Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"I can't believe you put your apartment together so fast," Drea said as she walked around Madison's apartment early Monday evening.

She tucked a loose strand of hair from her ponytail behind her ear as she looked happily around her living room, proud of what she'd accomplished. She didn't have a lot of furniture, but the pieces she'd acquired during her somewhat gypsy life of cooking in restaurants around the country gave her comfort and a feeling of home.

"I had a lot of help," she said. "The movers Lexie recommended were fast and efficient. I couldn't believe they could come on less than twenty-four hours' notice, but Lexie made it happen. She's great, by the way. I'm so happy you introduced me to her."

Drea flopped down on the sofa. "She is really sweet and a very talented photographer. You might want to hire her to take some professional photos of you in the kitchen at La Marée. I know the PR company took some, but I don't think they were that good. Maybe we could build a social media story about you."

"That's a good idea, but we don't have money in the budget for more photos. Plus, I need to think about what will move the needle in terms of profitability, and I don't think that photos of me will do that."

"I understand." Drea paused. "Anyway, this apartment building feels fun. There were some hot guys around the pool. I should have taken this place for myself."

"You had first shot at it."

"But I also have a lease for six more months," she said with a sigh.

"Something might be open when you're done with your lease. In the meantime, you can spend all the time you want here."

"I'm going to take you up on that." Drea reached into her bag and pulled out the flyer that Madison was starting to hate. "The deadline is tonight at midnight. Thinking time is over. You're a great cook. You could win this competition and make a name for yourself with the local foodies and critics. Not to mention all the cash you could win."

"I know," she said with a groan. "I just don't want to do it."

"Wouldn't it feel good to beat your food truck nemesis?"

Her lips tightened at the mention of Gabe. She hadn't seen him during her trips back and forth to the moving truck, which she'd been extremely happy about, but it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross again. She'd made sure of that by moving into his building.

"That would feel good," she admitted.

"Then sign up."

"I don't know. It's not the cooking that worries me; it's the cameras, the audience, and the judgment. The producers will try to create drama."

"Of course they will, but you can handle it."

She wasn't as sure of that as Drea seemed to be, but she was running out of excuses.

"Where's your computer?" Drea asked. "I'm not leaving until you submit your application. You just said you need to do something that will make a real difference, and this is your best option, so stop being so stubborn and sign up."

Drea was right. She got up from the couch and grabbed her computer, then came back and set it on the coffee table. "Okay, let's do this."

It took about twenty minutes to fill out the form, a little longer than it should have, because she wanted to read everything carefully to make sure she knew what she was getting into, while Drea kept urging her to just say yes to everything and hit Submit.

But she refused to go too fast. Skipping important instructions because they seemed too long to read had gotten her into trouble before. In the end, she couldn't find any real reason not to enter, so she sent in her entry. She just hoped there would be enough chefs in the competition that she wouldn't have to deal with Gabe.

"You won't be sorry," Drea said.

"If I am, I'm blaming you."

Drea laughed. "Put it on the list."

She grinned back at her. "It's getting to be a long list."

"Well, I have to go, so we'll discuss the list later," Drea said as she got to her feet. "I'm meeting Marcus tonight."

"Really? That's still going?"

"It is," Drea replied with a happy smile.

"Have fun." After Drea left, she looked around her apartment, feeling a sense of relief that she finally had a home again, and while it was sparsely furnished, it felt relaxing with her plush light-gray couch, oversized armchair, and her white coffee table, already decorated with a vase of flowers that Drea had brought by.

Under the window, she'd set her television on a long white table with a shelf for books. She wasn't a reader, but she'd put something on the shelf at some point to make it look less bare. In the corner of her living room, she'd set up a keyboard with a small stool in front of it. It wasn't the piano she would like to have one day, but for now it would let her play her stress away, which meant she'd probably be playing a lot in the next few weeks.

As her gaze moved to the small dining area next to the open kitchen, she thought about picking up some colorful placemats for her round, white table, and she definitely needed to get some food for the refrigerator. Dinner she usually grabbed at the restaurant, but she needed breakfast and lunch items.

Her doorbell suddenly rang, and she jumped up, wondering if Drea had forgotten something. But when she opened the door, there was a blonde woman with pale, freckled skin, and warm, friendly eyes in the hallway. She had a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

"I'm Emmalyn McGuire," she said. "We met yesterday at the pool. I was on the unicorn."

