Fire In the Kitchen (12 page)

The diners applauded wildly and Dante grinned back at them. This was why he cooked, to make people happy. He wasn’t going to think about how the evening was going to end, he was going to be caught up in the moment and try to forget the impossibility of his team winning.

Valerie continued to speak into her microphone as she walked over to the two teams.

“It’s been a great afternoon, with some interesting developments. Let’s hurry and serve our hungry guests before everything gets cold and the relationships between our contestants freeze.”

The teams were directed to stand in front of the dishes they’d prepared and serve them to the hungry crowd. Dante shook his head as he saw Cassidy was serving her bruschetta
and
the unauthorized mushroom risotto. If she was serious about becoming a chef, she’d have to learn how to become a team player.

He’d seen what the other team had prepared, and the food looked just as good as his team’s. If he didn’t know they were about to be disqualified, he’d have believed they were in with a good chance.

As he served his braised rabbit dish, he was humbled by the number of fans he still had. The men wanted to shake his hand and the women wanted to kiss him. Dante wondered how the registrar, Pearl, had gotten an invitation to attend, and laughed as she introduced him to her balding husband with a disappointed sigh.

It was difficult to tell which way the guests were swinging with their votes. They didn’t hold back with their compliments, or their distaste.

After everyone had been served, the chefs were invited to taste their opposing team’s dishes. After tasting a particularly good Italian meringue with summer fruits poached in a sparkling prosecco, Dante knew it was going to be close.

He surreptitiously made his way over to Cassidy’s risotto and took a tentative taste. He conceded it was the best risotto he’d ever tasted—it was creamy and flavorsome, with a hint of sage, just the right amount of parmesan, and…something else. He grinned when he realized she’d added Gruyère cheese, and perhaps taleggio. Gutsy move, but it worked.

He looked up and saw she was staring straight at him, waiting for his reaction to her dish. After hesitating for a moment, he put his thumbs up. The smile she gave him in return could have lit up the entire street. She may have done a terrible thing, but this dish was at the opposite end of that scale. He looked forward to making his next risotto the
Cassidy
way.

She may have had a point about him lessening her chances of succeeding in the competition because of the dish he’d given her to prepare, and he felt bad about that. It still didn’t mean he forgave her, though, and as he saw her walking toward him, he turned around and deliberately congratulated a chef on the other team. The same uncomfortable feeling in his stomach returned and he chose to ignore it, the way he had just ignored her.

*

Cassidy wondered if Dante would ever talk to her again.

If he’s trying to punish me, he gets an A+.

What she’d said to Dante about the media reports being true was repellent to her. She’d made a good dish, but at a lousy price. Her teammates, if they could be called such, hated her, and Dante was doing his best to avoid her. Adrenaline had kicked in when she’d cleared the benches, but was it still possible they’d be disqualified because she’d dumped her mess in the fridge? What had she been thinking? Her foolish pride had gotten in the way of what was best for everyone. She pulled her cap lower to cover part of her face.

I’ve ruined everything.

Like gridiron teams, the two competing groups huddled together to discuss their chances. Cassidy felt like an umpire, a game’s necessary evil, watching from afar. They hadn’t invited her in and she stood a few paces away. Were they going to play fair and let her join them? Had
she
been playing fair? Did she even deserve to be part of the group hug?

Dante straightened and looked around until he found her. “Get over here, Miss Summers, you’re here ’til the end.”

Cassidy wasn’t sure now if being invited to join them was her preferred option. The circle broke next to Dante, just widely enough for her to be swallowed up by the others. Dante’s arm went around her shoulders to draw her in and a chef on the other side did the same. It had been a long day and she now found herself commuting in testosterone city, which wasn’t such a bad thing, if only she could figure out how to hold her nose without them noticing. The atmosphere was dynamic and she suddenly understood why so many people liked team sports. It was about what was best for everyone, and she realized even though her risotto had been a great dish, she had been taking a risk on everyone’s behalf, not just on her own. No wonder Dante had been so angry with her. She was silent as she listened to her team make comments about the evening.

