Sweeter With You (3 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

D
ESPITE
THE
SHORTER
days and cooler temperatures, Ana Raquel was still busy through lunch in her trailer. She'd found a spot that attracted good foot traffic and didn't offend any of the already established restaurants in town. As she scooped out another serving of Mushroom and Three-Cheese Lasagna, she wondered what she was going to do with herself when the weather got really cold. No one was going to dash out to eat at a street cart when it was close to freezing and damp.

She had already made arrangements to store the trailer, but she was more worried about herself. Should she look for a job in town? Leave and head south? Backpack through Europe? While backpacking across the continent sounded like fun, she didn't have the money. Besides, she had a cookbook to work on. Which meant that getting a job locally was her best option.

Without wanting to, she remembered her brief evening with Greg two nights before. They were supposed to have talked about the cookbook. Unfortunately, fate in the form of a yummy kiss had intervened. She still wasn't sure what to do about that. Should she talk about what had happened or simply pretend everything was normal between them?

“This is probably stupid.”

Exactly what she was thinking, Ana Raquel thought, only she hadn't spoken. She glanced at her next customer, then smiled when she recognized Dakota Hendrix—one of the Hendrix triplets. Only she was Dakota Andersson now. Like all her sisters, she'd married and started a family. The circle of life, Ana Raquel thought wistfully. She wanted to be in a circle, too.

Dakota held out the sheet of paper in her hand.

“What is stupid?” Ana Raquel asked. “Because if you're thinking you want to save room for a muffin with your lunch, you're right. I have two choices today and they're both great.”

Dakota, a pretty blonde with a toddler on her hip, laughed. “I meant this.”

She held out the paper. Ana Raquel took it and studied the recipe. It was for roast chicken and mashed potatoes. A seemingly simple dish made delicious with a few key ingredients.

“I heard about the cookbook,” Dakota told her. “That you wanted people to volunteer recipes. This isn't that fancy...”

“Stop!” Ana Raquel shook the paper. “This is exactly what I'm looking for. Thank you.”

Dakota ordered lunch, then took her food and stepped away.

Ana Raquel glanced at her watch. It was nearly time for her to close. She was going to miss her customers, she thought as she turned back to start cleaning up her kitchen.

“Any chimichangas left?”

She looked up and saw Greg standing at the open door of her trailer. The sun was behind him, putting him in silhouette. The second she recognized him, her heart began a strange kind of two-step. Part anticipation, part need to sputter and apologize. Because the last time she'd seen Greg, they'd been kissing. Well, technically she'd been running, but only after the kissing.

She forced herself to pretend a calm she didn't feel as she put the last chimichanga on a plate. He took it and settled at the small table in the trailer. As if he belonged there.

“We never did get a schedule together for working on the cookbook,” he said as he unwrapped a plastic fork. “We'll need several meetings to cull the recipes, then some time in the kitchen to try each one. I'm thinking we'll need around a hundred and fifty in total. What do you think?”

She thought he was amazingly cool and collected, considering the whole kissing thing. He was sitting there, eating, as if their lips had never touched.

“A hundred and fifty sounds right,” she said at last, because she wasn't going to bring up the you-know-what.

“I'm working most nights at the restaurant,” he said, when he'd chewed and swallowed. “Delicious, by the way.” He pointed his fork at the chimichanga. “Just the right spices. We should put this in the book.”

“Thanks. Sure. I have a list of street food I thought would be good.” She cautiously sat across from him. “I'm going to be closing down the trailer in the next couple of weeks. Once that happens, we can start testing the recipes. If we have our list of maybes together by then, we can be ready to start cooking.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Want to use my kitchen?”

She was nervous about going back to his house, but her kitchen was the size of a shoebox, and, while the trailer kitchen was pretty sweet, it wasn't exactly built for two.

“Sure.”

“What time are you done here?” he asked.

“About two or two-thirty.”

“Do you mind coming by the restaurant after that? I can start my prep work early so we have an hour or so to go through the recipes.”

She nodded. “I've heard good things about your place,” she admitted. “People really like the food.”

“I'm enjoying the work and being creative. But it's a lot of work. More than I expected.” His expression turned rueful. “My uncle warned me that being my own boss was harder than I thought. He was right.” His gaze turned intense. “What are you going to do when you shut down the trailer for the season? I could use someone like you at the restaurant.”

Work for Greg? Could she? Did she want to? She had no idea if their styles would be similar. Besides, this was Greg. They weren't friends. They were...

She realized she no longer thought of him as someone she had to best. That in the years since she'd last seen him, he'd become a great guy. Or maybe he'd always been great, but she'd been too busy—

There was a monstrous crash as something collided with the entire trailer, which shuddered and leaned distinctly to the left. The walls shook and Ana Raquel was nearly thrown from her seat. Greg was out of his chair and pulling her close before she'd even caught her breath. Outside, someone screamed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

G
REG
GRABBED
A
NA
R
AQUEL
by the hand and led her out of the trailer. They turned and saw that a large SUV had backed into the front corner of the trailer. The outside was ripped and cracked, but more upsetting was the big buckle in the frame.