"I remember."

"These are for you—a welcome to the building."

"That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

"I was going to make you cookies. That's what I usually do, but Lexie said you're a fancy chef, so I decided to stick with flowers."

"Well, I'm not a pastry chef, so I also appreciate homemade cookies. But these are beautiful."

"Do you need any help unpacking?" Emmalyn asked.

"Uh, no, I think I'm set. Do you want to come in for a minute?" she asked hesitantly, a little taken aback by Emmalyn's friendliness. She was used to living in buildings where neighbors didn't mingle.

"Sure, for a minute. I won't keep you," Emmalyn said as she moved into the room. "Wow. You've done a lot. It took me a month to hang all my pictures. Not that I have art this nice."

"They're just pieces I've collected along my travels. I love art. It inspires my cooking and my plating."

"That's cool. I don't know much about art. At least anything beyond kindergarten art. I'm a teacher. We do a lot of drawing and painting in my classroom, but it's mostly blobs, not pretty scenes like this. Have you been to Paris?" Emmalyn asked, pointing to a painting on her wall of a Paris street scene.

"Yes, I studied cooking there for over a year. It was one of the best years of my life."

"Paris seems like a magical place. I'd like to go there," she said with a little sigh. "Maybe someday."

There was a wistful yearning in Emmalyn's eyes as her gaze lingered on the picture. Then she shrugged off whatever emotion was gripping her and put a smile on her face as she turned back to her. "I heard there's a rivalry between you and Gabe."

"Only on his side," she returned. "I don't feel like we're in competition at all. Our menus are very different."

"Have you tried his food? It's amazing."

"I haven't had the chance."

"Well, I'm sure you will get one. He usually parks the truck in the lot once a month so we can all partake. We have a lot of events here. Josie, the manager, likes everyone to feel like they're part of a big family. Some people take a little more warming up to the idea than others, of course. But I hope you won't be one of them."

"I'm looking forward to meeting everyone." As she finished speaking, her doorbell rang again. She opened the door to Lexie and a strikingly good-looking man with black hair and bright-blue eyes. She'd seen him Friday night at Maverick's. He'd been behind the bar.

"We brought you some housewarming gifts," Lexie said, handing her a bowl of fresh berries while the man held out a bottle of wine. "This is Max Donovan. He's a screenwriter. He lives down the hall."

"I think you served me a drink Friday night," she said.

"I did," he said with a nod. "I also work at Maverick's, and full disclosure, I share an apartment with Gabe."

She wasn't thrilled to hear that, wondering what Gabe had said about her, but she wasn't sure she wanted to ask that question. "Please come in."

They brought their gifts into the apartment and set them down on her small dining table.

"Don't worry, Madison," Max added. "I make up my own mind about people. Welcome to the building."

"Thanks," she said, relieved by his words. "I really appreciate this. You are all being so friendly and thoughtful."

Lexie shrugged. "That's how we are at Ocean Shores. We want everyone to feel like this is home.

"I'm already starting to feel that way."

"Great. We'll let you settle in," Lexie said. "But I'm sure we'll see you soon."

"I'm sure," she said as she walked them to the door.

As they left, she felt very good about her decision to move into Ocean Shores. Gabe might dislike her intensely, but so far, the other people she'd met, including his roommate, seemed inclined to form their own opinions.

As she moved back to the table to grab the bowl of fruit and put it in the fridge, her phone buzzed. The number wasn't one she recognized, but it was the local area code, so she answered.

"Hello?"

"Is this Madison Baldwin?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Alina Devereaux from the San Diego Cook-Off ."

"Oh. I just submitted my application," she said, her nerves tightening.

"And we just read it," Alina said. "The entries close at midnight tonight, so you got in just under the wire. We'd like to invite you to participate. Your credentials are quite impressive."

"Thank you. That's great," she said, still feeling mixed emotions about the competition.

"We're having all the contestants come in for a lunch meeting at the Lazure Hotel on Thursday at noon. We know most of you are busy in the evenings at your restaurants, so the competition events will be held during the day, including the kickoff on Thursday. We'll give you all the details then."

