Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

It felt good to be out of the kitchen and walking along the beach, Gabe thought. It felt even better to have Madison by his side. She was a prickly mix of contradictions, and from now on they would be on opposite sides, but he wasn't ready to be her rival again, not yet anyway. It had been a stressful day, and he would never admit it to anyone else, but he'd felt a little out of his depth in a group of chefs with far more culinary training than he had. He was a self-made chef, but he'd come out on top today, with some help from his partner. And that was a big win.

Madison didn't seem to have anything to say, but he could feel her earlier tension dissipating with every step. She'd been on edge all day. And her nerves had gotten worse when they'd gotten into the competition portion of the event. That's why he'd spoken for both of them. He'd had the feeling she couldn't get a word out. He didn't know why she was so nervous because she had created the perfect sauce pairing for his perfect lamb. And she should have been proud to tell the judges all about her sauce.

He frowned, feeling like there was something he didn't know about her, something he wanted to know. On the other hand, their truce was only temporary, so maybe he should just enjoy the moment because it wouldn't last long.

When they arrived at the café, there was a short line, but it gave them a moment to pick out what they wanted to eat. After getting their cookies and coffees, they sat down at a table by the window, overlooking the beach walk, where a kaleidoscope of people from every nationality and all ages passed by.

San Diego was busier than Oceanside where they lived and worked, but it still had the same beachy vibe, at least along the ocean.

Madison took a sip of her coffee first and then tried the oatmeal chocolate chip cookie she'd ordered.

He watched as she savored her first bite. "Well?" he asked. "Did I lie?"

She swallowed and gave him a smile. "No. This is an excellent cookie."

"Told you. It's on Christina's top five list. She wasn't sure about the addition of oatmeal at first, but then she was thirteen at the time and oatmeal sounded healthier than what she was looking for."

"How old is she now?"

"Nineteen."

"You're a lot older than her, aren't you?"

"I'm thirty-one, so yes. I'm twelve years older. She's the youngest of my three siblings. I have two brothers as well, also younger. I'm the oldest."

"I can see you being the oldest of four," she said with a nod. "You have a take-charge attitude about you."

"So do you. Are you the oldest in your family?"

"No. I'm the middle child. My brother, Carter, is thirty-two. He's a lawyer in New York. He just made partner this year. My sister, Vivienne, is twenty-seven. She graduated last year with an MBA and is working at my father's tech company. I'm thirty, and by my family's standards, the underachiever."

"How is that possible? You're running your own restaurant."

"Well, that has given me some credibility," she admitted. "But cooking isn't high on the list of skills or talents my father values. He is interested to see if I can make the restaurant a success. That, I believe, would finally impress him."

He didn't want to get into her father and his relationship to her restaurant since that was a touchy subject, so he stuck with her siblings. "Are you close to your brother and sister?"

"Not really. They're closer to each other than they are to me. I was always kind of the odd one out in the family."

"You definitely sound like the middle child now," he said with a smile.

"That's what I am. Are you close to your siblings?"

"Sometimes too close. My father died eight years ago, and since then, my siblings come to me when they have problems. I also seem to be their bank as well as their brother."

"Does their bank pay out frequently?" she asked lightly.

"More often than it should."

"What about your mom? Why don't they go to her?"

"They don't want to put a burden on her. My mother works in the business my father started, and she spends a lot of time trying to keep his legacy alive. She also takes care of my grandmother and one of my cousins, who moved in with her three children while her husband is deployed. So, she's busy."

"It sounds like a lot."

"It is a lot, but family is important to her and to me, so we all do what we need to do." He paused, wanting to talk less about himself and more about her. "When did you start cooking? I know you went to school in Paris and worked in restaurants for the past ten years, because that was in your bio, but I don't know when you first decided to cook."

"I don't know that I ever decided…I just loved being in the kitchen. It was my happy place. We had a nanny who also cooked when I was really young, and shredding lettuce or grating cheese always felt relaxing to me. The kitchen is where I went to escape, to feel like I was good at something, because I definitely wasn't good at school. I was a horrible student."

"That doesn't seem possible. You're very focused and detail oriented."

"Only in the kitchen. Who taught you to cook?"

