Читать книгу Her Las Vegas Wedding - Андреа Болтер - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“HI, SHANE,” Audrey said, turning on the polish. In reality, his intense stare made her heart skip every other beat. “Can you believe it was a full year ago when we stood right here after the old restaurant had been gutted?”

Shane slowly, sinfully, with no restraint whatsoever, inventoried her. From the part in her blond hair, across her face, down every curve of her fitted dress and shapely legs, through her sandals to the tips of her orange-painted toes.

Her legs twitched from his gaze.

He mashed his lips together as he shifted something internally and turned his attention to his brother. “I mixed a white sangria and put it on the bar. Why don’t you take Audrey into the dining room and pour it, Reg?”

“Join us for a glass, won’t you?”

Unspoken communication passed between the two brothers.

“I’ll be out with some appetizers in a few minutes.”

Reg ushered Audrey out of the kitchen and turned on the overhead lighting.

The restaurant was a showstopper. One entire wall made of glass looked out to a furnished patio. A wood-burning oven, large grill and two fire pits would allow for al fresco cooking. The open-air space was enclosed by a semicircular wall made of small stones. At three points, waterfalls rained down. The effect was that of a private outdoor world far from the bright lights of Las Vegas.

Inside, shaded lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling to cast a play of light and shadow throughout the room. Tall-backed chairs cushioned in an olive-colored fabric, teakwood tables and booths dotted the dining room, each placed with enough space between them to allow for dinner conversation. Carpeting in a subtle diamond pattern of khaki and red would muffle the din of a full house. Stone tiling on the walls gave the room a lodge feel that was posh but comfortable.

Audrey took her time inspecting it all. “Everything turned out spectacularly.”

Reg guided Audrey by the tip of her elbow again, a trend she wasn’t enjoying, to the one table in the center of the dining room that had been set for dinner.

“I’ll get the wine,” he said as he pulled out one of the chairs for her. Then he hopped down the three steps to the bar to retrieve a carafe. “Shane used a 2009 pinot gris from the local Desert Castle vineyard we’re working with,” Reg announced as he poured each of them a glass. Crisp green apple slices and chunks of fresh peaches floated in the drink.

“Nice,” Audrey said after a quick sip, never one to drink much alcohol. Not after what she had witnessed. “You’re staying in a condo in Vegas?”

“In the Henderson suburb. I suppose when the two of us...” Reg stopped, seemingly at a total loss of how to complete the sentence. “Shane leases a flat behind the Strip,” he added and ran the back of his index finger under his nose.

“Will he base himself mostly in Vegas?”

“For a while. When we first opened in Los Angeles, it took a year until we were functioning smoothly.”

“It takes a long time to build a core staff that you feel confident in. People don’t work out. You hire new ones.”

“Shane is very exacting in what he expects. As you’ll recall.”

A flush of heat spread down Audrey’s neck.

“Ten years was a long time ago.” Audrey made reference to the St. Thomas collaboration. “I was just starting college so I wasn’t really involved, but I do have a vague memory,” she fibbed when, in fact, she remembered every second of that summer.

The twenty-four-year-old wunderkind chef and his demands in the kitchen had been legendary. “Didn’t the controversy begin with some herb we couldn’t get onto the island?”

“I still don’t know how I was supposed to make a yellow mole without hoja santa.” Shane’s thick vibrato filled the dining room. Audrey didn’t know how they had failed to hear him come out from the kitchen.

The surprise sent a blush all the way under the neckline of her dress.

“And your idiot sous chef suggested I use cilantro.”

“I was all of eighteen so, believe me, I was just an innocent bystander at the time.”

“We were on a tiny island, Shane.” Reg lifted his palms. “They weren’t able to fly in your herb.”

Shane held two small plates. Audrey took notice of the black leather cords he had roped around his wrists like the ones he wore in the cardboard cutout. There was something so rebellious about them. She’d never known a chef to wear jewelry on his hands. Yet she found them as mysterious and exciting as the man who donned them. His hands were so massive they made the dishes of food he carried look tiny.

