Fire In the Kitchen (7 page)

“She’s got to be kidding,” Matt said to him as Cassidy walked to the stage, laden with ingredients. Although she looked very scruffy from the weather having thrown everything it had at her, her decorum suggested she was wearing a white ball gown. Yes, she was attractive, with her elfin features and short spiky hairstyle…but she wasn’t the type of woman he usually dated. What he hadn’t expected was the way her hand had fit so snugly into his, and how the contact had felt so right. He reminded himself he liked his women taller so he didn’t tower over them, and he loved a long mane of luxurious hair. Not that it mattered—romancing Cassidy should be the last thing on his mind, and she was at least a decade younger than he was. Nevertheless, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“She’s got guts,” he said.

“She’s going to need way more than that,” his apprentice replied. “I believe she’s one of only a handful of entrants who don’t have formal cooking qualifications. I don’t know if I can even watch; this is going to be a painful experience.”

“That’s a bit unfair, you haven’t seen her cook yet,” Dante said. “And don’t be so cocky. You haven’t made it through yourself yet, Mr. Gnocchi
Pizza
.”

Matt had the grace to look sheepish.

“You’re right.”

Dante watched Cassidy select her pans, utensils, and a large coffee machine.

She balanced them on an oversized tray. The tray wobbled precariously, but she managed to make it level again with creative, albeit theatrical moves. He heard a couple of chefs in the audience cough with disapproval.

Cassidy haphazardly dropped her items on the bench and raced back for something she’d forgotten.

Slightly out of breath, she checked she had everything and then stepped forward to say hello to the judges, obviously trying to ignore the cameras almost touching her face. Dante had been a guest chef on many television shows and he was used to them, but he recalled his daunting first time and was sympathetic.

An older judge lowered his glasses down his nose and took a good look at her.

“Please state why you think you have what it takes.”

“I work in Cuckoo Café with my mum…”

“As a chef?”

“No, a…”

“A qualified cook?”

“No,” she said and held her head high.

“What
do
you do there?”

“I’m a barista.”

“You make coffee for a living?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t define me.”

“So your ratty appearance defines you?” The compère spoke from the corner and approached with the microphone. “Did it take you long to get ready this morning or did you just tumble out of bed and decide you’d enter the most prestigious television culinary competition of the year?”

Dante felt uneasy. He squeezed his knees to stop himself from defending the poor lamb from his wolf of an ex-girlfriend. Valerie was a food critic for the stars, but a known food dragon to the commoners.

“I had a bit of a mishap on the way here.” Cassidy seemed strong and defiant, but the small wobble in her voice gave her away.

“This is a serious competition and I don’t believe the producers have time for people who don’t belong here.” Valerie pointed her finger to everyone in the audience of hopefuls. “Do you see anyone here even remotely like you?”

Cassidy stood tall and challenged her.

“Unless you can prove otherwise, there’s nothing in the rules stating you need to be a qualified chef to enter this competition.”

“You’re not the type of person we’re looking for.” The compère’s smile wasn’t genuine. “We’re after serious cooks who can cook some seriously good food—but someone who can use a washing machine would be a start.”

Enough.

Dante stood and called out from the stands, “How do you know she can’t cook well if you don’t give her a chance?”

His apprentice hissed in his ear, “What are you doing? They’re right to question a girl like her who obviously doesn’t belong. It’s called
Celebrity Chef
for a reason.”

Dante was glad he’d already cooked, as he could feel the judges’ irritation from meters away.

Valerie called out to the producers.

“Make sure the last thing I said doesn’t make the cut, nor what Mr. Cristiani said. He should know better.” She flicked back her hair and smiled sweetly for the cameras. “Well, Cassidy, we wouldn’t want our viewers to think you didn’t have a fair go. You’ve got quarter of an hour to show us your stuff. Good luck. Your time starts…now.” The host’s public persona was back.

