Beautifully Decadent (Beautifully Damaged Book 3) (4 page)

“I’ve got my Realtor looking for places in and around Manhattan as well as in New Jersey. Commuting from here is just too far.”

“Agreed, I’m going to miss you. I just got you back and you’re off again.”

“I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

Kit slid his plate over to me for another slice. “If they don’t hire you, they’re idiots.”

“Can I tell them you said that?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Standing outside of Clover, my stomach performed a gymnastic floor routine. Even having already met Mr. Montgomery—thanks to Nat being a nut—I was still racked with nerves. I had spent the better part of two weeks perfecting the dishes I planned to make today. The first was an olive oil and lavender cake with a citrus glaze. The oil olive added not just a unique flavor but also tons of moisture. The second was strawberry ice cream, but the secret was to macerate the strawberries—my preference was a liqueur made of elderflowers—before oven roasting them. The punch of flavor was unreal. And last my twist on a classic, jalapeno/chocolate torte with a ganache drizzle.

Making the desserts wasn’t my concern, being good enough for the caliber of restaurant like Clover, I wasn’t so sure. Francois Moree’s sous chef, Terry, had contacted me asking for the supply list I’d need for the interview. I had my own pans, knife, offset spatula but I worked mostly with my hands, so I didn’t need much.

Squaring my shoulders, I pulled open the door of Clover. The place was exquisite: walnut paneling, crystal chandeliers, hardwood floors and a stone fireplace. The kitchen was in the back, partially visible to diners. A man worked at the bar—tall, broad shoulders, messy dark hair and pale blue eyes that locked onto me as soon as I stepped inside. He moved from behind the bar to greet me.

“You must be Avery Collins.”

“Yes.”

“Kyle Donahue. Trace and Francois are in the back. I’ll take you. Are you ready?”

“I think so, but my hands won’t stop shaking.”

“Francois looks fierce, but he’s really a marshmallow and Trace, well, he isn’t a marshmallow, but he’s a good guy.”

Stepping into the kitchen, my heart hammered in my chest. Francois Moree stood at one counter, studying something, and right in front of him—his back to me—was Mr. Montgomery. I worried that after having a week to ponder our odd meeting, and knowing I had a nut for a sister, that he may be having second thoughts. I gulped, I did that when nervous, and apparently loud enough that Kyle’s eyes caught mine and he grinned.

“Trace, Francois, Avery’s here.”

When Mr. Montgomery turned, my legs went weak seeing that intense stare. And then he smiled and realizing he really wasn’t going to hold Nat against me caused a relief so profound that when he stopped just in front of me and extended his hand, I just looked at it. I did; I stood for a minute staring at his hand like I didn’t know what it was.

And then he said. “I won’t bite you.”

Jerking my head up, I was treated to the sight of Trace Montgomery grinning. In response, I probably looked like I’d had one too many sessions with electric shock.

Pulling myself together, I took his hand. “Sorry, Mr. Montgomery. It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Call me Trace. Nervous?”

“Can you tell?”

A chuckle. “How’s your sister?”

“Still alive.”

He knew I was referring to her behavior at Everything, which he confirmed when he said, “It was actually quite a good plan, leaving an impression to make you stand out. She certainly did that.”

“Um.” I really had nothing more to say about that since the impression she left him with was that we were both crazy. Was a bad impression better than no impression? I suspected no. Francois Moree approached and I noticed he held my recipes.

“I like what I see, Miss Collins, now let’s see how these taste.”

And that was it. For the next hour and a half I worked, the nerves fading since this was second nature to me. I couldn’t tell, based on their expressions, what they thought. Both would be killer at poker.

“We have a few more interviews, but we’ll be in touch within the week.” Trace, like Chef Moree, had peppered me with questions while I worked.

The interview had gone longer than planned, since I discovered their ovens ran a little cool. While I packed up my things, a woman walked into the kitchen holding the hand of a little girl who was maybe two or three. It was uncanny how much they looked alike. I hadn’t a doubt they were mother and daughter.

“Daddy!” The little girl hurled herself at Trace, but my attention was on the transformation from boss to adoring dad. He lifted the girl into his arms and held her at eye level as he smiled—changing him from handsome to gorgeous.

“Hey, baby girl.”

“Mama took me shopping. I got a cake pop.”

He looked past his daughter to his wife, his smile still firmly in place. “I bet Mama got one too.”

“She did. She got you one too.”

“She did?”

Moving his daughter to his hip, he reached for his wife and pulled her to him and right in front of Chef Moree and me, he kissed her like he’d die if he didn’t. I felt a bit warm under my blouse watching because damn to be kissed like that by a man like him. I’d die a very happy woman.

Even after he kissed her, he looked at her as if she were the most fascinating person on the planet. A look similar to the one Kit and Jess always shared. I think I liked that even more than the kiss. And then realizing they weren’t alone, his eyes shifted to me.

“Avery, my daughter Faith and my wife Ember. Avery is applying for the position of pastry chef.”

