Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It was the busiest Saturday night Madison had had since opening La Marée, but dinner service didn't go as perfectly as she'd hoped. She didn't know if it was because her staff wasn't used to handling so many orders at once, or if she was just exhausted from the competition, but some of her dishes felt flat, and while no one was complaining, a few plates came back with the meals only partially eaten, and that never boded well. Drea assured her that the diners were leaving happy. She hoped that was true, but as she parked at Ocean Shores just after eleven o'clock, she realized she was too hot and tired to worry about it.

As she left her car, the cool breeze felt insanely good. Despite the late hour, it was still in the low seventies, and she had a feeling her apartment would be steaming hot.

When she entered the courtyard, the tiki lights were on, and there were four people sitting at a table by the pool: Emmalyn, Kaia, Max, and Lexie.

"Hey, Madison," Emmalyn said, waving her over.

"Hi," she said as she joined them. "What are you all doing?"

"Cooling off," Kaia said. "It's very hot inside my apartment, and I don't know if you've noticed, but the window air conditioners aren't great."

"I haven't been in my apartment yet."

"Sit," Emmalyn said, patting the empty chair next to her.

"How was your night?" Lexie asked.

"Busier than usual."

"Gabe said you two won the first round," Max said, a curious gleam in his eyes. "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"We need to go to your restaurant," Kaia said.

"I agree," Lexie put in. "My friend Drea works with Madison, and she has been telling me about the restaurant in yoga class. Let's all go one night."

"I'd love to have you," she said.

"We'll find a night," Lexie said with a nod.

"Are you hungry, Madison?" Emmalyn asked. "That's probably a silly question. You must eat at your restaurant every night."

"Actually, I ate nothing tonight, aside from tasting dishes here and there."

"Then stay. Gabe should be here any second with our food."

"Gabe's bringing you food?"

"From the truck," Lexie said. "And he always brings a ton. Have you had Gabe's food yet?"

"I've only tasted the lamb he made today," she admitted.

"Then you have to stay."

The last thing she wanted to do was taste Gabe's food and spend more time with him, but he was already walking into the courtyard with a large box in his hands. She didn't want to alienate her new friends and neighbors by refusing to partake in Gabe's tacos or for them to think there was some war going on between them that would affect the vibe at the building.

"Hello, Madison," Gabe said, when he saw her. "I didn't realize you were in on this order."

"I just got here. I'm not really that hungry."

"Yes, she is," Kaia said. "And I know you brought plenty, Gabe."

"I did." He gave her a smile. "Join us." He set the box on the table and started handing out containers filled with tacos, burritos, enchiladas, a taco salad, and chicken quesadillas. When he handed her a container, he said, "Do you like fish tacos?"

"Sure. Thanks."

She knew Gabe could cook. She'd seen that during the competition earlier today, and his truck always had a line. There had to be a reason for that, but she was still surprised by the spicy flavor of the fish and the shredded salad that enhanced that flavor and added an extra bite.

She hadn't thought she was that hungry, but she finished the taco in a few bites, very aware of Gabe's questioning gaze.

"Well?" he asked.

"You know it's good."

"Still, it's nice to hear, especially from a fellow chef."

She realized it wasn't only Gabe who was waiting for her answer. "It's probably the best fish taco I've ever had," she admitted.

A smile spread across his face. "I did not think you were going to say that."

"Well, it's the truth."

"I agree," Emmalyn said. "Don't I always tell you that your fish tacos are the best?"

"Everything is the best," Kaia added. "Thanks for our midnight snack, Gabe. You always come through."

"What have you all been doing tonight?" Gabe asked.

"I was working," Max said. "And I need to get back to it now. I just took a break because the apartment got too hot."

"I was working, too," Kaia put in. "I just finished my shift an hour ago."

"Lexie and I were not working. We went to that movie, Racing Against Time ," Emmalyn said. "It was not very good."

"Way too many car chases," Lexie agreed.

"Car chases are awesome," Gabe said.

"Not when they go on forever," Lexie retorted.

"I agree with Lexie," Max said. "Even though I haven't seen the movie. But sometimes car chases just cover lazy writing."

"Well, you would know," Gabe said.

"Speaking of writing…" Max got to his feet. "I need to get back to it."

"It's so late," Lexie said. "Why don't you do it in the morning?"

"Actually, your car chase comment just gave me an idea."

Lexie shook her head. "You and your ideas. Go. Write it down before you forget. I'm going to go to bed."

"Me, too," Kaia said as she collected the trash. "I'll throw this away upstairs."

Madison was surprised at how fast everyone disappeared, leaving her and Gabe alone at the table.

"I should probably go upstairs as well," she said.

"Are you in a rush? I don't know about you, Madison, but I've been standing in a small space by a hot stove all night. I could use some fresh air." He got up and stretched out on a lounger. "These are pretty comfortable."

