs are even more important. He’ll do it. I know he will.”
The only one who knew anything about her past with Ransom was Gabby. Thankfully, her sister kept quiet, and Ava shot her a look, speaking her gratitude with her eyes.
“Look,” Dane said, “you have the right to ask. Just as he has the right to say no. But you at least need to talk to him.”
She felt Fernsby staring her down, before he said in his usual spot-on way, “Lochlan, Cammie’s uncle and one of your very special residents, would have told you that calling Mr. Yates was an absolute must.”
Cammie gave a nod of agreement.
Defeat loomed over Ava like a wave.
The only way she could get out of calling Ransom for help was if she told her brothers—and Fernsby—about their relationship. And she absolutely would not do that. Ever.
Ransom Yates had completely bombarded her all day. First, he’d popped into her head when she was thinking about her catering issues. Then he’d cropped up on the bus. And now, her family was throwing him at her.
Three times in one day? Really?
And yet, she had no choice. Hadn’t she told Naomi they needed to think outside the box? Well, Ransom was definitely outside the box. Pandora’s box.
Finally, she had to say, “All right. Who’s got his number?”
All three of her brothers whipped out their phones and started scrolling through their contacts.
She was stuck.
* * *
Fernsby felt the need to dance a jig. He’d experienced that same need quite often over the last few months. But due to his legendary restraint, he only jigged in the privacy of his own quarters.
Well, well, well. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Ava Harrington had a secret. And of course, Fernsby always knew better. Ransom Yates. What was going on there? The idea intrigued him.
Handsome, fit, mature, and well established in a brilliant career as a celebrity chef, the man was eminently suited for Ava. Her success wouldn’t intimidate him, as it did so many lesser men who couldn’t appreciate her fine qualities, her intelligence, assurance, business acumen, and compassion. Many men simply couldn’t handle a self-made female billionaire, as if billion-dollar corporations were the purview of only men.
Coming off the delightful project of bringing Dane and Camille together, his little matchmaking heart was anxious to sink its teeth into another mission.
Ava was it. Fernsby knew it in his deepest innards. And he was always right. Well, except for that one time long ago.
Over the next few weeks, he’d ferret out the details. Then he’d make his plans.
The family get-together, of which he heartily approved, was breaking up, and out of the corner of his eye, he detected Gabrielle Harrington hustling over to him. They were to drive home together, since Dane and Camille would be spending the night in the city and attending the show.
Gabrielle gripped his arm. She had quite a grip for a young woman on the more diminutive end of the spectrum, but then, most men often underestimated beautiful blondes. Not that he was most men. Oh no-no-no, he was Fernsby.
“Fernsby, I know you’re taking me home,” she said ever so sweetly. “But I really wanted to have a drink with Ava before we leave. Would you mind hanging out for a little while?”
She gave him such a beseeching look that he drawled the only answer he could. “Of course, Miss Harrington, you must absolutely have a drink with your sister.” He called all the Harringtons by some sort of honorific—sir, miss—but in his own mind, he used their first names as if they were family. Though in truth, he couldn’t think of her as Gabby. She was Gabrielle. Just as Camille could never be Cammie in his mind. Why did these Americans always want to shorten such lovely names? Or perhaps that was just him. Because he had to admit the Brits did it too. Crikey.
“But I must pick up the dog,” he informed her in a drawn-out syllable. “I will remind you that he’s at the flat.”
Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, except Lord Rexford himself, but the mini dachshund was cute as the dickens.
Gabrielle beamed. “Oh good.” She clapped her hands. “Rexie can sit on my lap on the way home.”
Rexie? Fernsby shuddered. The dog was called anything from T. Rex to just plain Rex to Fernsby’s preferred moniker, Lord Rexford. But Rexie had to be the worst.
He suspected Gabrielle used it on purpose just to irritate him.
“He absolutely cannot sit on your lap,” Fernsby said in his sternest voice, applying an exaggerated eye roll. “He needs to be in his harness should we be involved in an accident.”
Gabrielle gaped at him. “We’ve never had an accident while you’re driving, Fernsby.”
The little minx was laying it on a bit thick. “Of course it would never be my fault,” he said, hand splayed against his chest. “But should a Mack truck broadside us, we wouldn’t want Lord Rexford to be creamed.” Not that Fernsby would ever allow himself to be creamed by anyone, let alone a Mack truck. However, there were safety protocols to follow.
“You’re right. He’s safer in his harness.” She smiled widely, and he knew the next request would be huge. “So, can you come back to get me in… like… a couple of hours?”
“A couple of hours. Of course, miss.” It meant they’d be driving until nearly midnight. But, as always, Fernsby was up to the task.
He was up to any task the Harringtons could possibly think of.
And next on his list was Ava Harrington.
He wanted to smile with glee. Or do a jig. On the way home, he could pump Gabrielle for information about Ava’s secret, which he was ninety-nine percent sure was all about Ransom Yates.
Gabrielle moved as if to hug him, then thought better of it. “You’re the best.” She beamed at him with those cornflower-blue eyes.
He couldn’t help a long-suffering sigh. “Of course. I’m Fernsby. And I did pass muster with my vegan Victoria sponge.” For which, naturally, he’d won the top award on Britain’s Greatest Bakers.
Her smile lit up her pretty face. “Your Victoria sponge was the absolute best.” She was most definitely buttering him up. And he suspected that as much as he might pump her for information, she wouldn’t reveal a thing.
Blond, she was a striking contrast to Ava, the redhead in the family. The Harrington men were all Heathcliff types, the tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and exceptionally handsome heroes typical of romance novels. The family genes were actually quite phenomenal in the appearance department.
If he couldn’t wrest any information concerning Ava from her, Fernsby would content himself with pumping her for the 4-1-1 regarding her vegan tiers on the four-tier cake they would be making together for Gideon Jones and Rosita Diaz’s wedding. He couldn’t let the little minx beat him with a better cake.
Even if he had to admit that she was a master baker almost—but not quite—on par with himself.