Ana Raquel pulled free of his hold and moved toward the damage. A man in his thirties jumped out of the SUV and hurried over.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice thick with anguish. “I have allergies. I sneezed and my foot slipped and I hit the gas instead of the brake. Are you okay?” He barely stopped speaking for Ana Raquel's nod. “I have insurance. I'm going to call my agent right now.”

He pulled out a card from his wallet and started to dial on his cell.

The rational side of her brain knew that the trailer could be fixed. That while the frame damage meant more time in the shop, nothing was irreparable. But her heart whimpered about another truth—that by the time the repairs were done, the street food season would be over. Instead of ending things with a fun weeklong party of different dishes, as she'd planned, she would be forced to simply call it a season.

A crowd began to gather. This was Fool's Gold and everyone's business was fair game. There was also plenty of concern as people she knew hurried forward to make sure she was okay.

“We weren't hurt,” Greg said, moving close and lightly putting his hand on her shoulder. “We were in the trailer when it happened. It rocked some, but we're fine.”

Ana Raquel nodded because she was afraid that if she started to speak, she would begin to cry. She told herself that one great summer was enough. That she would have the trailer back for next year.

Greg shifted his hand so he had his arm around her. When the tourist who had backed into her started giving her his insurance info, Greg was the one who wrote it down. When the tow truck showed up, he helped her make sure all the propane lines were turned off, and together they packed up the perishables. Less than an hour later, Ana Raquel watched as her dream was towed away.

Her little red truck, the one she used to pull her trailer, looked naked there on the street. There was a flyer for her business on a nearby pole. As she watched, a gust of wind caught it and tugged the paper free of its anchor. The sheet disappeared up into the sky.

“What on earth happened?”

“Are you okay?”

The familiar voices had her turning. Her two sisters, Dellina and Fayrene, hurried up to her. They reached for her and hugged her close.

“Are you hurt?” Dellina asked.

“Tourists are idiots,” Fayrene muttered.

She let their care and concern wash over her. Tomorrow she would be rational about what had happened. Today she was going to wallow.

She sniffed, then stepped back. “How did you know what happened?”

“Greg called me,” Dellina said. “I called Fayrene.”

Greg had taken charge, but in a good way, she thought. She turned to thank him, but he'd disappeared into the crowd, leaving her in the capable arms of her family.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
Ana Raquel found herself back at her spot for lunch. She had regulars who might not have heard about the accident and she wanted to explain why she was shutting down so early. She'd barely been able to sleep that night and when she did manage to doze off, she was awakened by nightmares of the accident.

It wasn't the damage that bothered her as much as having things taken out of her control. She tried telling herself the good news: no one had been hurt and she was grateful for that. But still...what about her dream? Next year seemed so far away.

She rounded the corner and found that her usual place had already been taken by a large SUV. One that looked familiar. As she pulled up behind it, she saw that Greg had set up a table just off the sidewalk with a big hand-lettered sign. It showed a crayon version of her trailer with a big bandage on the back corner. The notice above invited her customers to write in their best wishes.

More amazing were the stacks of sandwiches and salads he was setting out on the table. She got out of her car and hurried over to him.

“What is all this?” she asked.

Greg smiled at her. “I didn't want your regulars going hungry,” he told her. “I went into the restaurant early and threw a few things together.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “You didn't have to.”

“I know. I wanted to. You were pretty upset yesterday.”

She nodded. “Too upset to think of doing this. What a great idea.” Her season didn't have to end so abruptly, she thought happily. She could make food at home and bring it here. While the menu wouldn't be so extensive, she had already made her cookies and muffins the night before.

“Thank you,” she said, impulsively hugging him. “You're being really good to me. I appreciate it.”

His body was warm against hers, she thought, suddenly aware of pressing against him with only a few layers of clothing between them. She felt the heat of him and found herself wanting something more than just a hug. She wanted to hang on and never let go and, at the same time, she found herself needing to cry.

Adrenaline, she told herself as she stepped back. Emotional residue from the accident.

“I don't know how to repay you for all this.” She motioned to the sandwiches and salads.

“Send them up to my place for dinner.”

He was joking, but she was serious as she said she would. She would tell everyone to go there, she thought. And she would mention what a nice guy he was.

He walked toward his SUV. “We still need to get going on our cookbook planning,” he called over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow at three,” she promised. “Café kitchen.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me, too,” she whispered. Because she did. A lot.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
NEXT
COUPLE
of months passed in a blur. Ana Raquel and Greg argued and negotiated their way through recipes, organization and bonus material. The town came through with recipe suggestions. Ana Raquel and Greg each had their favorites, and sometimes the choice between two equally wonderful options came down to a round of rock, paper, scissors.

