Bliss (31 page)

Lego-head fiddled with her digital recorder, pointing it toward Asher. “Interesting,” she grunted. “So, as Miss Wilde's significant other, what's your reaction to the comments made recently by Chef Austin?”

“Comments?” Asher looked puzzled, glancing down at Sera for an explanation. She tried not to squirm.
Maybe I should have told him. But I just couldn't bear to drag him into this. It's so ugly, and it shouldn't have to be his fight.
“Bliss, what is she talking about? What has that man said to you?”

“It's not what he said to Sera, studly, it's what he said to the world,” Pauline huffed before Sera could begin to explain. “That rat slandered my Baby-Bliss to this”—she glared at the reporter before seeming to recall that alienating her would be a poor idea—“to this
fine journalist
here. Half the town probably read what she printed. We're trying to set the record straight.”

At her side, Sera could feel Asher stiffen. “What
exactly
did Mr. Austin say about Serafina?” he asked very quietly.

The BRBs looked at one another, then at Sera, uncomfortable.

Marnie's eyes lit at the prospect of conflict. She emitted a teeny smile. “Miss Wilde hasn't shown you the article?
Interesting.
Well, I have a copy here in my bag.” She dug in her messenger tote for the latest issue of the
Chile Paper
. She handed it to Asher, who received the newspaper as though it had been marinating in a storm gutter for a week. “Here, take a look.”

Asher took a look.

With each paragraph his eyes scanned, his expression turned stonier. Sera found herself wanting to comfort him, though it was she who'd been maligned.
Now he's really finding out what he's gotten himself into with me,
she thought, feeling sick.
Damn Blake to hell. If he ruins this, too, I'll gut him and make a fricassee out of his kidneys.

The reporter didn't miss Asher's expression. “Would you care to make a statement?” she asked, waving her digital recorder in Asher's face. “After all, you'd be best qualified to rebut some of Chef Austin's more, ah, personal accusations about Miss Wilde.”

Asher snapped the paper shut. He was breathing with great deliberation, Sera saw, and his eyes had gone from green to golden, as they did only with strong emotion. He rose to his feet and towered over Marnie as he very deliberately handed back the offending tabloid.

“I have no intention of commenting on my girlfriend's personal business. No man of any worth whatsoever would do so—not in private and sure as
hell
not in public.” His tone was so clipped, so fiercely leashed, that all the women held their breath, wondering when he'd lose it. “You want a statement? Print
this,
Ms. Pyle: It takes a man of extremely questionable character to say something of this nature in a public forum. Anything that comes out of Mr. Austin's mouth is to be examined very closely as to motive. If he slanders Miss Wilde—”

“Libels,”
muttered Marnie.

“If he speaks ill of her,” Asher said quellingly, “it's due to some sick ‘shortcoming' of his own. And while I won't discuss the intimacy I am honored to share with Miss Wilde, there is one thing I
will
say—and say without hesitation. This woman I love is the finest pastry chef this city has ever seen—and there is no doubt in my mind that she can outbake Blake Austin any day of the week.”

Pauline stood up and cheered. “You tell 'er, hot stuff!”

The Back Room Babes clapped and whistled, stomping their feet.

“Ooh, hey!” cried Syna, shushing them with an impatient gesture. “That's totally what we should do! Have a bake-off! We'll teach that scuzz Blake a lesson
and
prove Sera's the better chef!”

“Hells yeah, girl!” Aruni squealed, grabbing Friedrich's arm hard in her excitement. She beamed at Sera. “You could
so
take that dude down in the kitchen! We'll show everyone he's full of shit
and
prove your baked goods are out-of-this-world orgasmic!”

Friedrich did not seem to mind Aruni's viselike grasp, though he blushed at the word “orgasmic.”

The BRBs started throwing out ideas for how Sera could show up Chef Austin. Pauline and Hortencia got in a squabble about who got to be Sera's trainer for the big showdown. But Sera couldn't think about bake-offs or getting back at her ex-boyfriend. She was still reeling from what Asher had said—in front of all her favorite people
and
the press.

This woman I love.

Did he even realize he'd said the words? She dared a glance up at her newly designated boyfriend. He had eyes only for her, ignoring the fluttering BRBs and the avidly observing reporter. His gaze held everything she loved best about Asher: honesty, tenderness, and a wide-open window to his truly spectacular soul. And what she saw when she peered inside made her catch her breath.

Yup, he realized.

Sera's eyes welled. She couldn't look away, only blink rapidly as Asher returned to her side, kneeling at the foot of her chair. “I love you, Serafina Wilde,” he said. His eyes were molten gold with emotion. “I am very angry with you right now for not telling me about this business with Blake Austin, but I do love you, and I want to help you face whatever comes. Please don't keep something like this from me again. Promise me, Bliss.”

