Sweeter With You (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

A
NA
R
AQUEL
AND
G
REG
walked out to the City Hall parking lot. She was hoping to come up with a brilliant reason he couldn't help her with the cookbook project, but nothing came to mind. When they reached their cars—hers, a beat-up old pickup, and his, a shiny new blue SUV—she decided to accept the inevitable but try to stay in control of the situation.

“We should get together and discuss how we're going to approach the cookbook,” she told him. “I have a lot of ideas.”

He nodded. “Me, too. I've already spoken to Colleen at the
Fool's Gold Daily Republic.
”

“Why would you talk to the newspaper editor?”

“I thought she might want to have someone write a story on what we're doing. We could get input from the community.”

“That makes sense,” Ana Raquel murmured. She'd been thinking of putting up a few flyers, asking for recipe submissions, but an article in the local paper was more efficient and a good calling card. While the rest of the world had gone digital to get its news, here in Fool's Gold, the daily paper was still alive and well. One of the advantages of small-town living, she supposed.

“I know a lot of families have recipes that have been passed down for generations,” she said. “Those would be fun to go through.”

“You're going to include your grandmother's fried chicken recipe, aren't you?”

She stared at him. “How do you know about that?”

He grinned. “Your mom invited the whole student council over for dinner one year. That's what she served. She told us how her mom had taught her to make it and how she'd taught you.”

Ana Raquel remembered the evening very well. Her parents had found Greg oh-so-charming and didn't understand why she was upset that he'd defeated her for the student council presidency. She was surprised that he would recall something as simple as a fried chicken dinner.

“I was planning on putting that one in the cookbook,” she said slowly.

“Good.” He flashed her another smile. “I've been trying to duplicate the recipe myself, but I don't have it right. Now I can find out what ingredient I've been leaving out.”

He was being so nice, she thought, confused by his friendliness. She had always thought they were sworn enemies. Or at least people who didn't get along. How embarrassing that she seemed to be the only one showing up for the fight.

“Are you free Monday?” he asked. “The restaurant is closed. We can meet at my place.”

She was suddenly curious about where Greg lived. “Your place would be great. I serve lunch until two-thirty. So say four?”

He nodded and gave her his address. “Great. I'll prepare us a little something and we can get to work on the cookbook. See you then.”

He got in his SUV and drove away. Ana Raquel was left standing in the parking lot with the growing sense that Greg was not who she remembered at all.

CHAPTER FOUR

G
REG
LIVED
ON
the edge of the Condor Valley Winery. Ana Raquel parked next to his SUV, then circled around the side of the house to take in the views from the backyard. To the south and west were the vineyards. They were thick and lush with heavy grapes. She didn't know much about making wine, but she was pretty sure the harvest would start in a few weeks.

To the east were the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. In the winter, they would be covered with snow. Fortunately, the town was high enough to get a little snow, but it rarely amounted to more than a few inches at a time. With the mountains so close, you could experience all the thrill without so much of the hassle.

She turned her attention to the house. It was a cabin-style one-story. Small but appealing. There were probably a couple of bedrooms and a single bath. Enough space for one person, she thought. Greg wasn't married. He was—

Ana Raquel started toward the house only to stop suddenly. The local rumor mill was quite efficient and she heard most of what was going on. But knowing that Greg wasn't married was different from knowing whether he was dating someone. Not that she was interested for herself—it was just that if he had a girlfriend, the cookbook project could be even more complicated. There would be long evenings and weekends perfecting recipes. Arguments about style and placement. She didn't want some nonfoodie offering her opinion because she was being protective of her boyfriend.

In fact, if Greg was seeing someone, there was simply no way this project could work, she thought as she marched around the house and up the front steps. She would tell him that and he could back out. Then she would do it all herself, which would be just fine. Because she wasn't interested in working with a guy who dated a girl like that. Someone so possessive and willing to stick her nose in where it didn't belong.

The front door opened and the man in question smiled at her.

59 2”Hey,” he said. “Right on time. Come on in.”