“Nevada appears to be the motherlode for the ingredients I need,” Shane said as he placed one plate in front of each of them. “Chiles en nogada. Poblano stuffed with pork, pear and mango and topped with a walnut cream sauce.”

Audrey’s eyes widened at the striking presentation on the plate. She knew that the sprinkle of diced red and green peppers on top of the white sauce was in homage to the colors of the Mexican flag. The foundation of Shane Murphy’s menus was in the flavors of the Spanish-speaking world.

While Shane waited intently, she took a bite, careful to get a little morsel of each ingredient onto her fork. The rich cream fragrant with ground walnuts brought a decadent lushness to the pork, yet the dots of fruit kept the dish from being too heavy.

Audrey closed her eyes to savor the combination.

Depriving herself of sight, she could sense even more powerfully how Shane’s eyes bored into her face. Making her feel somehow exposed and beautiful at the same time.

She whispered upon opening her eyes and looking at Shane again, “Magnificent.” Possibly in reference to the food.

Shane pulled a fork out of the back pocket of his jeans and showed it to Reg. “There was a mistake with the order that came in today. Three tines? Am I serving Neanderthals?”

Without another word, Shane turned and returned to the kitchen.

Audrey noticed the four tines on the fork she was holding. She appreciated how important every small decision was for these consummate professionals. It was the same level of concern the Girards applied to their hotels.

“Audrey, I need to talk to you.”

They were only on the appetizer and she was already feeling unfocused and exhausted from being around Shane. Reg had just said something, but she hadn’t really heard him. “Has Shane always been so—” she chose her word “—fierce?” Although she guessed the answer.

“Since the day he was born.” Reg shook his head. “Our grandmother Lolly, who taught him how to cook her old Irish recipes, used to call him Mr. Firecracker. Of course, since Melina died he’s been grappling with his own demons. Forks are the least of his problems.”

The loss of his wife had left behind a wounded ogre. Audrey knew the story. The young woman who had been killed instantly in a car accident during a snowstorm in the woods of upstate New York. She hadn’t seen the Murphys very often during that time period, but her dad had sent flowers and reached out to Connor to offer his support.

Audrey asked Reg, “Does Shane talk about her?”

Reg dabbed under his nose and sounded exasperated when he questioned, “Why are we spending so much time discussing Shane?”

* * *

In his kitchen, Shane took out his frustration on the mint he tore for the salad. With a syncopated rhythm, he ripped leaves from their stems and threw them onto a work board. His preferred soundtrack of hard rock music did little to squelch the thoughts stomping through his head.

When he’d first heard this master scheme of Audrey Girard being matched up with his brother, he heartily approved. Reg spent far too much time agonizing over spreadsheets, finding fault with staff members and riding Shane about the cookbook or the lagging business. Hopefully a wife would take up some of Reg’s attention and get him off of everyone else’s back.

But now, face-to-face with Audrey again, the whole idea angered him. Wasn’t she just a little too pretty, a lot too sexy and even a bit too independent to be with uptight Reg? He loved his brother and wanted the best for him, but Audrey was too fine a lamb to be offered up for this sacrifice.

During the meetings regarding the new restaurant, he’d observed petite but voluptuous Audrey Girard in action. In her tight business skirts, she moved with the charged-up energy to match the clack of her high-heeled shoes. In fact, memories of her would linger in his mind for days after every encounter.

While Shane wielded his knife to halve the cherry tomatoes, a tight smile crossed his lips. He remembered the first time he’d met Audrey, still in her teens back then, during that summer in St. Thomas when he was doing a promotional stint as a guest chef.

She had been scared to death of him. Who could blame her? At twenty-four, with his heavy boots and impossible standards, he must have cut a frightening figure. Another sneer broke through as he realized that not much had changed since then.

Except for two massively successful restaurants that had made his name a household word. Although the world didn’t know that the restaurants had ceased making the profits they used to. Had anyone noticed that he was no longer asked to make appearances on national morning TV talk shows? That the public had moved on to new culinary revelations, new rising-star chefs? One thing they did know was that Shane Murphy had lost his wife to a gruesome death.