Sera snarfed back a sob. She couldn't stop herself from reaching out to cradle his face with both hands. “I promise. And, Asher…” She smiled tremulously. “I love you, too.”

When he captured her lips with his, it felt like fate.

When she turned back to the BRBs, she found her fate had already been sealed.

“Ladies, I can definitely make this happen.” Bobbie, looking self-satisfied, was patting her already perfectly curled bangs into place.

“How?” Hortencia wanted to know. “Austin's not likely to accept Sera's gauntlet just because she throws it down. What's in it for him, besides total humiliation?”

“Don't be a downer, Horsey,” Pauline scolded. “That's where Ms. Pyle comes in.”

As one, the women turned to stare at the reporter, who wore a wary but intrigued expression. Conflict was her stock-in-trade, after all, and a feud between foodies was sure to spur circulation. As a springboard into investigative journalism, this wasn't exactly the sort of story that got one nominated for the Pulitzer, but anything that increased her readership was a plus. Marnie cleared her throat. “What do you have in mind?”

“We want you to print a challenge to Chef Austin!” Aruni chirped, bouncing over to join the ladies with a sassy backward glance at the flustered Friedrich. “Right, ladies?” She checked with her sisters, who nodded confirmation, then plunked hands on hips and gave the reporter a gamine grin. “You send that windbag a straight-up dare to meet Serafina in the kitchen and she'll prove once and for all who's the best.”

“Where would you have this showdown?” Marnie wanted to know. “And when?” She was scribbling notes on her pad.

“That's where
I
come in,” Bobbie said proudly. “I'm an events planner for the Santa Fe Winter Fiesta, which as you know is running all next week. I can absolutely slot in a cook-off, even last minute, and I'm sure we can sort out a venue. If you print the challenge, I'll publicize the heck out of it all over town and let people know where to show up. It'll be a sensation!”

“Yeah!” Syna chimed in. “Bill it as the great Cupcake Conflict or something. We can even get a production crew from Santa Fe Studios to come film it. My hubby works with a lot of those guys. Heck, the local news might even want to cover it. Or maybe it'll get picked up by one of those reality TV cable channels!”

“Dear, I'm afraid there's already a show like that,” Hortencia informed Syna. “Several, in fact.”

Pauline raised an eyebrow at her partner.

“What? I watch the Food Channel.”

“Hasn't helped your cooking,” Pauline muttered.

“Anyhow,”
Janice said. “Like studly said, our gal can beat the britches off that slimy scumbag when it comes to cookin'. Miz Pyle, all ya gotta do is print an item that invites people to judge for themselves who's the better chef, promise lotsa free treats, and we're in business. He won't dare refuse, or he'll look like he's scared to face our Sera.”

Marnie coughed contemplatively. “Well, that would certainly address
some
of Chef Austin's accusations, especially if Miss Wilde wins the contest. But I don't see how it would counteract the comments about Miss Wilde's more…
personal
… issues.”

The BRBs put their heads together, whispering.

Sera surfaced at last from Asher's drugging kiss to the sound of some seriously intense muttering from her friends. From their expressions, they might have been debating anything from the right way to disable a nuclear reactor to the best brand of lube in Pauline's back room.

“Wait, maybe we could…” murmured Syna, the gist of her suggestion inaudible to Sera.

“Nah, we'd probably get arrested if we tried that, but wouldn't it be awesome if we could?” Aruni said
sotto voce,
shaking her curly head regretfully.

Bobbie touched her pearls and squinched her well-plucked brows together in consternation. “C'mon, Pauline, you're our resident evil genius; help us out!” She gazed expectantly at their fearless leader.

But Pauline just flapped her hands at her minions. “Hush, women.” She flopped back in her armchair and gave her niece an assessing look that was nevertheless rich with pride…and respect. “I don't know what you're fretting about, you ninnies. You can quit your scheming. My Baby-Bliss has got this one in the bag.”

Oh, Pauline.
Sera's heart overflowed as she looked from the man she loved to the woman who had raised her to know she deserved it.

I'm damn well gonna give it my best shot.

T
he mixer blades beat with agonizing slowness.

Whomp.

A lifetime.

Whomp.

Two lifetimes.

Whomp.

Galaxies were born and died.

By contrast, Sera's heart was pummeling her ribs like an overzealous karate instructor. Sweat beaded her upper lip, and she glared into the brushed aluminum bowl as if her will alone could froth the egg whites into the nice, stiff peaks she was after. But no matter how she fiddled with the switches on the stand mixer's sides, the blades would not speed up. Her whites refused to foam. The pinch of salt she'd added did nothing to help. Or wait, had she accidentally used sugar? There was no time to start over.
The meringue has to be ready in five minutes, and I still have to brown the tops! Shit, did I even set the oven?