Ember moved from her family, her smile contagious as she approached me. Reaching for my hand she said, “Hi Avery. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“What did you make?” Faith asked from the safety of her dad’s arms.

“Lavender cake, strawberry ice cream and chocolate cake.”

“Sounds yummy.”

Trace touched his daughter’s nose. “They were yummy.”

They were yummy
, my heart pounded again.

“Good luck, I hope to see more of you.” Ember said before turning to Trace. “We were on our way home. Seth and Brandon are getting sick of dining hall food, so they’re coming to dinner.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll come with you.” Trace said, kissing Faith on the head before dropping her to her feet.

I finished packing up my things before Trace walked me to the door. “If you get the position, your day starts at two and we’re closed on Sunday. You’d be responsible for not just the desserts but also all the baked goods. We have runners that hit the markets. You would be responsible for supplying the list of ingredients the day before on what you’d need for the following day’s menu. I noticed on your resume you live in Pennsylvania. Will you be commuting from there?”

“No, I’d like to find a place closer.” And then I blushed because it was kind of presumptuous of me to have someone looking for a place when I didn’t even know if I had the job, but it also showed how much I wanted the job. “I have a Realtor looking for me just in case, but so far nothing is in my budget.”

His only response was a nodding of his head. “All right, we’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks for the opportunity.”

He smiled, not the devastating one he gave his wife, but nearly as good. Kyle called from the bar. “Hope to see you again, Avery.”

With a quick wave, I headed outside, walked down the street a bit and then nearly kicked my feet in glee. Trace Montgomery thought my desserts were yummy. Maybe I had just pulled it off.

Running my hand down the length of the walnut feeling for imperfections, I knew this piece was one of the best things I’d ever made. The walnut had cost a pretty penny, but it was worth every cent. Chunkier in design than my other pieces, the farm table had mortise and tenon joints, thick square legs and tongue and grove planked top. The colors in the walnut were so varied I didn’t need to stain it, just a coat or two of polyurethane. Ahead of schedule by two weeks, the bride’s parents were thrilled. They wanted to get the piece into the soon-to-be-newlyweds house, prior to the wedding, to surprise them. The chairs were simple ladder-back design, same walnut. I had even, at no extra cost, cut and beveled a hunk of glass for the top. Imagining little kids doing homework, I’d hate to see simple arithmetic carved forever into the wood.

Loki sauntered into my workshop, my reminder it was lunchtime. A mutt, but with Bernese mountain dog and shepherd in him, he could be a lot to handle. Luckily for me he was also the laziest dog alive. After his puppy years, where he had a tendency to take off, now it was considered an active day if I could get him to move from the bedroom to the living room. “All right, Loki, let’s get some food.”

Closing up the barn that served as my workshop, I headed for the house when I heard my cell that I’d left charging in the kitchen. Seeing it was Trace, I answered. “What’s up?”

“Is your carriage house still available for rent?”

“Yeah.”

“I interviewed someone for the pastry chef position. She lives in Pennsylvania, but she wants a place closer.”

“And you want to hire her.”

“Yeah, her shit was unreal.”

“Shit? Really? The best description you’ve got for Clover-worthy desserts is shit.”

“You’re a funny guy. Are you inhaling too many chemicals?”

“Ha.”

“How much to rent it?”

“A thousand a month.”

“Anytime not work next week for me to bring her around?”

“No, if I’m not here I’ll leave the key. You’ve already got the alarm codes. Her baking is really that good?”

“Yeah, Francois’ eyes rolled into the back of his head.”

“Shit, that is good.”

“Maybe you could add a clause in her renter’s agreement that she has to bake for you every week.”

“Maybe.”

“Ember’s been on my ass to get you over for dinner.”

“I’ll check my calendar.”

“All right. If this works out, it’ll be good for both of us.”

“You’re not kidding, an extra thousand a month, I won’t turn my nose up at that.”

“I hear that. Catch ya later.”

I glanced down at Loki as I returned my phone to the charger. He looked as if he wanted to eat my leg. “I’m getting it.”

A thousand extra a month would go a long way toward the renovations. Riverdale was a small suburban-feel community in the Bronx. I purchased the big white elephant, liked the yard and more particularly the barn that could serve as my workshop; even for house flippers, it wasn’t a sound investment because not only would the remodel cost serious dough, it wouldn’t be a quick flip. I bought the place for a song but even five years later, I was still working on it. I had fixed up the barn and carriage house first, living in the latter until the kitchen, living room, master bedroom and bath were done. Recently I finished a guest bedroom, a second bath and currently my focus centered on the library. Ember had lots of ideas for that room, designing a book lover’s paradise—her words. Custom making the bookcases took time and serious cash, but with the infusion of income from a renter I could move up my timeline. Plus, I had recently tapped into my savings to install an alarm system—I had a fortune worth of tools in the barn—with the added income I could replenish my stash. The carriage house probably needed a good cleaning; I’d get my housekeeper to spruce it up the next time she was here. A quiet, calm presence that baked like a goddess, yeah, I liked this idea.