He plated the tomatoes and crumbled cojita cheese on them. Yes, he still remembered Audrey Girard and that midnight ocean swim. He flicked the mint on top of the cheese. Drizzled on olive oil and finished with a dotting of manzanilla olives. He could do this salad in his sleep.

All afternoon, he had been alone in the kitchen, trying to come up with a fresh idea. Just one new recipe for the cookbook. A start.

But he’d only spun his wheels. Unable to summon a clear vision. Nothing was right.

A muse was nowhere to be found.

“Aha,” Shane heard Reg call out as he entered the dining room with the salads he’d served tens of thousands of in his restaurants. “We were just talking about the cookbook.”

“What about it?” Shane already knew where this conversation was going.

“That perhaps we’ll shoot some photos of you on the patio,” Reg said. “Fire up the grill out there, and you can do street tacos with a party crowd surrounding you.”

Shane placed the salad plates on an empty table nearby so that he could clear Reg and Audrey’s appetizers away before serving. Audrey had only eaten a few bites of the poblano.

“You didn’t like it,” he announced rather than inquired.

Audrey looked up at him with her big eyes. He hadn’t remembered how light a brown they were. The color of honey. “It was delicious,” she answered, as if she thought that was something she needed to say.

“I see.”

Shane kept his connection with Audrey’s seductive orbs while Reg asked, “Are you any closer to actually finishing the cookbook, brother? Or even beginning it?”

“Enjoy the salad,” Shane uttered between clenched teeth.

Back in the kitchen, he dialed up his music even louder.

Even if he didn’t like it, he could see how the pairing of Reg and Audrey would benefit business. That was an important consideration now that Murphy Brothers Restaurants needed to take a huge step forward. A soaring success here could lead to more Shane’s Table restaurants in other Girard hotels.

Shane rocked his hips to the beat of a heavy metal song as he deveined the shrimp for the Guatemalan tapado.

And let’s face it, his brother needed to get married. A woman’s touch was going to be the only way to get Reg to lighten up. Plus their parents, now semiretired, longed for grandchildren. Shane would never marry again or have children. Reg was their only hope.

His dad and Daniel Girard used to joke around about matchmaking Reg and Audrey, but after Melina’s death the talk became serious. Shane had made an impulsive marriage that ended in disaster. His father probably felt he needed to step in to insure his other son had a more controllable fate.

After a hand wash, Shane began sautéing the onions and peppers.

One marriage was quite enough for Shane, thank you very much. He was clearly not to be trusted with the well-being of another person. Not a day went by that he didn’t think about the death that maybe he could have prevented. Had he been a different person. In fairness if Melina had been, too.

Shane added the coconut milk that was the basis of the sauce to the sauté pan. Mixed in a ladleful of stock. Stirred in his seasonings.

If a Murphy brother was to marry, it was definitely going to be Reg.

Then why did he picture Audrey, with those spectacular golden eyes smiling at him, while a voice to the side of them asked, “Shane Niall Murphy, do you take this woman...?” Why was he picturing lifting a white-dressed Audrey up into his arms and carrying her over a doorway threshold into a private suite?

Tossing the shrimp into his sauce, he reckoned that the prospect of anyone getting married probably brought up twisted wedding images for him. He was just having a distorted waking nightmare about Melina.

Swirling in a handful of chopped chard, he finished the dish. He portioned cooked rice onto two plates and spooned his stew on top of each. Another recipe he could cook with his eyes closed.

Coming out from the kitchen with his tapado de camaron, Shane noticed from twenty feet away that Audrey hadn’t finished her salad. Was she one of those girls, who only pecked at food? He’d always noticed the seriously lush curves on that small frame of hers. She didn’t look like a bird who didn’t eat.

Were his flavors too unusual for her? Was she used to a blander palate?

He placed the dinner dishes down on the side table.