She turned in a blind panic, flinging open the Blodgett's gaping maw.
No racks! What am I supposed to do without racks? I've got a hundred mini meringue pies to dish up, and no way to caramelize the crusts!

Wait… a
brûlée
torch!
Gotta be a
brûlée
torch around here…

She patted her apron, she flung open cabinets. Not so much as a cardboard safety match to be found in the whole goddamn kitchen! Ever more frantic, knowing her whole career, her very happiness, depended upon success, Sera searched the space for something—anything—she could use. Her gasping breaths were the only sound, until…

Wham!

A booted foot sent the kitchen's double doors swinging violently toward opposite walls. Into the breech stepped a figure in a billowing leather duster and a hat to match. From halfway across the steam-shrouded room, Sera could see Blake's black eyes narrow with malice as he caught sight of her. His lip curled derisively. In slow motion, one hand rose lazily, brushed aside his heavy coat, and revealed the holster at his hip.

Heart pounding, Sera lunged for the gun belt she was somehow unsurprised to find strapped to her own side…

And came up holding a half-squashed chocolate éclair.

A sinister grin spread across Chef Austin's face as he raised his pistol…

And Sera shrieked as she came suddenly, violently awake.

A yawning maw met her gaze.

Fortunately, it was Silver's yawning maw, smelling somewhat unpleasantly of puppy chow and all too full of tongue, which he proceeded to slop across her face as he barked, happy to see Sera awake. He pranced all about the bed, tail wagging frantically, spent a moment tunneling into the mussed bedclothes in case he'd missed any excitement, then flopped on his back in the warm spot Asher had left, paws up and begging for belly rubs.

Sera ruffled his fur absently, grateful for the wholesome enthusiasm of the puppy. It went a long way toward dispelling her nightmare—though not far enough. His master might have done a better job, she thought with a mental pout, but Asher was nowhere to be seen.
Shower? Coffee run?
He must have already walked the dogs, because Silver wasn't whining to be let out, and Sascha wasn't pacing at the half-open bedroom door the way she did when things got urgent. It warmed Sera's soul a little to realize she was learning the Wolf household's rhythms and routines, and even—maybe—beginning to find her own place within them. She turned her attention outward, smiling ruefully as a god-awful clanging and a raft of Hebrew curses informed her Asher was in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast.

She appreciated his efforts, but there was no way she'd be able to eat this morning, even had her otherwise lovely new boyfriend not been a horrendous cook. Her stomach was too busy putting on a Cirque du Soleil interpretive performance—theme: petrified pastry chef.

Today we settle the score, Blake,
Sera thought with a certain grim determination.
Once and for all. I may not have dreamed up this cockamamie scheme, but now that I'm committed, I am damn sure going to give it everything I've got.

Marnie had baited the trap well—and with rather more pizzazz than Sera had expected.

Uncharacteristically terse as his official reply had been, Blake's
un
official response had been classic Austin.

He'd sent Sera a dead fish.

It had arrived at the shop wrapped in newspaper, with a note that read,
Nice try, Sera-frigid. You, my dear, have as much chance of revitalizing your career with this little stunt as this fish does of swimming back to the ocean. But since you choose to invite your own ruination with such a spectacularly desperate ploy, I am more than happy to provide the final nail in your culinary coffin. I shall look forward to witnessing—and indeed,
causing
—your utter and irrevocable humiliation.

It was a nice fish, though. Alaskan king salmon, if Sera wasn't mistaken, twenty dollars a pound and no easy feat to acquire fresh in landlocked New Mexico. She'd been tempted to poach it with a light creamy dill sauce, but she wouldn't put it past Blake to have poisoned the poor thing. Its cold, staring eyes had seemed to pierce her, asking mutely,
You sure you want to go toe-to-toe with this dude? You don't want to end up like me, do you?

Yet, outlandish as the Back Room Babes' plan to take Blake down was, Sera had to agree it was her last, best hope to keep her ex at bay. She had to fight back, fight hard, and fight
publicly,
or he'd continue to whittle away her reputation for as long as he cared to carry on his crazed vendetta. And as far as Sera could tell, that would be all the way to the grave. She would never have a better opportunity to stop him in his tracks than today's bake-off.

I feel like a gladiator facing my fate in the coliseum,
she fretted.
Wonder what's the Latin
for “We who are about to bake salute you”?

Sera told herself it was a good thing that he'd taken up her challenge. Of course he'd done so only on
his
terms—and his terms, as it turned out, were many.

With Blake's fuck-you fish thawing on the counter and the BRBs gathered in the “war room” (Bliss's comfy armchairs) for support, they'd dialed up the chef's hotel to hash out the details of the duel. Sera had stayed out of it, feeling a bit like a boxer when her “trainers” started massaging her shoulders and pressing little sips of water on her (Aruni even offered to rub aromatherapy oil on her temples). Pauline had done the honors, punching the buttons on the store's phone hard enough to make Sera wince. However, when she started rummaging in the prep area's drawers for “the scratchy twine” after about a half second of conversation with Sera's ex, Hortencia had snatched the phone away. Then the real haggling had begun.

