Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Monday morning, Gabe headed to the Lazure Hotel just before eleven. He was eager to see what the next challenge would bring. He needed to kill it and get himself one step closer to the grand prize.

As he got out of his car and walked toward the hotel entrance, he was stopped by an attractive brunette, who looked vaguely familiar.

"I'm glad I caught you," she said. "I'm Georgia Marks. I'm a producer on the show Your Next Great Bite ."

"It's nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand.

"I was really impressed with your lamb dish and also your presence. You have a look. A charisma." Her gaze swept his face and body before she added, "I think you'd be great on our show. We're scheduling guest chef segments over the next few months. Would you be interested?"

"Sure." He wasn't familiar with the show, but any food show on television couldn't be bad. "What does it entail?"

"We film the show in Los Angeles. You'd be required to be there for two to three days. I'd like to get together with you and explain it in more detail. I'm going to be here for the challenge today, but unfortunately, I have meetings right after that and for the next several days. What about Thursday morning?"

"I can probably make that work."

"Great. I have your phone number and email from the competition entry list, so I will be in touch about a time and a place."

"I look forward to it."

"Good luck today."

As Georgia moved away, he saw Madison approaching, so he waited for her. He'd spent most of the night thinking about her and wondering what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted again. Every time things got hot between them something came up. But one of these days, they were going to finish what they'd started. He would make sure of that.

As Madison drew near, he saw tension and anger in her face, and he couldn't understand why. He was happy to see her. He'd thought she'd feel the same. But maybe this wasn't about him. "Good morning," he said.

"Hi," she returned without a trace of a smile.

"Everything okay?"

"It's…" She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You look like you want to punch someone. It's not me, is it?"

"No. It's a food blogger who came to my restaurant on Saturday night and posted her review today. It was not great."

"Who's the blogger?"

"Felicity Spickler from Felicity Knows Food . Have you heard of her?"

"I haven't. She can't be that big."

"Well, her review has already had four hundred views, so she's big enough to hurt me."

"Four hundred views is nothing. Seriously. It's probably trolls or click bots."

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"I'm just saying not every view is real."

"But the blog was only posted an hour ago."

"Well…who cares?" he said with a shrug. "You can't do anything about it. And it's one person's opinion."

"One person with a big, loud voice that will hurt my business."

"Or…it could actually make people look your restaurant up to see what it's all about. Dare I ask what she said?"

"My food is pretty and worth a photo, but it doesn't have soul. It doesn't fill you up. It doesn't warm your heart."

"Ouch," he said as he saw the pain in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Madison, but maybe this Felicity doesn't review high-end restaurants like yours."

"That's all she does."

"Well, you have to stand behind your food. If you know it's good, then you know it. And it doesn't matter what she says or what anyone says."

She stared back at him through troubled eyes. "What if she's right? What if my food doesn't have soul? I know that's important. Food should make you feel good. It can't just be pretty."

"I'm sure your food makes people feel good."

"It didn't make her feel good." She looked down at her phone.

He grabbed it out of her hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked with annoyance.

"Stopping you from driving yourself crazy. You have a competition to focus on. And you can't change what that reviewer said. Move forward. Forget about it. Or it will mess you up for the competition."

"You should be happy if I'm off my game."

"No. I only want to beat you if you're on your game, at your best."

She let out a sigh. "Okay, I won't think about it, but I need my phone."

He handed it back to her. "I doubt you won't think about it, but at least stop reading it over and over again. And if you want to be distracted, maybe think about our kiss yesterday, something I'd really like to do again."

A gleam entered her eyes even as she shook her head. "Not going to happen, Gabe. We both need to focus."

"That's true…for the next few hours anyway. After that…"

"There is no after that." She put her phone in her bag. "We better get inside. We don't want to be disqualified for being late." She gave him a warning look. "And once we're inside, we're nothing but rivals."

"Depending on the challenge, we can still be allies," he reminded her. "There are a lot of people that need to get kicked out of this competition, and if we want to be the last two standing, we should try to make that happen."

"You shouldn't want that to happen because if it came down to just two, I would beat you."

He laughed. "I see you have your confidence back. Let's get to it."