“You didn’t like the salad, either.” He hastily snatched Audrey’s barely touched plate. “I sell a lot of them.”

“It was lovely, I’m just not that hungry,” Audrey sputtered like she was making an excuse.

Shane served his entrée.

“Have a seat with us,” Reg instructed, gesturing for Shane to pull a chair over from one of the other tables. Reg refilled his own sangria glass and slid it into position for Shane to have it. Audrey’s was barely touched.

For all of his brother’s annoyances, Shane respected Reg more than anyone in the world. Reg had provided the necessary foresight and know-how to lift Shane’s Table to fame. Shane could never have done any of it without him.

Reg had taught him that he had to play the game sometimes, had to make nice with people even when he’d rather be hiding in the kitchen. So he obeyed his brother, turned around a chair and straddled it backward to sit down with them.

“We need to have a discussion about the cookbook,” Reg said with a concerned look. Had they been spending the whole dinner talking about him? “You know we’ve committed to a date with the publisher and they, in turn, agreed to create a mock-up so we can do marketing with it.”

“If it’s a mock-up, then it could be filled with empty pages—what’s the difference?”

“Because you have a contract with them, saying that you’re going to deliver a cookbook,” Audrey added. “They’re not going to go forward if you’re not going to meet the deadline.”

“The TV taping is going to bring you and the restaurant into the living room of millions of viewers,” Reg said.

“We’ll not only sell cookbooks,” Audrey said, “but it will bring people to Vegas to eat at Shane’s Table.”

“You know we all need this,” his brother added.

“The publicity could put us at capacity for a year,” Audrey stressed.

Reg and Audrey both paused to take bites of their tapado. Reg gestured his approval while Audrey stayed straight-faced and chewed slowly. Reg asked, “Have you even started it?”

“Enough already. I get it. I have to deliver the cookbook.” With that, Shane hitched up from the chair and stomped back into the kitchen.

Annoyed, he portioned the pastel de tres leches he had made this afternoon. He hated being ganged up on like that. Hated all of that aggressive sales-y behavior, even though he knew that was what it took to be successful. Just as he knew he wasn’t at all cut out for it. And as for that smart-talking bombshell Audrey... He’d like to show her how actions spoke louder than words.

Shane, he reprimanded himself, Audrey is going to be your sister-in-law. You do not kiss your sister-in-law. You do not even think about kissing your sister-in-law. For heaven’s sake.

Yet he lingered on a mental image of feeding her something delicious with his fingers.

After he and rock ’n’ roll had cleaned up the kitchen, he’d blown off enough steam to go serve the pastel.

Assuming this would be the fourth dish Audrey picked at but didn’t finish, he placed the plate in front of her without much enthusiasm even though he knew this dessert was always a hit.

She gawked at the cake. Took a small forkful. As she slipped it between lips that were as juicy as the plums Shane’d had for breakfast that morning, he could swear he saw her eyelashes flutter. After her bite, she managed, “Wow.”

“It’s called tres leches because it’s got condensed milk, evaporated milk and cream,” he said of the sponge cake soaked in the custardy milk mixture and topped with whipped cream to make it even richer.

She took another demure forkful. Which was quickly followed with another, not as ladylike in size as the previous. Both Shane and Reg couldn’t help but watch as she devoured one bite after the next.

The three chitchatted a bit about a successful New York bakery chain and how they went about their expansion.

Shane hadn’t seen Reg in a couple of weeks. Something more than his usual worries was bothering him. He’d thought his brother had been in favor of this friendly marriage to Audrey. Maybe something had changed. He needed to speak with him privately.

But in between snippets of conversation, Audrey took bite after bite of the cake. Until it was gone. She made a final swirl around the plate with her fork to capture any bits that might have been left behind.

Then she pointed to Reg’s plate. “Are you going to finish yours?”

Gotcha! A pirate grin slashed across Shane’s mouth. After she’d barely eaten the dinner, he finally had her. “Now we see what you like, Sugar.”