She had to admit he looked comfortable, and she was still hot.

She got up and laid down on the lounger next to him. "It feels nice out here," she said. "Although the lights are a little bright."

"They'll go out in a few minutes. They're set to turn off at midnight." He paused. "How was your night?"

"Busier than I expected. Some guests at the Lazure Hotel booked my restaurant after hearing about our win today. It was the best Saturday night we've had," she said, then instantly kicked herself for letting him know how bad things had been. "Of course, I expected things to improve as people heard about La Marée."

"I had some hotel guests, too, at the food truck."

"An unexpected bonus from our win. I didn't realize they were broadcasting the competition on the hotel channel. I'm kind of glad I didn't know that. It would have made me even more nervous."

"Why were you so nervous?" he asked, a curious note in his voice. "You're an excellent chef, and you know that. I could see the confidence when you were cooking, but in between times, you look petrified."

"I'm not used to cameras in the kitchen, people wanting to interview me. I don't think fast on my feet, and I prefer not to be in a position where I have to do that."

"From what I've seen, you think fast enough to keep up with some food columnist's questions." He paused. "It feels like there's something else you're not saying."

As she thought about his words, the lights in the courtyard suddenly went out, plunging them in dark shadows, with a starry sky overhead. She stared up at the stars for a long minute, happy that there were no more lights to deal with.

There was another reason for her anxiety, one she didn't like to share, so she wouldn't. It wasn't Gabe's business. And she couldn't show a weakness to a rival competitor; that would be stupid.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" he asked. "It's okay. You're entitled to your secrets."

"I didn't say I had secrets."

"Everyone has secrets."

"Even you?" She turned her head to look at him. His face was half-lit from the bright moon overhead, but she couldn't see his eyes.

"Didn't I just say everyone?" he asked.

"What secrets do you have?"

He turned to look at her. "You want me to tell you, but you don't want to tell me. That's not fair."

"You're right. Forget I asked."

There was quiet for a minute, broken only by the sound of the crashing waves on the nearby beach. Then he said, "I know something about my father my siblings don't know."

She was surprised by his words. "Something bad?" she ventured.

"I found two love letters after his death. They were written to my father by a woman who was not my mother. The letters were dated about six months before my parents were married. I have no idea if he answered the letters, but it was apparent that there was something between them. I found that odd because my parents were engaged at the time that the letters were sent."

"Do you think your mother knew about this other woman?"

"I don't know. The letters were tucked away in a box in the attic. I'm not sure why he never threw them away."

"Did you tell your mother?"

"God, no. She was devastated after his death. I couldn't hurt her with speculation about some old love affair that ended before their marriage. At least, I hope it ended."

"Do you have reason to doubt that it didn't?"

"No. None. I believe he was faithful. It was just strange to think about him loving someone who wasn't my mother."

"Maybe he didn't love her. But even if he did, people don't always marry the first person they love."

"You're right. I just wish I'd never read the letters. The information weighs on me sometimes. I wonder if my siblings have a right to know."

"They don't," she said sharply. "Everyone has a right to a private life. Just because you die doesn't mean your secrets have to come out."

"That's true."

"But I am sorry you're carrying the burden."

"It's not really a burden. Like you said, he married my mother, and they had from all appearances, a happy, loving marriage. It's just been on my mind more this week because it's the anniversary of his death tomorrow."

"I understand. For what it's worth, I think you made the right decision to keep the information to yourself. What did you do with the letters?"

"I still have them. But I should throw them away. I don't know why I haven't done it already."

"You'll know when the time is right." She was surprised at how deep their conversation had gotten so fast. Maybe it was the darkness that surrounded them, the weariness of the day catching up, allowing Gabe to let down his guard, allowing her to let him. "Were you close to your dad?"

"Yes. He wasn't a man of many words, whereas I had lots of words and lots of questions. He always said I drove him crazy with my questions."

"You do like to dig into things," she commented.

"So did my father. But his digging always involved a shovel."

"How did he get into organic farming?"

"He started working for a gardener when he was sixteen. In his twenties, he became obsessed with organic gardening and grew produce that my grandparents could use in their cooking and later in their restaurant. From there, he took his small business and made it even bigger when he cultivated some acres behind a church and used that land to grow food for the church's free meal service. Eventually, he got other farmers to start plots on that land. After a few years, it grew into an organic garden collective, and it was a tremendous success. Eventually, my father found an investor who helped the group get more land, and while they kept a garden at the church, they moved to a bigger space on the outskirts of San Diego. Now, they have fresh markets there several days a week."

"Where is it? It sounds amazing."

"About ten miles from here."

"I'd love to go there and pick up fresh produce for the restaurant." She paused. "Unless…is it still there? You said your father passed away."

"It's still there. His legacy lives on, thanks to my mother. She's determined to keep it going."