Madison's confidence dipped once she was standing in the hotel kitchen with eleven other chefs, listening to the rules of their next challenge. They would each conceive and prepare one dish for a panel of six judges. The challenge was complicated and would require several steps. Each step would change the challenge. They would be tested to see how quickly they could adapt the ingredients of their choosing depending on each new blindside.

She didn't like surprises or unpredictability, and anxiety flooded through her at the thought of what might be ahead. But there was no turning back. The lights were on. The cameras were whirring. And she was sweating through her chef's coat.

She'd started out the day feeling ready to take on the world, but the negative blog review had put doubts in her head, and this new, complex challenge was making her want to run again.

Looking across the kitchen to the six chefs on the opposite side of her, she found Gabe, and even though he wasn't gazing at her, she felt better looking at him. He grounded her in a way she couldn't even begin to explain.

As Francine finished her instructions, Madison had another panic attack, as she really hadn't heard the last part, and now the challenge was on. Francine was counting down the time to start. The only thing she knew was that she had to run into the pantry and grab six ingredients.

"Three-two-one-go," Francine said.

She raced into the pantry with the other chefs, her mind spinning with thoughts. There were some basic ingredients that were available to everyone like butter, flour, salt, and oil. Beyond that, she needed to figure out ingredients she could make anything with.

It was hard to decide, and with the time ticking down, she had to pick something if she wanted to make anything. Some of the other chefs were choosing ingredients that would take them in a certain direction, like Asian, rustic, Italian, or French.

It seemed risky. What if she ended up having to make a dessert with asparagus or something like that in her basket, which was why the whole challenge was completely ludicrous. How would anyone produce a spectacular dish under these constraints?

But she couldn't think about all the obstacles. She just had to do it.

Forcing herself to focus, she settled on chicken, butternut squash, honey, almonds, basil, and coconut milk. She could go in different directions with those ingredients as her base.

The clock buzzed just as she returned to her station. She drew in a couple of breaths as the countdown began for round two where they would run to the basket in the middle of the room and pick a card.

When it was time to go, the chefs jostled to pick their cards, not that it really mattered what order they went in, except that they would have ten minutes to start prepping their dish before the next round. And every second counted.

She picked her card and was relieved to see one word on it—savory.

That was better for her than dessert.

She ran back to her station and started taking her chicken apart, having an idea for a coconut milk-based chicken curry. The time went ridiculously fast. Her anxiety soared as the buzzer blared, and she returned to the basket in the middle of the room.

Grabbing another card, her gaze blurred as she saw there were three sentences. With her eyes on the card, she stumbled back to her station, colliding with Gabe along the way.

"Okay?" he asked, steadying her.

She couldn't answer. Her anxiety was raging as she tried to make sense of the words on the card. She stared at it when she got back to her station. She thought there was something about switching ingredients, but was she supposed to put two back and grab two more or just grab two more? And was she supposed to change from savory to sweet or was that optional?

She stood at her station, sweating profusely, paralyzed by her inability to read the card clearly. She felt like she was in second grade again, standing at the chalkboard with everyone staring at her while the teacher told her to read the sentence, but the letters were jumping around like bouncing balls and she couldn't put them together.

Forcing herself to take a breath, she tried to calm down, but everything felt overwhelming. There was chatter and chaos in the kitchen. This wasn't how she cooked. And she was suddenly very sure she wouldn't make it out of this round because she didn't know what to do.

And then Gabe was next to her.

"Get moving, Madison," he said quietly.

"I—I can't. I don't know," she stuttered.

He picked up her card. "You have to switch out two ingredients for two more and change from savory to sweet or sweet to savory. And you only have five more minutes to pick the ingredients, then thirty minutes to cook. You can do this," he added in a forceful voice. "Go."

His command made her move. She grabbed the chicken and basil and ran into the pantry, switching them out for dried cranberries and vanilla extract. She would make a butternut squash coconut pudding with a honey almond crunch and dried cranberries. It wasn't the most sophisticated dish she could make, but at least she would have a dessert.

Thirty minutes later, the buzzer went off again, but they weren't done. There was one more round. She ran back to the basket and picked another card.

When she returned to her station, Gabe was there. He read her card over her shoulder.