* * *

Audrey swiped the key card to her bungalow, opened the door and immediately eyed the cardboard cutout of Shane she had removed from the restaurant entrance earlier. “What are you looking at?” she snapped at the photo, which seemed to have a raised eyebrow she didn’t remember from earlier.

No sooner had she arrived in Vegas than three handsome men had overwhelmed her. One was her father. She knew Daniel wanted the best for her and his concern for her unmarried status was at least half of his motivation in the matchmaking. Two tall, dark and handsome brothers were the other players.

The idea of a marriage being arranged and handed to her in a neat organized file was a relief. At twenty-eight, she knew she had decades of work ahead of her to keep up the Girard legacy that her father, and his father before him, had worked so hard to build. Yet she knew that going it completely alone could be a hard path.

A distant and uncaring mother had cured her of any silly dreams about a love that takes a whole heart. She would never set herself up for that kind of hurt again. Words like allegiance and devotion had been removed from her dictionary. Sensible and logical were welcome.

Timing the wedding to coincide with the opening was a good move. Audrey hoped Reg felt the same way. He had never gotten around to telling her what he wanted to talk to her about tonight, partially because he became invisible every time his brother burst into the dining room.

Shane was a thunderstorm of a man, all mysterious dark skies and punishing rain. Obviously still not over the death of his wife, he hulked under a cloud. That obsession with what she was, and wasn’t, eating had been so annoying. Audrey snarked at the photo of him in the corner. How smug he had become when she couldn’t stop eating that unbelievably scrumptious tres leches cake.

Throwing one of her suitcases up on the bed, she started to unpack as she hadn’t had time to earlier. In a month she’d be married to Reg. There was no reason to care what the other Murphy brother thought of her. Yet when she unzipped the interior, she almost convinced herself that she had to open the flap in a direction that blocked Shane’s photo from seeing what was inside. Was she crazy?

Okay, Shane. Here it is, she thought defensively as she pulled the first item from the case. Cookies. Yes, she had brought package upon package of her favorite cookies from Philadelphia! She didn’t know if they would carry them in Vegas stores so she had stuffed as many as she could into her luggage. And not just cookies. There were boxes of candy from a famous Philadelphia chocolatier, too. There was no way she could live without those. When she ran out, she’d order more online.

“I like sweets. So what?” she challenged Shane’s disapproving expression. He had no business becoming the third man prying into her affairs. She should just get that six feet and two inches of cardboard out of the bungalow tonight and be done with it. Hopefully Reg would ask for it tomorrow.

Yet somehow she liked it right where it was. Those deep, dark eyes of Shane’s were magnets that pulled her in and wouldn’t let go. She wanted to dive into those eyes, to understand the complexity, agony and secrets she knew lay beneath them. As nice as the furnishings in the suite were, Shane was clearly the focal point.

Once she emptied her suitcases, she picked out a nightgown and went to change in the bathroom so as not to let Shane’s photo see her naked. Bonkers, she confirmed to herself, but did it anyway.

After she pulled back the covers on the bed and climbed in, she realized she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. So she didn’t turn off the bedside lamp. She examined Shane’s full lips. Wondered how that beard stubble would feel against the delicate skin of her neck. Scratchy and rough in the most divine way, she figured. And she pondered his tangle of dark hair, the snug fit of his jeans, those leather cord bracelets!

No, Audrey didn’t lie down and go to sleep. Instead, she bolstered up her pillows. Leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head.

She was going to win this staredown with Shane.

Even if it took all night.

* * *

Shane leaned back against one of the archways in the wedding pavilion, an outdoor terrace space shaded by an awning and edged by long rectangular planters filled with desert succulents. The late afternoon sun had moved toward the mountains and he crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms across his chest to settle in for a gander at the spectacle at hand. The pain-in-the-behind photographer who had just tortured him through a session in the restaurant was now at work on Audrey and Reg.

The guy and his assistant buzzed around like bees. Positioning Reg’s hand a couple of inches higher, repinning one lock of Audrey’s glossy hair, patting Reg’s face with a cloth.