Dante frowned as he sat again and watched Cassidy setting up a coffee machine. Was she going to serve her dish with a cappuccino? Wouldn’t she be better off spending her time actually cooking? He looked at the judges. They looked bored and their arms were crossed. He hoped Cassidy’s mind was more organized than her workstation was. She didn’t tidy up as she went along and he was convinced there was no way she was going to finish whatever starter she concocted.

He looked at her on the large screen above that showed her from every angle. He liked the way her lips curved up ever so gently at the edges. She was in ‘the zone.’ He knew that place—he’d been there many times himself.

Cooking heaven
.

How could he ever have thought her appearance was merely attractive?

She was beautiful.

The smell of sautéing mushrooms, onion, and garlic made his mouth water. How could those ingredients go with coffee? Or was she going to serve that afterward?

She started doing things with the ingredients and the coffee machine he’d never seen anyone do in combination before. The rude conversations about her ceased. As though she were a spaceship landing in the middle of the studio, everyone, including the judges, watched her intently. Her cooking style was as unique as her personality.

She was a gourmet enigma.

Cassidy wondered where the fifteen minutes had gone. Juggling her internal mantras to breathe through it had unnerved her—remember all the ingredients, try to forget how good Dante was with his starter—until she’d started cooking. After that, she was the only person in the room and she enjoyed what she was doing.

Dante defending her had been appreciated, but awkward. She didn’t want any special favors. She looked at the mess she’d created.

Oops, hope they don’t deduct
marks for a sloppy counter
.

She was proud. She’d soldiered on, surrendering to her dish instead of everyone’s negativity.

She placed a delicate offering in front of each judge. The cream foamed on top, and she’d sprinkled it with grated truffle to make it look like chocolate. Each one looked like a babycino in a shot glass. But her invention was anything but a child’s drink—it was a sophisticated flavor explosion.

“Please explain what you’ve cooked for us today, Cassidy,” the older judge said, sitting back in his chair and settling his hands on his large stomach.

“A foaming mushroom shot.”

She gave them a genuine smile. It didn’t matter if they liked it or not, she knew she’d done the best she could. “For the best effect, you need to drink all the contents at once, like a shooter.”

The four judges picked up their glasses and swirled the contents around. Each took a long sniff and then swallowed it in one shot, as suggested. They looked at each other with indescribable expressions. It was either really, really good, or really,
really
bad.

Darn these cooking show judges.

The thin female judge picked up a teaspoon and scraped out as much of the leftover truffle cream as she could. Then, as if it had not been enough to satisfy her, she put her finger in it and licked it. She closed her eyes and groaned.

“Extraordinary,” she said.

“Amazing.” The redheaded host from hell had tasted one as well, and now had angel wings.

“You’re in,” the judges said in unison.

“What do you mean?” Cassidy’s mind whirled.

“You’ve made it to the next stage. Congratulations.”

Cassidy whooped and punched her hands in the air, as though she’d just won a fight in a boxing ring. Kitchen staff shook their heads as they worked quickly to clean up her mess before the next audition.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She shook the hands of the judges and the kitchen staff and plastered a kiss on the cheek of the man behind the camera.

Cassidy learned it was the last night she had before lockdown. She had to go home and pack her bags with enough clothes to last a couple of weeks, just in case. At this point she was so proud of her achievement, she was happy just to have made it through the first stage.

Unable to restrain herself, she skipped out of the studio and into the car park, where she allowed the rain to fall freely on her face.

“Woo hooooo,” she yelled to the sky and did a rain dance. Who cared what anyone else thought?

She stopped what she was doing when a car pulled up beside her. It was Dante. Her feel-good hormones went up another notch. He lowered his window to speak to her.

“Looks like our day got significantly better,” he called out.

“Significantly.” Cassidy’s laugh was uninhibited. “Unbelievably. Unreal-ly…Is unreal-ly a word?”

“It is now.” He laughed back. “How are you planning to get back to your car?”

“I’m going to fly.” She flapped her arms like wings. “Care to join me?”

He leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. His lips twitched. “Get in.”

Cassidy considered his invitation. “I think I’ll savor the moment and walk a while and then catch a bus back to the car. Thanks anyway.”