“We’re in with a great chance.”

“Dunno…the espresso gelato they put up was a winner.”

“Too much salt in their chicken.”

“Best dish of the night was Valerie.”

“Not bad risotto, Cassidy.”

Cassidy was surprised by the unexpected compliment from one of the chefs and felt tears of pride prick her eyes. “Thanks.”

“I think you all did a fantastic job, and no matter how this evening goes down, I’m proud of you all,” Dante said. “We should cherish our visit here in memory as long as we live.”

Cassidy knew he’d played with one of the famous last lines from the movie playing in the background because watching old movies was a favorite pastime of hers.

If anyone else had tried to say it, they would have sounded corny.

By making his subtle statement, he was letting his team know they were all winners, even though he believed they were about to lose.

The sound of Valerie testing her microphone indicated their time was up, and they took their places for the verdict.

Valerie spoke to her invisible television audience.

“Welcome back to our culinary version of
Roman Holiday.
It’s been a great night, and all the votes have been counted. The most popular dish earns its creator immunity, even if he or she is on the losing team. There were two standout contenders: Dante’s brilliant braised rabbit and…”

Valerie waited for the cheers to die down from the other chefs congratulating Dante before she continued.

“Cassidy’s remarkable risotto.”

Cassidy felt her left leg begin to shake uncontrollably. She could never have imagined the intensity of emotions the judging had brought her. Her dish had been stacked up against many of the most successful chefs in Perth, and it had come out ahead. The humiliation of being chosen last for Dante’s team was now a distant memory. She barely noticed the polite applause from both teams, but she did notice the look in Dante’s eyes when her name was called out. She couldn’t decipher what he was thinking, but she now hoped against hope her team would be able to enjoy the winning ride with her, if she was chosen. If not, victory would be bittersweet.

Valerie walked to Dante and shook his hand and then turned to Cassidy and shook hers. Valerie’s hand felt cold, even though the evening was warm.

She must be related to snakes.

“Congratulations, Cassidy and Dante. Please come forward and join me.”

The ten steps they took may as well have been ten thousand.

“As everyone knows, a large part of the challenge involved keeping your work areas clean to prove how important organizational skills are in the kitchen. How did that go for your team, Dante?”

He turned and faced Cassidy. She felt her heartbeat quicken for all the wrong reasons. “For the majority, we did okay.”

Cassidy was sure she saw the snake’s stiletto grind into the grass with glee as Valerie responded to him.

“How would you feel if your team lost today on that basis?”

Dante put his shoulders back and took a deep breath before answering. “I’d say we were all winners, no matter what. I’m proud of the food everyone put up today.”

He must still believe they’d lost because of her, and yet he remained gracious. What if getting rid of the evidence in the freezer hadn’t been enough? What if she’d cooked the best dish and everyone else went home because of her? She would rather die.

As if on cue, Valerie announced the winner of the best dish of the day.

“Cassidy Summers.”

Dante put his hand on her shoulder. “Congratulations, Cassidy, and good luck for the rest of the competition.”

“It’s not over yet. We’re in this together, remember?” Cassidy held on to the last glimmer of hope that she’d done enough to save them in the final moments.

“I think we both know this is it for the rest of us.”

Dante’s smile was weak, but Cassidy thought it was the most forgiving one she’d ever seen.

Valerie continued speaking to the camera, enjoying drawing out the suspense.

“Someone left one of their benches unclean, so that team is going home.”

Had she missed wiping down one of them? It was highly possible.

There was an excruciating pause before the announcement. Cassidy was sure the cameramen got her from every angle, and possibly a couple she didn’t know about. She felt like running away, as far as her legs could take her.

Valerie stood directly in front of Cassidy and then suddenly swung around to face the other team.

“Sorry, Jack, that was you. Therefore, your team’s been disqualified from the competition. What do you have to say on their behalf?”

Jack put his hands up in the air and Cassidy knew this was the last time he could say the wrong thing.