She did as he requested, trying not to let him know that her tummy suddenly felt weird and she couldn't say why. There were flutterings and odd zings of electricity. Had she eaten some bad fish?

“Hi.” She stepped past him and shrugged out of her coat. “Great place. So is it all yours? What about a roommate? A girlfriend? Because working with you is one thing, but working with a cast of thousands isn't possible.”

His dark gaze settled on her face. “I don't have a girlfriend.”

“Oh. Are you sure? Because you always did. Constantly. It was a steady stream of women.”

That half smile appeared. “I've grown up since then.”

An intriguing statement that told her exactly nothing, she thought in frustration. Which was just so like him.

Determined not to give him the satisfaction of asking or acting as if she cared, she dropped her coat and bag on the bench in the foyer and walked into the small house.

The view from the living room stretched all the way to the end of the valley, but what really caught her attention was the huge kitchen. She stumbled toward it, drawn by deep sinks, plenty of counter space and a six-burner stove. There were two ovens, a warming drawer and a knife collection that nearly had her drooling with envy.

“Wow,” she said, turning in a slow circle. “I mean wow.”

There were racks and lots of cabinets and a double pantry. To the left, one section of countertop was done in marble. The cool, smooth surface was perfect for rolling out dough and making cookies. Through the glass door of the top oven, she saw a rotisserie. While she loved her little trailer kitchen, comparing this to that was like comparing truffle oil to cooking spray.

Greg leaned against the door frame, his broad shoulders filling the space. “I did some remodeling before I moved in. I still have to get to the bathroom.”

“Who cares about a bathroom?” she told him. “Or furniture. For a kitchen like this, I would be willing to sit on crates and sleep on the floor.”

“No need for that. I have a bed.”

A comment that caused the fluttering inside to increase for a second before she decided to ignore the sensation.

He pushed off the door frame and walked toward the dining alcove. She saw that he'd placed a couple of folders and an open bottle of wine on the butcher-block table.

“Shall we?” he asked, holding out a chair.

“Sure.”

She took the seat he offered, then nodded when he held up the wine bottle. Maybe sipping the excellent cabernet would settle her nerves. It wasn't that she was nervous, she told herself. This was a new situation—that was all. She was being forced to share her dream. That would be uncomfortable for anyone. Her fluttery tummy had nothing to do with being around Greg.

He sat across from her and picked up his glass of wine. “To the
Fool's Gold Cookbook
,” he said, touching his glass to hers.

Before she could respond, he chuckled.

“What?” she asked.

“I can't believe we're doing this. After all these years.” He shrugged. “I still remember the first time I saw you. We'd just moved to town. I was seven and I didn't know anyone. My mom told me I should sign up for the second-grade play as a way to make new friends. I walked into tryouts and there you were. All blond curls and big eyes.”

He sipped his wine. “I went home and told my mother I'd fallen in love.”

Ana Raquel felt herself blink. “With me?”

“Yup. When I was picked to be Prince Charming, I knew it was meant to be.” He smiled again. “Of course, I was only seven.”

CHAPTER FIVE

A
NA
R
AQUEL
HAD
no idea what she was supposed to say to Greg's confession. Not that his feelings for her when he'd been seven had anything to do with what was happening today, but still. She stared blindly at the folders on the table.

“We, ah, should talk about the cookbook,” she murmured.

“Good idea.”

While he fanned out pages, she went back to the foyer to get her notebook out of her bag.

“I thought we'd divide the cookbook into seasons,” she told him. “That way people can simply flip to the time of year and buy whatever is fresh and local.”

Greg's expression turned smug as he passed her his notes. The first page was a division of the cookbook into seasons.

“We think alike,” he told her. “Interesting. I thought we should divide each season into everyday recipes and those for special events. Like brunches or parties.”

“Celebrations,” she said.

“Right.” He flipped through her pages. “Like this one. Birthday Party Banana Layer Cake. That's spring.”

“And Celebrations,” she added.

“Exactly.” He studied what she'd written. “You have too many salads. I like a salad as much as the next guy—”

“Which means not at all.”

He chuckled. “They have their place, but we need more substantial food. Chili or some casseroles. People in town are always bringing each other casseroles.”

