Chapter 20
I was perfecting my Cha-Cha Chili for an audition at the very popular, very expensive Lola’s Bar we just knew Johannsens schtick from his commercials and what we read about him online. He was always trending on Twitter for some very un-PC thing he said or did.
From the moment Joe “Steak” Johannsen appeared onscreen, he was as obnoxious as we’d heard he could be. He made dirty jokes about spaghetti. He made fun of his female challenger’s body, which was on the ample side. And not ten minutes into the challenge for Spaghetti Carbonara, Johannsen had reduced the challenger to tears because her pasta maker had gotten jammed. He slapped a hand against his forehead and laughed for a good minute, then shouted, “Damn fool can’t even work the pasta maker!”
The audience went wild, jumping to their feet and chanting “Damn fool!” at the poor woman who flung down her sheet of pasta and continued crying.
“Awwww, she’s crying!” Johannsen shouted. “Poor baby!”
“Poor baby!” the audience chanted.
The challenger’s assistant, a skinny guy in kitchen whites, walked over to Johannsen and decked him.
“Oh!” the audience shouted. “Pow!”
“I’ve been bitch-slapped by slices of bacon tougher than you,” Johannsen shouted, laughing in the guy’s face.
The audience went wild, standing up and clapping and cheering. I pointed the remote at the TV and clicked OFF . I’d seen way too much as it was.
“Sara, how’d you like to tell Johannsen to suck it on national TV? I need a mouthy assistant.”
“Oh my God,” she shouted. “I am so going to be on TV and we are so going to kick this ass’s ass!” I did what I always did when faced with cooking challenges. I drove up to Bluff Valley on Wednesday and made my Eggplant Parmesan—which I’d been working on for the past two days—for my dad. He shook his head at the first attempt. The sauce wasn’t right.
The second try got the nod.
Now that I could actually relax, I went outside and walked around the fields, trying to get Zach off my mind. But the fence where I’d carved “Justin Cole sucks” in seventh grade because he’d asked me to some dorky dance and then took another girl at the last second reminded me of how Zach Jeffries sucked, too. And the spot on the big rock that overlooked the bluffs, where my high school boyfriend had said, “Clementine, despite everything, I kind of love you,” and I’d said it right back, reminded me of Zach even more.
I used to be able to come up here and forget everything, because being up at the farm reminded me only of my family. But now being here made me think of Zach and that amazing night we’d had at his ranch house. The incredible sex. The way he looked at me. Everything between us.
I was supposed to be mad at him. But all I did was miss him.
T ext from me to Zach that night: Wanna come see me beat Joe Asshole Johannsen in a cook-off on Thursday night?
Zach: You know I do.
Me: I’ll drop offa ticket in your mailbox.
Zach: Better yet, knock.
I did knock.
He opened the door, pulled me inside, and we did very little talking for an hour.
“I’ve missed you,” he said as we lay in his bed facing each other. His hands were in my hair.
“Me, too.”
“We’re not going to agree with each other on every little thing. I think we know this already.”
“Every big thing, either.”
“That, too,” he said. “But no matter what, I think you’re amazing, Clem. Everything about you. And what Jolie said about that ex of mine. It’s long over and has nothing to do with why I don’t want Jolie to get married. And it has nothing to do with us. What’s past is long past.”
“Stop making me like you,” I said. “Sometimes I wish you were a total asshole, not just partial, so I could—”
I shut up fast. There was no way I’d say what was just about to come out of my mouth.
Jesus.
“So you could what?” he asked.
I tried to kiss my way out of it, but he pinned me down, his dark blue eyes intense on mine.
“So you could not fall in love with me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I know.” He stared at me for a second, then trailed a finger down the side of my face. “But you were about to. Don’t deny it, Cooper.”
“I will deny it,” I said, smiling at him.
“Well, know this, then. No matter what comes out of my mouth when we’re arguing, I have nothing but respect for you—everything you’re doing, trying to do. Everything.”
I wasn’t going to tell him all I qualified for was a pathetic fifteen hundred bucks business loan. Zach didn’t seem like the “ See? ” type, but still. And I didn’t need a loan anymore. My Eggplant Parmesan was all the net worth I needed.
“It’s the same for me,” I said. “I hate when we’re fighting. Everything feels off.”
“I know. And plus, I need a date for my sister’s wedding.”
I grinned at him. He might have the asshole businessman in him, but he wasn’t a total loss. “She set a date?”
“Labor Day weekend. If you don’t hate my guts by then.” Before I could say anything he pulled me on top of him and gave me one of those kisses that made it so hard to hate him for longer than a half hour.