“Good luck, Cassidy Summers,” Dante said as he pulled the door shut. He waved as he drove into the street, and Cassidy checked to see if he’d look back at her in his rearview mirror.

He did.

The late morning breeze prompted Cassidy to pull her vivid purple scarf tighter around her neck. She stood at the entrance of the building that could be her home for the next few weeks. The large structure had been purpose-built in an exclusive area, the interesting curved architecture designed to be a talking point before people even went inside. She looked at the focal point of the water feature, a metallic sculpture made of two oversized letter Cs. One of them was reversed, so the pair of them together formed a disjointed letter O. She thought it was clever and visually stunning, accentuating the higher caliber of her fellow competitors. She could only pretend for so long she wasn’t out of her depth in such a distinguished competition.

The fountain was the centerpiece of a beautiful garden. The curved building shaped like a half moon surrounding it added to its aesthetic appeal. She watched the water shooting skyward through the center of the letters, enjoying the rippling effect when it cascaded down their sides into the pond below. She looked from left to right and then produced a gold coin from her pocket. She felt like she was entering the cooking Olympics, so she clasped her hands to her chest and wished for gold as she dropped the coin into the water.

She felt excited, nervous, ready to pop. She wanted to do somersaults on the perfectly kept lawn, but that could come later, if she made it through the next stage. And she’d consider wearing trousers for it, instead of her pink, yellow, and green flowing dress.

A deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Have you ever seen a garden like it?”

Dante.
A small thrill went up and down her spine. She savored the sensation before turning around.

It wasn’t Dante.

But he was damn close. This man was tall, dark, and hot, hot, hot.

“It’s gorgeous.”

She looked around, taking the entire garden in as a distraction, and then returned her attention to him.

“Gorgeous,” he repeated, his eyes fixed on hers, “like you are, Cassidy Summers.”

“Sorry, have we met? How do you know my name?” He was too familiar, too soon. He was no longer hot, he was tepid at best.

“We haven’t been introduced, but I’ve heard all about you from my fellow competitors. You’ve intrigued us all.”

“In a good way, I hope.” Cassidy fiddled with her bracelet. The charms jingled. “You remind me of another chef in the competition.”

“Perhaps you mean another chef reminds you of me?” He squeezed her forearm playfully, but the game was one-sided. “My name is Carlos Cristiani.”

Cassidy dislodged his hand as tactfully as she could and leaned back to create some distance.

“You’re Dante Cristiani’s brother?”

He squinted as he stroked his throat.

“Cousin.”

Cassidy’s mind drifted to the man who’d gotten her to the audition with no time to spare. This man seemed to be in his shadow, and judging by the workout the nerve in the front of his neck was getting, he thought so, too. She broke eye contact and walked away to inspect a prickly pear plant, hoping Carlos wouldn’t follow, but he did.

The recent transition from winter to spring had welcomed a row of flowering fruit trees. Cassidy admired the floral backdrop and the bouquet of the fruit blossom, reading the labels as she neared them: red flowering quince, ornamental pears, amber jewel plums, Tahiti lime tree.

Ignoring Carlos hadn’t helped. He spoke to her as if silent minutes hadn’t passed.

“Everything planted here is functional.” He picked a lime leaf and rolled it in his hand, releasing the oil and gently waving it under her nose.

“Very nice,” Cassidy replied. She felt her body tense. If he got closer again, she’d have to speak up.

“They’re going to encourage us to use whatever’s here for our challenges,” he said.

“Can’t wait.” Cassidy felt the thrill of the competition returning and decided to ignore his unrequited attention. “I’ve already heard about the herb and vegetable gardens. I’ll check them out after I’ve settled in.”

He put the crook of his arm out to her, nodding toward the entrance. She forced a cough and put her hand over her mouth to smother it.

“Excuse me,” she said, smiling inwardly as his arm dropped back to his side.

There was a quality about Carlos she couldn’t define. It was as though he was trying too hard to be liked, while attempting to hide his various shades of gray.