Shane didn’t like the way Audrey was fashioned today. Was that some stylist’s idea of the blushing bride to be? The updo hair was far too prim for someone as sexy as Audrey. The floral-print dress and pink shoes looked too country club. That sweet image was pretty on some women. But it just wasn’t Audrey. He wanted to smear that pink lipstick right off of her mouth.

He chuckled to himself as the bees swarmed around the happy couple, posing them this way or that. If it was up to him, he would have Audrey in a bloodred dress cut way down to there, fitted enough to hug every one of her tempting curves. He’d leave that exquisite blond hair unfastened and free. And he wouldn’t allow a speck of makeup to come between her smoothness and his hands or mouth.

There he went again, conjuring up improper images about the woman who was betrothed to his brother! And even if she wasn’t, he was never going to marry again so he didn’t need to be fantasizing about what his fiancée would wear in their engagement photos. Ridiculous.

Daniel Girard appeared from the other end of the pavilion nicely dressed in a beige suit.

Shane had on his signature chef’s coat and jeans.

“Daniel, Shane, we’re ready to bring you in for a couple of shots,” the head bee called.

With a roll of the eyes, Shane trudged over. The Murphy brothers with their partners in business, and now in life, the Girards. Shane was apparently about to become Audrey’s brother-in-law.

He had burned the few photos of him and Melina that they had taken the day they went to a justice of the peace in New York to become a legally married couple. It had been a no-fuss ceremony. Afterward, they’d had lunch with Reg, Shane’s parents and Melina’s mother. Melina’s estranged father was not in attendance.

When he looked back on it, Shane wasn’t really sure why he had agreed to marry Melina. It was she who’d wanted to. As a young man with the level of fame the restaurants brought, Shane attracted more than his fair share of chef groupies. He supposed Melina pressured him into marriage to try to insure his fidelity. The truth was that he’d been so immersed in cooking and the restaurants at that point, she needn’t have worried. Though he did seek acclaim, he had no interest in sexual dalliances.

Melina was an outcast blueblood. Her father, a wildly successful mogul overseas, had cut her off because of her party lifestyle, but that hadn’t changed her ways. Shane met her at an art gallery opening after he had returned to New York once the LA restaurant was up and running.

She was an eccentric who sang in a band. As a young star chef, Shane had temporarily enjoyed the diversion of her rock ’n’ roll crowd, who were in great contrast to the luminaries of New York who came into the restaurant.

But he’d tired of the superficiality of Melina’s orbit. And had become acutely aware that they were not growing closer. They were not turning marriage into a foundation to stand on together. Their apartment was not a home.

It had been a reckless and immature decision to marry Melina. Even their nuptials were a spur-of-the-moment plan on a Tuesday afternoon. They had never been right together.

His four years with her were now comingled with memories regarding the horror of her death. The phone call from the highway patrol. Police officers who were gracious enough to come to the cabin to pick him up during the snowstorm and drive him to identify his wife’s body.

Shane hadn’t even been a guest at a wedding in many years, so he’d forgotten about all of the pomplike engagement photos. Now, the next wedding he’d attend would be his brother’s. Studying Audrey again, whose mere being seemed to light something buried down inside of him, he simply couldn’t picture her and his brother together.

Reg seemed ill at ease with this photo shoot, breaking frequently to text. They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately last night, but Shane could tell his brother was bearing the weight of the world on his slim shoulders.

After the last photos were taken and the bees left, Reg’s phone rang and he took the call. Shane didn’t like the look of alarm that came over his face. “Rick in New York.” Reg identified the caller. “Shane, take Audrey into the kitchen and show her the progress you’ve made on the cookbook so far.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Shane took Audrey by her hand, which was even tinier and softer than he’d imagined it was going to be, and tugged her in his direction. There wasn’t much to show her but maybe it was time he assessed what he had.

In the restaurant kitchen, Shane rifled through the papers on his desk, all of which needed his attention. From under them he pulled a tattered manila folder. He dumped its contents onto a countertop.