“And if it were a chili casserole it would be perfect?”

“You're reading my mind.”

“You're such a guy,” she told him. “I suppose you're also going to tell me there should be plenty of pies in the book?”

“Sure. Who doesn't love pie?”

He was less intense than she remembered. The Greg she'd known had been one determined soul. He'd run his bid to be student council president with a focus that would have left a national campaign manager envious. She had wanted to win, too, but she'd also made time for her friends and her family.

“How many hours a week do you work?” she asked.

“Sixty, maybe seventy.”

“No wonder there's no girlfriend. Life is more than what we make in the kitchen.”

“You really believe that?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and picking up his wine.

“Sure. Mostly.” She laughed. “Okay, not always, but it's important to have balance.”

“I'm into balance. I'd like to have someone in my life, but finding the right girl isn't as easy as it sounds.” He shrugged. “I have very specific wants.”

She took in the handsome face, the long, lean body. “There have to be plenty of volunteers.”

“Some.”

“Many.”

“I have a type.”

“Which is?”

“Funny, pretty, creative.” He put down his wine. “Ana Raquel, we have to talk about the elephant in the room.”

Elephant? There was no elephant. He couldn't possibly mean... Only, staring at his face, she knew he could and he did. “Prom?” she asked in a whisper.

“Prom night,” he correctly gently.

CHAPTER SIX

A
NA
R
AQUEL
'
S
WARM
,
relaxed feeling faded as heat burned on her cheeks. Was he kidding? There was no way she wanted to talk about that night. She'd been so determined to tell him exactly what she thought of him, only to end up giving him her virginity in a hotel room. Worse, she'd realized that she might have feelings for the one guy who'd made her totally crazy. And not in a good way. That wasn't the sort of thing she was likely to reminisce fondly about.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You seem upset.”

“I'm not.” At least she wouldn't be when they stopped talking about that night. Because she couldn't explain what had happened. One second she'd been yelling and then they'd been kissing and then...

The thing was, she wasn't that kind of girl. She'd never been serious about a boy in high school. There had been too many other things to do. Besides, being annoyed with Greg had taken all her emotional energy.

Since then, no one had really captured her attention. After having lost her virginity so foolishly, she was determined to be more careful the next time. No doubt he was happy to jump from bed to bed. It wasn't as if she'd been his first. If she had been, he wouldn't have been able to figure out how inexperienced she was. Yet another humiliating moment he had to answer for.

“Ana Raquel? We have to talk about it. I tried to talk to you afterward, but you'd left town. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He was going to keep talking, she thought frantically. Talking and talking and she couldn't stand that. There was no way she was going to talk about that night. Not now, not ever. Her choices seemed to be either figuring out how to shut him up or bolting. And since they still had a cookbook to organize, she decided to shut him up.

She made sure she wasn't in danger of knocking over her wine, then reached for the front of Greg's shirt. She grabbed the soft fabric with both hands, pulled him to her and pressed her mouth to his.

They'd kissed before, she thought hazily, feeling the warmth of his mouth on hers and the way his arms came around her. But that had been different. More frantic.

This kiss was soft. He had an air of patience about him. As if they had all the time in the world. His strong arms drew her close. They were sitting in chairs, so there was no way for that to happen. Still, the pressure was insistent, so she unexpectedly found herself standing.

He rose, as well, which meant he was now a lot taller than she was. She had to tilt her head back and then raise herself up on her tiptoes. But it was worth it. Because kissing Greg was like tasting the first maple syrup of the season. Sweet and filled with promise.

It was a good kiss, she thought, her eyes fluttering closed. The kind of kiss that changed a woman's perspective about nearly everything. It was a kiss that could make her want to dream about possibilities. About—

No, she thought, pulling back in a panic. This was Greg Clary, her nemesis. She might not hate him, but she really, really disliked him. They couldn't kiss. This was a kiss-free project.

She stared at him for a second. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say, she didn't want to hear. She bolted from the room, raced to the foyer, where she grabbed her coat and her bag, and then she was gone.