Why had he picked now to be so logical? “No,” she said in a small voice.
“So, what will happen if you aren’t this big success by the time you’re thirty-six?”
She’d never considered that possibility, because she’d always assumed it would happen. “I don’t know.”
“Hate yourself more?”
She stood abruptly. “You’re trying to confuse the issue, make me doubt myself, so I’ll agree to come back to the show.”
“I don’t care if you come back to the show or not.”
She blinked. “Then why are you here?”
He moved closer. “We have unfinished business. I didn’t think you’d see me any other way.”
She sighed. “Even if I thought being back on the show would help me reach my goal, I can’t work with you anymore, Nick. Not if I can’t trust you.”
“You can’t forgive yourself, so you can’t forgive me?”
“It’s not the same.”
“What more do I have to do? I told the network execs I can’t cook, I told Leonie I was leaving, although I’m willing to co-host if you’ll come back. The only thing I haven’t done is tell you I love you. If you haven’t figured that out by now, considering how much I’ve turned myself inside out for you, you’re as blind about me as you are about your own misplaced tribute to your father.”
His words came throttling at her like a runaway bus. “You love me?”
His eyes answered for him. They’d gone even bluer. True blue, sappy as that might sound. “I thought I’d never hear myself say those words. Leonie has always been my center. But when I burned my hand, fell at Montforts’, you’re the one who came to my aid. You’re the one who worried about my going back to work too soon, the one who, despite being camera shy, was willing to co-host with me on the spot without a script.”
“Those aren’t reasons to love someone. Any good friend would do that.”
He reached for her hand. “Agreed. But when I walked into that meeting with the network people the other day, I expected them to know I couldn’t cook, because you would have felt duty-bound to tell them. But you didn’t. They were dumbfounded when I told them myself.”
She didn’t reply.
“Look at me, Reese. I just told you I loved you.”
“I had it within my grasp to tell them about the hoax you and Leonie were putting over on the audience. I was still angry and hurt that you could do such a thing. I don’t think you realize how seriously trained chefs like myself take their credentials.”
He started to say something, but she stopped him. “I was stunned that I’d let the moment pass. It was only later that it struck me: I didn’t say anything to them because I love you too.”
He tried to pull her into his arms, but she held back. “What? You just said you love me too.”
“I owe you the truth, Nick. But acting on this discovery is something else.”
He screwed up his face. “I don’t understand.”
“You read that article. The facts were more or less correct, just misinterpreted. I’ve trusted three men in my life. Two of them burned me.”
“And the third?”
“My father. I learned too late that his love had been the real thing. I should have trusted him and I didn’t. I can’t trust myself to know the difference anymore. I don’t know whether you’ll be like him or the other two.”
“You don’t know whether you can trust me not to lie to you again. In other words, to tell you what you want to hear, even though it may not be in your best interest.” He paused before adding, “Then try this on for size. I think your plan to be this great success by age thirty-six is a bunch of crap.”
“What?”
“You heard me.
Crap
. A misguided tribute to your father. You don’t owe him anything, just like you convinced me I didn’t owe Leonie anything. Both of them made their choices. If your dad died as his career was taking off, he died a happy man.”
He stood there, his eyes penetrating hers, as if trying to help her accept his logic.
Backing away, she charged, “How dare you play down the importance of my dream!”
He took a deep breath. “That’s just it, Reese. It’s not
your
dream, it’s your father’s transferred to the world of cooking. You’ve spent the last several years trying to give him back something you never took from him.”
Unbidden tears now streamed down her face.
“When I told you I wanted to leave the show, you asked why I didn’t just do it. I was as hard-pressed to explain the invisible emotional chains keeping me there as you are to justify spending your life living the dreams of a dead man.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form words if she tried. She’d held tight to her grand plan for years. She couldn’t just walk away from it.
Even though his argument made sense.
She lifted her face to ask, “This plan has been a part of me for so long. What do I do instead, Nick?”