Thursday was three days away. Everything was happening fast. Maybe that was a good thing. She didn't have time to waste to build her restaurant base, so if she was going to do this thing, she might as well do it now. "I'll be there."

Monday night, Gabe stopped by his mother's house. He needed to talk to her about his sister, Christina, moving out of the house and into her own apartment and try to calm things down between them. He also wanted to check on his grandmother.

When he arrived, the two-story house was in its usual state of chaos. His cousin, Laura, had moved in with his mother two months ago when her husband was deployed, and she had three kids between the ages of four and ten. There were toys and kids everywhere. The TV was blaring in one room and music was coming from another. He was beginning to realize why Christina was so eager to move out.

"Gabe," Laura said as she came down the stairs. She was a short, curvy brunette with a tired smile.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Not bad," she said, her voice tense. "But I haven't heard from Brett in a couple of days, and that makes me nervous. I tell myself he's okay, he's just busy, but sometimes it's difficult to believe that."

He frowned at her words. "I'm sorry to hear that. Can you reach out to anyone?"

"I talked to one of the other wives, and she hadn't heard anything, either. I'm sure it's all fine." She cast a quick look over her shoulder. "Your mother and Christina have not been getting along lately. There have been a lot of slammed doors in this house. My four-year-old is thinking that's the only way you close a door," she said lightly as her four-year-old girl ran up to him, raising her arms to be picked up.

He happily complied, smiling into Allison's angel face. "How's my girl?"

"Do you want to see my new horse?" she asked.

"I do, but first I have to talk to my mother."

"She's crying in the kitchen," Allison said. "I gave her my doll to hug, but it didn't help."

"Then I better see what I can do," he said, setting her down. "Then I'll come see your horse."

As he headed into the kitchen, he steeled himself for what was to come. His mother was a strong woman, but also someone with deep emotions, and the loss of his father still haunted her, even after eight years. When he opened the door, he was relieved to see her standing by the stove.

She turned and a smile slowly spread across her face. Her eyes and nose were red, but she'd obviously pulled herself together. She set down the spoon she was using and walked over to give him a hug.

Her arms around him always felt good, but today he could feel her fragility more than he normally could.

"I didn't know you were coming by," she said as she released him. "You'll stay for dinner, yes? No food truck tonight?"

"Not tonight. I can stay. I want to talk to you about Christina."

Her expression hardened. "She knows my rules. She needs to follow them."

"It's hard for her here with Laura and her kids, you and Abuela… The house is a little crowded, no?"

"The house is filled with family and love. And Christina is barely in her room, so I don't see how sharing it with a small ten-year-old girl is such an issue."

"She wants to move out and live with girlfriends until she leaves for school in September."

His mother stared at him with mixed emotions in her dark eyes. "Well, I suppose that's her choice. If she wants to leave us, then that's what she should do."

"She doesn't want to leave you or Abuela. She just wants more freedom. She's nineteen."

"I know. Christina reminds me of that every day. But I've always had the same rules—rules to protect my children and keep this family together, and they've worked well." She paused. "Are you helping her, Gabe?"

"She asked me for a small amount to help her make rent each month," he admitted. "I agreed, but I told her I thought she should stay here until she leaves for school. I'm wondering if you two can't compromise."

"You're as soft as your father when it comes to Christina. She could always wrap him around her little finger. As for compromise, I won't change my rules for her. They're not that strict. They're based on respect. Staying out all night without telling me…that is not respectful."

"I understand that. And she is sorry."

"Is she? She didn't tell me that. If she wants to leave, she can leave."

"I don't think she wants to go until she makes things right with you."

"Well, she can't have everything she wants," his mother said tartly. "At any rate, I'm glad you came over, even if it was to fight your sister's battle."

"That wasn't the only reason. I wanted to see you and Abuela. How is she?"

"Better. But this week has been a bit of a setback with the anniversary of your father's death. We're both feeling his loss more strongly."

"I miss him, too," he mumbled.

"I know. You look so much like him…tall, lean, strong." She dabbed at her eyes, then she turned back to the stove. "You should say hello to your abuela."

He wrapped his arms around her stiff back and gave her a hug, then left the kitchen and walked down the hall. His abuela was sitting by the window, knitting yet another baby blanket. She made one after another, distributing them through the neighborhood and to the local hospitals. The arthritis in her hands had made her a little slower in recent years, but she still kept at it.