"My abuela—my grandmother," he said. "She and my grandfather were both chefs and had a restaurant in Venezuela before they immigrated to the US. They took several career steps backward when they first arrived. They had to start at the bottom, but they were just happy to be in a kitchen. Eventually, after working at several restaurants, they were able to open their own small café. All of our family celebrations were held there, and from the time I was about eight, I helped in the kitchen."

"Is the restaurant still around? You said your grandmother had been ill, right?"

"The restaurant closed after my grandfather died ten years ago. But she still cooks a lot for the family."

"Like the hallacas at Christmas."

"Yes. I forgot I told you about that. Who made the perfect roast chicken? Your nanny? Your mother?"

"No. It was Yvette Dumond, a cooking teacher I had in Paris. She made it for me one night and told me that the true talent of a chef was being able to turn something very ordinary into something extraordinary. And it was out of this world. I've never been able to replicate it, but one day I hope I will."

"Really? You haven't mastered a roast chicken?"

"I can make a good roast chicken, don't get me wrong. But the one I tasted at her house was magical. I can't seem to find the same flavor, and she's passed away, so I can't ask her what I'm missing. I just have to figure it out one day."

"Maybe it was the person who made the chicken who was magical or the moment in time," he suggested. "You were in Paris. You were learning how to be a chef. That must have been amazing."

"It was, and you're right, it was probably partly her and partly Paris, but it was also the chicken."

He smiled. "Well, I hope one day to taste this magical chicken."

"When I get it right, maybe I will let you do that. If only to prove that it exists." She paused. "I will say that Yvette was a big inspiration for me. My mother encouraged my cooking, but she wasn't a cook herself, and my father thought it was a nice hobby but not a career path. When I got to Paris, and I met Yvette, she took me under her wing. She didn't have any children, and we were kindred spirits in the kitchen. Not that I consider myself even close to her level as a chef, but I hope one day I will be."

"You set high standards for yourself. I've seen that firsthand in the kitchen."

"I do," she admitted. "I've always felt a need to prove that cooking can be more than a hobby. That sounds silly, but it's true."

He nodded, beginning to understand her better. "I get that."

"Anyway, this cookie and coffee have definitely revived me. All those lights, cameras, and people—they were a lot."

"They were. And it will probably get worse as we move along in the competition. Are you ready for the next round?"

"No. But I wasn't ready for this round, and somehow I made it through."

"With a little help."

She tipped her head, meeting his gaze. "True. You were a better partner than I anticipated." She raised her cup of coffee. "Shall we toast to us?"

"The best cooking duo in the competition? Definitely," he said, clinking his cup against hers. "You know what put us in the top, don't you?"

"I'm sure you're going to say it was the chimichurri," she said with a knowing smile.

"I told you it would be good. I'm glad you weren't too stubborn to give it a try."

"I'm glad it was as tasty as you promised it would be." She set down her mug. "What do you think the next challenge will be?"

"I have no idea. They said it would be an individual challenge, so we won't have to work together. That should be a relief for you."

"And you," she said.

He left that comment alone as he sipped his coffee. Then he said, "How do you like living at Ocean Shores?"

"I haven't spent a lot of time there this week, but everyone is very friendly. I met your roommate, Max, a few days ago. He came by with Lexie. He said he wasn't going to let your poor opinion of me influence him."

He smiled at that comment. "That sounds like Max. He's always Switzerland. He never gets in the middle of a fight."

"He was nice. So were Emmalyn and Kaia, who also dropped by. I met Brad and Serena and Liam and Ava yesterday. I guess Serena and Ava are sisters."

"They are. Ava actually fell in love with Liam when they both ended up cat-sitting for Serena and Brad when they were on their honeymoon. Ava is an investment analyst and Liam runs a sporting goods store called the Beach Shack."

"He mentioned that and also that he used to be a professional surfer. I guess a lot of people around here surf. Do you?"

"It's one of my favorite things to do. How about you?"

"Not yet, but Liam told me he runs a surf school out of his store, so maybe I'll take a lesson sometime."

"I could take you out."

"I think you and I are spending enough time together," she said with a pointed smile. "Anyway, I am impressed with how welcoming everyone is at Ocean Shores. How long have you lived there?"