Audrey looked surprised but managed a pursed lip.

“This is how I work,” he said.

Ideas for recipes were written on food-stained pieces of paper. On napkins where the ink had smeared. On sticky notes that were stuck together. On the backs of packing slips from food deliveries. On shards of cardboard he’d torn from a box. There was one written on a section of a dirty apron.

“O...kay,” Audrey prompted, “tell me exactly what’s here.”

He glanced down to the front of the floral dress she was wearing for the photo shoot. The pattern of the fabric was relentless in its repetition of pink, yellow and orange flowers. Begonias, if he had to guess. The way she filled out the dress sent his mind wondering about what sweet scents and earthly miracles he might find beneath the thin material.

Shane wanted to know what was under the dress, both literally and figuratively. She was an accomplished woman yet he thought there was something untouched and undernurtured in her.

He admonished himself for again thinking of his brother’s soon-to-be bride, although he took a strange reassurance in the fact that this was an arranged marriage between people who were not in love.

Still, it was nothing he had any business getting involved in.

What he needed to concentrate on were these scraps of paper that were to become one of those sleek and expensive cookbooks that people laid on their coffee table as a design accessory and never cooked from. A book whose pages held close-up pictures of glistening grapes and of Shane tossing a skillet of wild mushrooms.

“These are my notes.” A scrap from the pile caught his eye. “Feijoada.”

He’d scribbled that idea over a year ago. When Reg had asked him to think about how to make use of the lesser cuts of pork he had left over from other recipes. “I’ve seen Brazilians throw everything into this stew, the ears, the snout, all of it. The whole pot simmers with the black beans for a long time and you squeeze the flavor out of every morsel.”

“Let’s see what you have,” Audrey offered. She leaned close to him to read the note together.

His tendons tightened at the sweet smell of her hair.

“There are no amounts for the ingredients,” she observed.

“Obviously.”

“How are we going to use these notes for recipes then?”

“I have no idea.”

“How do you get the dishes to taste the same every time if you don’t have the measurements written down?”

“I feel it. They don’t come out exactly the same every time.”

“You feel it.” She bit her lip. “Then how would someone at home be able to cook them?”

“They wouldn’t.”

Shane watched Audrey’s expression go from irritated to intelligent as she thought through what she should say next. “You’re not at Shane’s Table in New York and Los Angeles cooking every single dish. How does your staff prepare the food?”

“Of course the restaurant menu recipes are written down. We’ll use a few Shane’s Table guest favorites for the book. But it’s supposed to be all new food. Reg promised we’d deliver fresh, rustic and regional, and I’m still working on the dishes. The measurements are the least of my problems.”

Audrey took a big breath into her lungs and held it there.

She sure looked adorable when she was thinking.

“I’m trying to work with you here, Shane.” She exhaled. He liked hearing her say his name. “The restaurant menu had to have been ideas in your head at the beginning. How did you develop the recipes for those?”

“That was a long time ago.” Before Melina died. Before grief and frustration and anger clouded his mind and heart. Nowadays he went through the motions but stayed under the darkness. Which was how he wanted it. Or thought he did anyway.

Another Shane’s Table was opening. Truthfully, so what? A cookbook as a publicity stunt Reg said would bring their brand to every corner of the world. So what? The Feed U Project with the kids was about all he cared about anymore. Just as he and his family had done in a dozen other locations, he’d turned a warehouse in downtown Vegas into a kitchen where he taught local kids how to cook.

Reg’s call interrupted his musing. His brother wanted to meet right away.

“I gotta go, Sugar,” he said to the five-foot-two ray of light.

“I thought we were supposed to achieve something on the cookbook today.”

He turned to the pan he had cooling on a nearby rack. With his fingers, he broke off a taste of what he had baked earlier. From an old recipe that it had occurred to him to whip up this morning. With Audrey in mind, if he was being honest.

“Pan de dulce de leche. Caramel.” Shane popped the chunk of still-warm cake into her delectable mouth.