Despite Sera's admiration for her aunt's life partner, she had to admit Blake had gotten the better of the old gal. The “quaint contest,” as he put it, had to take place in his restaurant (conveniently providing free publicity for the newly opened eatery). He required an assistant to help prep his creations (Sera could have one, too, he ever-so-generously allowed). And it would all be filmed by a crew of his cronies from the Food Channel. It didn't surprise Sera. When his ego was at stake, Blake Austin played to win. No doubt, he expected to crush her in spectacular fashion, show off his new restaurant,
and
dazzle his loyal fans with his overhyped culinary skills, all while turning a tidy profit by televising the event for the content-craving cable network.

The only concession Sera's team managed to wrangle was that the competition would focus
solely
on dessert. In no uncertain terms, Hortencia had told “he who shall go straight to hell” that, since it was Sera's baking credentials he'd so classily called into question, it was baked goods they would battle over. He wasn't lacking the talent to whip up a few measly tarts, was he?

Sera could hear Blake's response from halfway across the shop.

And so it came to be that Santa Fe's weeklong Winter Fiesta added a last-minute event.

Bake-Off at the Blue Coyote!
ran the headline on the Winter Fiesta's website.

Bobbie had really done an amazing job of pulling the event together and publicizing it to the hilt. From what she'd told Sera, the cooking contest was the talk of the town, sure to be packed with locals and tourists seeking sugar rushes and a glimpse of the world-famous chef facing off against the City Different's newest bakery owner.

Whom they'd be rooting for was another matter.

Oh God oh God oh God… this is really happening. Today!

Sera pulled the covers over her head, resisting Silver's attempts at playing sheet-peekaboo by yanking at the fabric with his teeth. She wasn't worried about being outbaked by her former boyfriend—not in a fair fight anyway. She knew she was the better chef—hell, the last time that bastard had actually sweated it out on the line, his customers had been wearing Members Only jackets and neon Scrunchies. But really, what was the likelihood Blake would play fair?

Her stomach roiled.

The acrid aroma of burnt toast heralded Asher's arrival. Sera let Silver tug the sheet off her face, hoping her hair looked more “JBF” than “just been mangled.” She blinked up at him. In his low-slung jeans, barefoot and bare-chested, hair adorably mussed, the tall Israeli was a powerful incentive to call off the contest and spend the day in bed.

“Good morning, lovely man,” she said, submerging her fears in favor of savoring a few more minutes of pleasure.

“Good morning, lovely woman.” Asher proffered a plate of what was ostensibly breakfast. His eyes lit with appreciation as she threw back the covers, revealing that the T-shirt she'd borrowed from him as a makeshift nightie had ridden up to the tops of her thighs.

Tugging the tee down out of a vestige of modesty, Sera swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She accepted the plate, which appeared to be the backdrop for a new work of black-and-yellow abstract art, and casually laid it on the nightstand where Silver could get at it. Nervous as she was about today, just seeing Asher lifted her spirits.
No matter what happens this afternoon,
she marveled,
this guy's got my back. I won't lose
everything
if I lose to Blake today.

But Sera didn't want to lose
anything.

I've earned this, damn it. My shop. My place in this town. My bliss. And I'm gonna fight to keep them.

“Thanks, Ash. Breakfast looks yummy. I think I'll wait until after my shower to eat, though. I've got a nervous stomach this morning.”

He grimaced sympathetically. “I'm not surprised, given what you're facing today,” he said, tracing the line of her cheek with a comforting finger. “By the way, did I hear a shout a minute ago?” He eyed Sera with mild concern.

She felt a pang, not wanting Asher to worry for her. Blake was
her
demon to slay. “Would you like to?” Mustering up a lascivious leer, she moseyed up to him and wove her arms around his waist. “I do seem to get pretty ‘shouty' when you're around.”

“Mm, yes, that you do.” His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes appealingly. “I think my eardrums could do with another assault. But do we have time?” Asher was already nibbling her neck.

“Probably not.” Sera sighed. She pulled away reluctantly to study the man she was growing to love more each day. Though they'd only been together a short time, she felt strangely secure in their fledgling relationship—serene, even—and excited to see where it would go. Artist to artist and healing heart to healing heart, they simply
got
each other. His support had given her so much strength, his faith in her had bolstered her confidence and made her future seem so much brighter. She would never be readier to face down her past. Sera's hand rose to cup his cheek, and she stretched up to give his chin a grateful kiss. “Much as I'd rather let you rock my world all day, I've got someone else's world to rock first. But trust me,” she vowed, “
he's
not going to enjoy the experience.”