"Almost three years. It was supposed to be temporary. A water leak damaged my last apartment, and someone told me Max had a spare bedroom. I wasn't looking for a roommate, but we got along well, and one week led to a month, then a year, and so on. We both have big plans for our futures and saving money by sharing an apartment has been good for us."

"He sold a screenplay, right?"

"Yes, and he's busy rewriting it now so that it will hopefully get made into a movie. This could be the break he's been waiting for."

"When will he find out?"

"Could be a few months. From what I've seen, nothing in Hollywood moves quickly." He paused, knowing he should probably continue with this casual, not very personal conversation, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from wanting to go deeper. "Can I ask you a question?"

She gave him a wary look. "Can I stop you?"

"What was Friday night about?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem anything like the woman I met at the bar."

"I was drunk."

"Not that drunk. But you were definitely feeling a vibe I haven't seen since."

"It was the tequila. I'm never that chatty or really even that fun," she admitted.

He smiled at that. "You were definitely fun. Quite the dancer. And quite the kisser."

A pretty flush swept her cheeks. "That wasn't me."

"It looked a lot like you."

"I mean it wasn't how I usually act. And it was Drea's fault. She took me there. She ordered that first shot of tequila."

"Drea is the friend who ditched you?"

"Yes. She runs the front of the house at La Marée. We actually met each other years ago when we worked at a restaurant together in New York. Anyway, she's working for me now, and she's probably the only real friend I have in this town. She told me I needed to blow off steam, and she was very persuasive. There has been a lot of stress in my life the last couple of months. Opening a restaurant is a tremendous amount of work."

"I wouldn't know," he said shortly, her words reminding him that it should have been his restaurant to open.

She stiffened. "I'm sure you will one day. There must be other restaurants in this area you could work for."

"None that are willing to give autonomy to me as a head chef. I want to put my imprint on a restaurant, not just cook for someone else."

Understanding flashed through her eyes. "I understand completely. I hope it happens for you."

"I'm going to make it happen. No one else will do it for me. I don't have…connections."

"You're making connections through this competition. Who's to say you won't find an investor through that? I'm sure that thought crossed your mind when you entered. Because twenty-five thousand dollars is a fantastic prize, but you're going to need more to open your own place."

"I'm aware of that, and I'm eager to make as many connections as possible on my way to the grand prize."

"You'll have to get past me to win."

"Right back at you. But we don't have to worry about beating each other until we get to the finals. Until then, we can be allies, friends."

She gave him a long, thoughtful look. "I don't think so, Gabe."

"Why not?"

"I work better alone."

"You didn't today. You were half of a perfect pair."

"But we each had our own space."

"We'll continue to have our own space. I'm just saying we don't have to be enemies."

"We don't have to be anything," she returned.

His gaze met hers, and while it was probably a bad idea, he couldn't stop himself from voicing the thought in his head. "We're going to be something, Madison. We're living in the same building, working on the same street, and I haven't forgotten what it felt like to kiss you."

"Really? Because I barely remember that."

He saw the truth in her eyes. "You're a terrible liar. We made a connection that night."

"Maybe. But that connection broke the next day when we finally exchanged names. When you figured out I was the one who got your restaurant."

"And you realized I was the one with the annoying food truck line," he finished.

"Yes. And I don't want to talk about our kiss again. It didn't mean anything. I'm sure you've kissed plenty of women after a night of drinking. Why are you trying to make this into something?"

"Why are you trying to pretend it was nothing?" he challenged, not liking how she was downplaying something that he couldn't forget.

"Because it was nothing. And it won't happen again. We're competing against each other for a prize we both want. That's probably not going to end well." She got to her feet. "I need to get to the restaurant. Thanks for introducing me to this place. I'm sure I will be back, especially with the competition happening just a few blocks away."

He nodded as he stood up and followed her out the door. She was right. They couldn't be friends or even allies. They were both after the same prize. He'd just gotten distracted for a few minutes because he'd found himself liking her, wanting to get to know her better. She was a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. But that puzzle was standing in his way of getting what he wanted. He needed to stop thinking about Madison and focus on what really mattered—winning the competition. He needed the money, not just for himself, but for the people who needed his help, and he couldn't forget that.