"Did you ever work there?"

"No, I don't love growing vegetables; I just want to cook them."

"I've always wanted to have a vegetable garden, but I've been living in apartments for the past ten years."

"Me, too."

"Did I taste some of the collective's vegetables in my fish taco tonight?"

"You did," he said. "I go there Sundays and Wednesdays to stock up."

"What time do you go tomorrow?"

"I usually get out there around eleven."

"Could you tell me where it is? I'd like to go."

"Why don't you come with me?" he suggested.

She hesitated, wondering if she should keep spending time with a man she was competing against.

"Afraid of getting too close to the enemy, Madison?" he teased. "Like I said earlier, we don't have to be enemies; we can be allies. Tomorrow, I can show you which gardener has the best vegetables. I have valuable connections."

"I thought you were against using connections to get ahead."

He let out a sigh. "I came on too strong when we first met. I shouldn't have come down on you for using your connections. It's the way the world works."

"I really didn't want to use a connection to get my own restaurant. I've been on my own for a long time, and working as hard as I could, but nothing was happening for me, so when this opportunity came up, I took it, even though I really didn't want to take a favor from my dad. His goodwill always comes with his opinions."

"I get it. I probably would have done the same thing if I'd been in your position." He paused. "How is it going now that you've been in business a month?"

"I'm pretty sure you know it's not going well. Tonight was busier, which was good, but I didn't feel like the kitchen staff was in sync. We've been working so slowly the past few weeks, with lots of time to perfect our dishes, and tonight when we had to speed up, it felt off. Or maybe it was just me. It's been a long day of cooking."

"It has," he agreed.

"I'll work it out. I'm not going to fail. I can't. Even if you'd like me to."

"It was easier to want you to fail before I met you," he said, surprising her with his words.

"I didn't think you'd actually admit to that."

"I'm not proud of my petty, jealous feelings," he said dryly. "I've never been in the business of revenge before. I just wanted that space so badly. And I thought Larry Shaw was going to give it to me. We had a few conversations before he mentioned he was hiring you. The disappointment was a little soul-crushing."

"I had no idea Larry had talked to anyone else. I understand how you felt. I've lost jobs before that I've really wanted. But your food truck is doing so well, I can't believe someone else won't take a chance on you."

"I don't have the pedigree a lot of restaurant owners are looking for. Not like you. I didn't study in France. I've never even been to Europe."

"You should go to Europe, especially to Paris. The food there is amazing. It's exquisite."

"I'm not sure Paris would love me. No one has ever called my food exquisite."

"I haven't heard that about my food either," she admitted. Looking up at the stars, she added, "Sometimes, I don't know if I'm good enough to be the chef I need to be. I want my restaurant to be talked about, to win awards. I want my food to be in magazines and for foodies to come to my dining room and take photos and tell everyone about La Marée." She paused, feeling a little embarrassed for having revealed so much. "I guess every chef wants that."

"I don't want that. I don't care about foodies taking photos and putting them on the Internet. I don't care about awards. I want to have a place where people come to celebrate the important moments in their lives. I want my food to be part of their memories, their joy."

His heartfelt words touched her, and she was a little embarrassed that his goals were more altruistic than hers. But maybe they weren't really that different. They both wanted to leave an impression on their customers, to make them happy, to give them the best meal they'd ever had.

"What made you want to go into fine dining?" Gabe asked.

"It was all I knew. Whenever my parents took us out to dinner, it was always to a fancy gourmet restaurant, and I loved the experience. Every plate was a work of art. The service was structured and formal. And my father was so proud to introduce us to the food he loved. When we were in those restaurants sharing a meal, for a few hours I felt like I belonged in my family. My father and I were on the same page, and that rarely happened."

"It sounds like you two have a complicated relationship."

"He's a hard man to please, but his heart is in the right place. He wants his children to achieve great things, and that's a good goal, right?"

"I suppose," Gabe said as he let out a yawn. "I'm so tired; I could sleep right here."

She felt remarkably comfortable, too, but she knew she had to get up and go to bed. She'd already let down her guard with Gabe far too much, and while he seemed more like a friend than an enemy now, she needed to be careful his friendship wasn't part of some strategy to win.

"I'm going upstairs," she said, swinging her feet to the ground.

"I didn't mean to end the conversation," he said, stifling another yawn. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. We're both exhausted. I need to go to bed."

"Me, too. I'll meet you down here at ten thirty tomorrow," he said. "You'll love the market."

She hesitated. "Maybe we're spending too much time together, Gabe."

He smiled. "Stop worrying about me, Madison. I don't have an ulterior motive."

"I'm sure if you did, you wouldn't admit it."

"You're a very suspicious person."

"I prefer to think of myself as carefully cautious."

"Except when you're drinking tequila," he said.

She didn't bother to reply because they both knew the answer to that.