"I have to add something on the side that will tie savory and sweet together, right?" She looked to him for confirmation.

"Yes," he said with a nod.

"And I get three more ingredients to do that, plus another thirty minutes."

"You got it."

"Thank you." She ran back into the kitchen, her mind spinning with possibilities. In the end, she picked up caramel, peaches and goat cheese to make a caramelized peach and goat cheese tartlet to go with her pudding. That would add a nice savory-sweet tie-in.

The next half hour passed in a flash, but she managed to get her dish on the counter in front of her when the buzzer went off.

The other chefs were letting out sighs of relief and giving each other high fives, and she joined in, hoping no one else had seen her panic. Although, it seemed doubtful that the cameras had missed her anxiety attack. She had a feeling she was going to be made into some sort of competition storyline, but she couldn't worry about that now. It was time to be judged.

Several other chefs helped her carry her dishes to the panel and then stepped back while she stood in front of a high countertop and watched four women and two men taste her dessert. It was a different group of judges from the previous round, and all of them were acclaimed chefs who knew good food. This wasn't the prettiest thing she'd ever made, but she'd tasted it, and it was good. Would that be enough to keep her in the competition? She had no idea.

The panel asked her a few questions about her dish, and despite the lights and cameras on her, she managed to give them a coherent answer, trying not to analyze their expressions as they ate. They didn't say much, and she was excused.

When she got back to her station, she took a long draught of cold water from a bottle that had been placed at her station by some helpful member of the production crew.

Gabe was the last one to take his dish to the panel, and it sounded great. He'd used chocolate in a mole sauce with rice and vegetables. It seemed like a dish that was right up his alley. He'd managed to follow the challenge but stay true to himself.

As she heard everyone describe their dishes and their individual challenges, she realized all the cards had been different, with one exception. Everyone had had to switch from their original card, savory to sweet or sweet to savory. But there had been other twists.

Some chefs had to use a specific ingredient. Others had to make a cold dish or a hot dish. She was lucky she hadn't had to deal with those extras. But she had been forced to give up ingredients to get new ones, which was a challenge the others had not had to deal with.

Finally, they were asked to line up in front of the judges.

She found herself standing next to Gabe and was happy about that. His solid presence made her feel steadier.

Francine called for their attention. "That was a fun challenge," she said. "For the most part, we really enjoyed the dishes you came up with on the fly and were impressed at how adaptable you all were. The sign of a great chef is being able to make something extraordinary out of something very ordinary. Unfortunately, we will be cutting the competition in half today. Only six of you will go on to participate in round three. If I call your name, please step to the side."

As six names were called, Madison grew more nervous. So far, neither she nor Gabe had been called. She didn't know if that was good or bad, but they were in the same group, so she was hoping for the best.

"If I called your name, thank you for participating, but this will be your last day in the competition." Francine's gaze swung to their group. "The rest of you are in. Congratulations! We'd love for you to stay and talk to our judges and our media guests. And then we'll see you Friday at two for round three."

She felt immense relief she'd made it through the challenge, which made it a little easier to answer questions from the judges and even the media. She made sure to mention her name and her restaurant as often as possible, hoping whatever press she got would balance out the bad review she'd received this morning. She was almost through the gauntlet when one of the judges asked her if she'd had a problem reading her challenge card, and just like that, her relief vanished.

"I noticed you had a quick chat with Gabe Herrera in the middle of the challenge," the female judge said. "What was that about?"

"We were just talking about what we were going to make," she lied, knowing Gabe was only a few feet behind her and could easily negate whatever she said.

Thankfully, the judge moved on with another question about her tartlet. She answered that question and was done. Gabe was coming up behind her, and she had no idea what he would say if he was asked the same question.

She couldn't intercept him, so she headed out to the patio to catch her breath. The ocean view and swaying palm trees under a bright-blue sky were a welcome sight, and she drew in several long breaths before she heard someone behind her.

She turned to see Gabe with a wide smile on his face.

"Congrats," he said, opening his arms.

"You, too," she said as she gave him a hug that felt so good she didn't want to let him go. But there were too many people lurking around, and she didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, especially since there had already been a question about their conversation.

As she pulled away, she said, "Did the last judge ask you what we were talking about during the challenge?"