He took her hands. Though the contact still set off sparks, his hands on hers felt comfortable, right. “You do what you want to do, my love. If it’s herding cattle in Texas, fine. I’ll find some way to be with you there. If you’ll have me?”
A sort of strangled chuckle escaped her. “You and me herding cattle?”
“That’s as far-fetched a scenario as I could come up with on short notice, but you get the idea.”
He loved her enough to give up everything to be with her. “You took quite a risk, telling me my career plan was crap.”
“I guess love is about taking risks for the ones you love.”
She squeezed his hands. “I believe you, Nick. I’m going to trust you. And that is my risk.”
“I won’t let you down.”
She went into his arms. He took it from there, kissing her like they’d been parted for years. Considering the horrible chasm of misunderstanding that had stood between them, it seemed like years.
She’d so missed having his mouth on hers, claiming her as his own, it was like coming home. She strained against him, meeting him kiss for kiss, feeling the urgency of his need against her. When she drew away, she looked up into his blues. “I think I know what I want to do next.”
He leered back at her. “Me, too. But your mom might frown on us using one of her bedrooms.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nice idea, but what I had in mind was co-hosting a network cooking show. Do you know where there might be a job opening?”
“It just so happens I do know something that might interest you, but there’s one job requirement you’d have to agree to first.”
Now what? Hadn’t Jasper listed all their conditions? “Uh, what would that be?”
“The co-hosts have to be married.”
“Whose requirement is that?” she teased.
“Okay, it’s not a requirement. Just a very optimistic hope on the part of the other co-host.”
“Sounds to me like grounds for matrimony,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Just one question. If we get married, who’s going to do the cooking?”
She lifted a brow. “Who do you think?”
Epilogue
“And the Tony for Best Actor in a Leading Role in a Play goes to…Nick Coltrane, for ‘Make My Future.’”
Nick leaned over and kissed his very proud and very pregnant wife. “We did it, babe! Thanks for helping me write your dad’s story and letting me star in it.”
Reese Dunbar Coltrane watched her husband dash to the stage to accept the award. She didn’t care if the last award of the evening, for Best Play, went to “Make My Future” or not. In her mind, she’d already won, seeing Nick receive the recognition he deserved and finding the perfect way to honor her father’s life.
Here she was at age thirty-six and she wasn’t the city’s top chef…yet. Instead, their show had risen to Number Two on the network and they’d just been renewed for another year, although they’d have to work around her pregnancy. But if they could accommodate Nick’s sprained ankle four years earlier, they could certainly handle a baby bump.
On her other side, her director, Jasper Walters, whispered, “I told you we could make this work.”
Seated on Jasper’s other side, his wife, Leonie, said, “And I told you Nick was the best actor around.”
Though it no longer bothered her for her husband’s aunt to get in the last word, Reese couldn’t help but smile and nod, adding, “That he is. And he cooks too.”
A word about the author...
Barbara Barrett’s first professional career was as a human resources analyst for Iowa state government, and that background continues to permeate her contemporary romance fiction. The theme of her writing, “Romance at Work,” reflects her fascination with the jobs people do, infiltrating her plots almost as a secondary character.
A member of Romance Writers of America and several of its affiliate chapters, she was first “published” in sixth grade when a fictional account of a trip to France she wrote for school appeared in her hometown newspaper, the Burlington
Hawk Eye
. Her essay, however, never envisioned that, years later, she would trip on a curb near the Arc d’Triomphe and have to limp her way through the Louvre.
Now retired, Barbara spends her winters basking in the Florida sunshine and returns to her home state of Iowa in the summer to “stay cool.” She married the man she met in sensitivity training for dormitory advisors her senior year of college. They have two grown children and six grandchildren. When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with friends or playing Mah Jongg.
Barbara’s website is
http://www.barbarabarrettbooks.com
.
She can be reached at
and is available to speak with romance readers’ book clubs about her books via the phone.
Follow her on Twitter @bbarrettbooks.
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