“Shit,” he said.

Cassidy was slowly winning over the other competitors. Several had confessed to Dante they found her off-the-wall cooking style and laid-back approach intriguing. He agreed with them on her originality, but still objected to her untidiness in the kitchen. When he’d confessed to her he understood her motives for cooking the risotto, she’d divulged how she’d passed the challenge by taking advantage of a technicality. She may have skipped a tidiness gene, but she hadn’t skipped the one for thinking quickly on her feet.

Several weeks’ worth of cook-offs had passed since their
Roman Holiday
event, and competitor numbers had dwindled down to ten, mostly men. Carlos was still among them.

It was the night before another big cook-off. Those remaining only had a few hours to finalize their dishes and test them out. It came as no surprise to Dante that the producers had teamed him with Cassidy because they were so different. Unsure whether to be annoyed or amused, he compared the row of clean stainless steel benches of the other chefs to those of his cooking partner. Instead of cleaning up as she cooked, she’d left broken eggshells on the bench top, a trail of flour that ended in a mess, and a pile of used dishes, stacked so precariously if you blew on them they would topple. Her refusal to wear the expected white in the kitchen for practice sessions made sense. The fact she hadn’t learned from the
Roman Holiday
challenge did not.

Dante couldn’t help watching her cook, though. He studied her intently, as though viewing her through a camera lens. It was unusual for an untrained cook to be so liberated and confident in their abilities. Her hands were deceptive. Delicate-looking but strong, seemingly haphazard but deliberate. He discovered a part of himself yearning for more than perfection and precision, a part of himself that wanted to break free. He looked at his knives, which were lined up neatly, and shuffled them out of order.

The other chefs were murmuring their satisfaction at their completed dessert inventions and seemed to be enjoying comparing them to Cassidy’s disaster zone. The crazy spark of a woman who was oblivious to her surroundings, as her smudged finger followed a recipe book whilst her other hand mechanically stirred a bowl. She squinted, not fighting the frown lines between her curved eyebrows. Why would such a gorgeous woman—albeit not in the traditional sense—want to pull such expressions? Her short blonde hair had been unruly since she’d scrunched her fingers through it. She’d stopped to wash her hands, perhaps she’d considered that touching her hair while cooking was unhygienic, but had left the hair standing on end. Appearances didn’t seem to matter to her. All she cared about was the food.

A colleague walked over to Dante and patted him on the back. “Problems?”

Dante grunted.

“Stuck with the amateur again, eh?”

“Lower your voice, George,” Dante said, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t forget, if it wasn’t for her great risotto, we might not still be here.”

Cassidy lost her concentration and knocked over the pile of dishes. They banged on the hard floor and a couple broke. As she went to pick them up, she slipped on their contents and landed on her backside.

Her gaze remained downcast as Dante helped her to her feet. Her hand was firm yet she must have felt vulnerable. Their gazes met.

The background noise echoed with laughter as the other chefs left for the night. The other final female contestant Cassidy had befriended gave her a hug on her way out.

Dante broke the silence. “Perhaps splitting up to cook components of our dessert was a bad idea. It’s late, let me help you. My part is done.”

“I’m almost there, I think,” Cassidy said. “And you don’t have to defend me to the few chefs that still don’t think I belong here. I’m quite capable of looking after myself, you know.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m really tired. Let’s just finish up and go to bed.”

Dante raised his eyebrows.

“I figured out a while ago that you don’t fit the mold of
damsel in distress
, but he was out of line and I told him so. To restore my equilibrium, not yours.”

Cassidy threw the broken dishes in the bin and the remaining metal ones in the sink. She washed them with vigor. He grabbed a tea towel.

“Chefs don’t do dishes,” she said.

“Cooks don’t get into the finals of a celebrity chef cooking series and have winning dishes with incredible food combinations. Who else would pour olive oil and sprinkle salt over ice cream? It was genius.” He scraped at a piece of food that hadn’t been washed off and handed the plate back. She dunked it into the water and thrust it into his hands.