"I just said we were discussing food choices." He glanced over his shoulder as two more of their fellow contestants came on to the patio. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay," she agreed, following him through a nearby gate to a grassy area in front of the beach.

They sat down on a nearby bench under the shade of a big elm tree.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked, turning to face her.

"I probably owe you that," she said with a sigh.

"It looked like you were having a panic attack."

"I was."

"Why? What happened?"

"My panic was brought on because of an issue I've been dealing with my entire life. I have dyslexia. When I read things, the letters don't always make sense to me. And when I'm super nervous, it gets worse. Everything blurs, and I get very anxious because there's usually somebody watching me, and it's embarrassing that I can't read something simple."

"I had no idea," he murmured. "That sucks."

"I've mostly figured out how to work around it. It doesn't happen as much when I'm calm, and my brain takes a minute to put things in the right order. But that wasn't today. If you hadn't helped me, I'd be out." She paused, giving him a thoughtful look. "Why did you help me?"

"I told you I wanted us to be allies, Madison. I don't want to have to beat you until the end."

"But you could have gotten rid of me early. Or maybe you don't think you need to. You want me at the end because you think I'm weak, and I'll be easy to beat."

His expression hardened. "That's not what I think. That's what you think."

"It's not," she denied.

"Are you sure you're not letting one bad review destroy your confidence? Because you're stronger than that, Madison."

"Maybe I'm not," she murmured.

"Yes, you are. And we did nothing wrong. I didn't help you make your dish. I just helped you understand the instructions. You did the rest on your own. And I'm putting my food against your food, not me against you."

"Can you really separate it like that?"

"I can," he said forcefully. "What about you?"

She hesitated, then said, "I'm not sure. You bailed me out today. It's hard for me to want to beat someone who was very kind to me."

"It really wasn't a big deal."

"It was. No one rescued me in the second grade when I stood at the chalkboard and couldn't read the sentence, and Mr. Dimitry kept telling me that I should know it, that we'd read those words a hundred times already. Kids started laughing. And someone whispered loudly that I was stupid."

"That's terrible. Kids can be cruel."

"It happened in high school, too, when I had to give a speech. I tried to memorize the whole thing, so I wouldn't have to read, but it was too long. The lights were on me, and I started to sweat. My body swayed. I looked at the page, and I couldn't read it. Nor could I remember anything. It was awful. That was the last time I was ever in an event that required public speaking."

He nodded with understanding. "Your anxiety is making more sense now. I'm impressed you had the courage to do this competition."

"I didn't want to, but I have to do something to bring attention to my restaurant. I would rather it be through my winning dishes than fainting in the middle of the competition, but today it could have gone either way."

He smiled. "Don't think about what didn't happen. We both won. We should celebrate. You're not working tonight, are you?"

"No. The restaurant is closed. What about you?"

"I'm free. Let's do something fun."

"Like what?" She felt both tempted and wary to spend more time with Gabe. She was starting to really like him, and he might be able to compartmentalize, but she didn't think she could do that. At some point, she would have to beat him, or he would have to beat her, and that was going to hurt.

On the other hand, she didn't want to think about the review or her lack of reservations for the upcoming week. She didn't want to go to the restaurant and sift through the stack of growing bills and realize how much debt Larry was acquiring. She also didn't want to go home and sit in her apartment, where she'd end up thinking about all that, too.

"How do you feel about roller coasters?" he asked.

"Roller coasters?" she echoed in surprise.

He nodded. "Ferris wheels, spinning rides, throwing darts at balloons."

"You want to go to an amusement park?" She thought for a moment. "I don't know. I feel like I've been on a spinning ride in my head most of the day."

"Then let's get you on an actual ride, one where you can scream your head off, and release all that tension. Unless you don't like rides?"

"Actually, I love roller coasters."

"Really? I would not have guessed that. You don't seem the daredevil type."

"Apparently, you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Apparently, I don't. Let's go." He got up and held out his hand.

She wrapped her fingers around his as she stood up, feeling a jolt of electricity. She was playing with fire, but she couldn't stop herself. She needed a day off. She needed some fun in her life. And one thing she knew for sure about Gabe was that he was fun. Maybe too much fun.