They spent their mornings on the cookbook, then moved to the restaurant. There the heated discussions continued as they prepped for the evening's dinner service. Somehow Ana Raquel found herself getting more and more involved with the cooking.

Once the last patron had left, she and Greg returned their attention to the cookbook. They worked late into the night to find the right combination of savory and sweet, entrées, appetizers and desserts. They'd agreed on easy recipes filled with flavor. The kind of food you could serve your family and the boss when he or she came over.

Through a friend of Greg's, they'd made contact with a publisher and quickly found themselves dealing with a deadline. But the book was finally finished.

The best part of the project had been working with Greg. He was exactly who he seemed to be—a nice man she could depend on. He could be stubborn, but never aggressive. He was reasonable, if quirky. And lately, when he smiled, she felt her world get a little brighter.

Ana Raquel chopped furiously. The key to a successful service was prep work, she reminded herself. Tonight was a special dinner at Café. Advance copies of the cookbook had arrived. She and Greg would be handing them out at the end of the dinner where every item on the menu was based on the
Fool's Gold Cookbook
.

Life-Changing Guacamole was offered alongside Bubbly Feta and Sweet Pepper Dip with Pita Crisps. There were entrées for every taste and a dessert buffet that ranged from S'Mores Bars to Triple-Chocolate Caramel Party Cake.

She finished chopping the onions and went to work on the garlic. Greg was lining up the proteins they would be using. Music blared from speakers built into the ceiling.

The staff at the restaurant worked well together, she thought, smashing her knife against cloves of garlic, then peeling away the skin. Their movements were practiced, the results tangible in the smoothness of a sauce or the tang of a salad dressing.

Over the past couple of months, she'd found that she enjoyed working with Greg in his kitchen. They argued a lot but only about what mattered, and she won as often as not. Mayor Marsha had been right, she admitted reluctantly. She never would have been able to handle the cookbook on her own.

“Oh my God!” said Linda, one of the hostesses, setting a spoon in the sink. “That dressing. It's heavenly.”

Greg looked at her. “It's good.”

“I want to be buried with it.” Linda paused. “Okay, that sounds more gross than I meant.”

Ana Raquel chuckled as she finely chopped garlic. A lot of kitchens were filled with tension and competition. She'd had more than her share of that while she'd been in San Francisco. But things were different here. More relaxed.

“Take a break,” Greg said, coming up to her station. “I need you to see something.”

She set down her knife and followed him to the dining room. Once there, her breath caught in her throat.

Extra tables had been brought in to satisfy the demand for their special tasting dinner. The tablecloths and fresh flowers were coordinated with the colors of the book cover. Speaking of the book, there were stacks on a table off to the side. She and Greg would be signing them later.

On the other side of the room, the dessert buffet was already in place. Delectable smells filled the room.

“Dellina did a great job,” Ana Raquel murmured.

“It's impressive. I wish my place looked like this all the time.”

She turned to him. “It could. Talk to Dellina. She's great with decorating and parties. She has a real eye for how to put rooms together so that people feel relaxed and enjoy themselves.”

He smiled at her. “I'll have to do that. I don't have a lot of spare time. The restaurant keeps me busy.”

“I can see that.” He was getting by with minimal staff. But he was also in that awkward stage—successful, but not making enough to hire everyone he needed. Any extra bodies he could afford were generally serving staff. “You're doing too much yourself. You need help.”

“Good help is hard to find.”

She shook her head. “You won't have a problem. You're surprisingly easy to work with.”

“So are you.” He moved toward her. “I'd like you to think about working here. With me. Officially.”

Warmth flooded her. To be honest, she'd been thinking about it herself. “I like the Café,” she admitted. “The rest of the staff, what you're doing with the menu. It's tempting.”

“But?”

“I have my trailer and I love that. Committing to a kitchen is a big deal.”

“I'm not asking you to give up your street food,” he told her. “I could help with that. We could use it to promote the restaurant and vice versa. We're a good team. Or are you still mad about my beating you for student council president?”

He was teasing, of course, but there was something serious in his eyes. An emotion she couldn't quite fathom.

“I'm not mad,” she said, her gaze slipping to his mouth. He hadn't kissed her since that one time when she'd kissed him. She wasn't sure why not. Was she misreading the situation? Did he only want them to be business associates? Because, while she wanted that, too, somewhere along the way she might have, possibly, fallen for him.

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “All right. We have a dinner to prepare. Only our friends and family and California's longest-serving mayor.”

The moment was lost, she realized. Or maybe it had never been there at all. Maybe she was the only one thinking there could be more between them.

“As long as there's no pressure,” she said, determined to sound upbeat and cheerful. First the dinner tonight. In the morning she would figure out the state of her heart and decide what to do about it.