When he entered her room, a light immediately brightened her eyes, and a smile lifted her lips. "Gabe. Mijo. Come."

He walked over to her and kissed her cheek. "It's nice to see you." He sat down on the corner of the bed across from her chair. "You look like you're almost done with that blanket."

"Just a few more rows to go." She set her knitting aside. "Your mother told me you're in a cooking competition starting this week."

"Yes. The San Diego Cook-Off . It will be filmed for a show on the Culinary Network and there may be some local press, but what I'm most excited about is the possibility of winning the grand prize, which is twenty-five thousand dollars."

"Oh, my, that would be wonderful. You could put it in the savings fund for your own restaurant."

He didn't want to tell her that his restaurant fund was being constantly depleted by the demands of his family, so he said nothing.

"I'm so proud of you," she added. "Your grandfather would be, too. We always hoped your father would become a chef, but he was far more interested in the land, and your Aunt Marie was only ever interested in fashion. Thankfully, you followed in our footsteps."

He'd always been inspired by his grandparents' journey from Venezuela to the US and their struggle to open their own restaurant in San Diego. It had taken them twenty years to do that, and it had been a small café with only six tables, but there had often been a line down the street. After his grandfather passed away, his grandmother had given up the restaurant, since neither his aunt nor his father had been interested in taking it over.

His father was too busy building his organic farm collective, where multiple farmers planted and grew vegetables and herbs that were sold to restaurants around the area. He'd wanted to grow food, not cook it. While Gabe had appreciated his father's green thumb, he'd only been interesting the cooking.

"I think Abuelo would have been prouder if he'd seen me open a restaurant," he said.

She shook her head. "That's not true. He would have loved your food truck, and the way you make good food available for so many people."

"I could do more in a bigger kitchen."

"I know," she said with sympathy. "I often wished for a bigger kitchen, too. But you'll get where you need to be. I believe in you."

"Thank you. That means a lot."

"When does the competition start? Can we watch you?"

"I don't know all the details yet. There's a meeting on Thursday to go over the schedule."

"Do you know any of the other chefs you'll be competing against?"

"A few of them. They're good."

"But you're better."

He laughed. "You said that; I didn't."

She gave him a knowing smile. "You were thinking it."

"I'm good, but I'll be competing with chefs with more culinary training than I've had. I haven't studied in Europe. I haven't run my own restaurant," he added. "I'm probably a long shot to win."

"Long shots are the best. When they pay off, they pay off big. And sometimes talent can't be taught. You have it, or you don't."

"I think you're prejudiced."

"Perhaps. I can't wait to see them give you that prize check. I want to be there when it happens."

"I'll make sure you get a front-row seat. Now tell me what's happening on your shows," he said. His grandmother spent most of the day watching telenovelas, and she was always happy to share. For the next hour, he listened to the scandalous tales, a little disturbed that his almost ninety-year-old grandmother was talking about adultery and sex so easily. He was actually relieved when his mother called them for dinner.

The meal was loud, noisy, and messy, with his mother, grandmother, cousin, and three little kids. Christina did not show up for dinner, which seemed to annoy his mother even more. He wanted to wring his little sister's neck. He was okay with helping her, but she needed to respect the rules while she was here, and they'd grown up knowing if they weren't going to be home for dinner, they needed to call.

After the meal, he helped his mother clean up. She didn't seem interested in talking, and since he didn't know what to say to make anything better, he kept quiet. When he was done, he gave her a hug and told her he'd see her soon.

As he left the house, he got a text from the San Diego Cook-Off confirming the Thursday lunch schedule and a final list of competitors. He scanned the list, his heart stopping when he saw the name of the last entry—Madison Baldwin.

What the hell was going on?

Every time he turned around, he was tripping over her. Well, it was fine. He'd beat her and that would give her boss another reason to be sorry he hadn't hired him in the first place instead of some rich girl whose father had basically bought her a restaurant.

She might have some skills. She had a fancy pedigree, but that might have been bought and paid for, too. And her restaurant wasn't exactly overflowing. She probably thought the competition would give her publicity, help bring in the customers, turn things around. But she'd have to beat him to do that, and he wouldn't let that happen.