A Berry Baffling Businessman Read online

  “It’s Berry now,” I said, pulling away after the hug. “I’ve gone back to my maiden name.”

  Chef Radde held my hands in his and eyed me speculatively, then said, “And that couldn’t have happened to a better man.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. “Are you telling me you knew things I didn’t know?” My ex had been a cad, sleeping with anyone in a skirt who said yes.

  “Sweetheart, everyone knew. Why do you think I always flirted so hard? I figured what was good for him was most certainly good for you… and maybe me.” He gave me a promise-filled wink.

  I couldn’t help but laugh again despite the sting of truth in his words. I’d been married for eleven years, and Dan had probably cheated on me through each and every one. I supposed that if someone had pulled me aside and told me, I would have called them a liar, so it wouldn’t be fair of me to hold a grudge against everyone who kept my ex-husband’s infidelity to themselves. Still, that others had known while I hadn’t… It hurt.

  “You’re going to get in trouble with your fiancée if you keep carrying on like that,” I warned, while simultaneously stomping my hurt into a box and locking the lid in place.

  Brad had turned around on his stool to watch the show. He picked this time to clear his throat and then stand up to offer Chef Radde a handshake. He looked good in his crisp, blue-gray form-fitting officer’s uniform.

  “Brad Calderos,” he introduced himself. He then slipped an arm around my waist, introducing himself in another way without the use of any words. He was telling Chef Radde that he was my guy.

  Chef Radde’s brows went up and his smile grew. “I see…” Then to me, he said, “Good for you. Does Dan know?”

  My mouth fell open and then closed again like that of a fish. Chef Radde’s question had caught me so off guard. I had never considered it before. “I, uh, I don’t think so.” Then I quickly added, “And you’re not going to tell him.”

  I saw Brad’s eyes narrow disapprovingly, but Chef Radde gave a belly laugh that filled the café. I didn’t worry about any of my customers being bothered by it, though. I had a suspicion that half of them came to the café hoping to see another dead body fall into my lap. Well, they were in for a sore disappointment. Those days were behind me.

  “Chef Radde,” I said, reaching out to take his hand, “let me show you the kitchen.” Brad was still giving me the evil eye, which made me eager to get away. It was clear he didn’t approve of my preference to keep Dan firmly in the dark about any new romances.

  “Call me John, please. Kylie, your café is beautiful,” he said on our way to the kitchen. When we got there, he crossed his arms over his chest and took it in. All of the counters were stainless steel. There was a long island down the center, two ovens, and numerous gas burners. Various types of pots and pans hung from hooks, and the place gleamed. I might not be able to cook my way out of a paper bag, but I could clean with the best of them. “Nice,” he said. “Very nice.”

  There was no hint of being patronizing in his voice. I could tell that he was genuinely impressed, and it made my heart swell with pride.

  “Ten people are booked for your cooking class tomorrow night,” I told him. “Some of them locals, some of them conference attendees or their wives. And of course, the conference itself kicks off tomorrow at noon. Are you sure you’re okay taking on all the catering for the conference on your own? I’ll be available to help, of course. Whatever you need.” Working on his own, Chef John was sure to be up all night.

  “Nonsense. You’re supplying this incredible space and all the goods. That’s plenty enough. I’ve never catered an event of this size all on my own, and quite frankly, I want to be able to stake claim to it in my memoir.” He smiled lazily. “I’ll be able to dedicate a whole chapter to the experience.”

  “You’re writing a book?” I’d already known that Chef John was an amazing chef who’d served numerous celebrities. I had no idea he was destined for celebrity himself. A memoir like that could launch his career in any number of amazing directions.

  “I am. Wanna be in it?” He winked, and I laughed.

  “Only in the kindest, gentlest way. Maybe to say this is the kind of place you’d like to come back to eat at time and time again?” I winked back. Hey, I wasn’t above taking a go at a little self-promotion when the opportunity arose.

  “You got it, Red.” He kissed my cheek in a way that was far more platonic and friendlier than any of his flirting and winks had been.

  I showed Chef John all the ins and outs of the kitchen. He seemed able to memorize where everything was at just a glance. I promised to end the café’s dinner service early, and Chef John promised to be back in the evening to get to work on the numerous hors d'oeuvres and other dishes that would be made available for tomorrow’s conference guests.

  Chapter 3

  The next day I offered a repeat of yesterday’s breakfast egg casserole, but this time it turned out good enough to be featured on a food blog. Chef John was buzzing around the kitchen the entire time, taking care of his own demanding menu needs, yet he still managed to steer my casserole into the realm of brilliance with just a word here or there. His timing was perfect. It was incredible to work around him, and it was incredible to watch him work.

  Other than the breakfast casserole, the café customers would be offered an option of a hamburger made to order at the grill’s bar—out of the way of the main kitchen—or a mouthwatering clam chowder that Chef John had made just for my customers over the course of the night.

  He was such a thoughtful and talented guest chef that I wished he could stay forever. I could learn so much from him. I’d learn it at a snail’s pace, but if Jonathan managed to get his life sorted out and get back on a regular schedule, he had the potential to become a truly great chef learning from John. Jonathan had potential, whereas I spent most of my time hoping that I didn’t give anyone food poisoning.

  It was a gorgeous summer day, and the endless hours flew by, yet I didn’t feel frazzled and worn out by the time evening came. I locked the café’s front door early with a note that all cooking class attendees should enter through the kitchen’s rear entrance.

  To say I was excited was an understatement. I only wished Jonathan had been able to attend as well.

  I popped a canapé of fresh-baked cracker, herbed goat cheese, fresh basil, and whole raspberry into my mouth when I thought no one was looking.

  “How is it?” Chef John’s warm voice asked from over my shoulder.

  I jumped, startled, and turned around.

  A jolt of anxiety raced through me. Would Chef John be mad at me for stealing his hard work? But his inviting smile brushed those worries away.

  I laughed as I chewed, then swallowed. “It’s delicious.”

  “They’re easy, you know. I could teach you how to make them.”

  Panic made my breath quicken. It always took me four or five attempts with Patty’s help before I started getting remotely decent at one of her recipes. Having Chef John discover how inept I was filled me with more fear than I cared to admit.

  Rather than brush his offer off, though, I acquiesced. “I’d love to, after the conference gets behind us.”

  I was pretty sure that Chef John was planning to stay all week, and if I stalled long enough, maybe Jonathan would make it back in time to learn with me. That would take some of the sting out of Chef John finding out what a terrible cook I really was. It was one thing to learn how to cook amongst a group of other people. It was quite something else to be the only one. My ineptitude would have nowhere to hide.

  A tap at the back door announced the evening’s first arrival. I used it as a diversion from talking any further about Chef John’s offer to provide a private cooking lesson.

  I pushed the heavy steel door open to reveal three women dressed in clothes the like I hadn’t seen since moving from Chicago to Kentucky. The ladies were clearly big-city socialites with lots of money. Lots and lots of money.

  I recogni
zed shoes that cost the better half of a grand and clothes that had come from a designer, not off the rack. I once had friends who looked like them. Heck, I’d once looked like them myself. Those “friends” I knew back in Chicago had been nice to my face but gleefully venomous behind my back.

  To them, I’d been a career girl. I’d been very active in building up my husband’s industrial air and heating company into one of Chicago’s premier competitors. My hours had been long and often challenging, and we built the company from a modest supplier to a powerhouse in the industry. I had not been a lady of leisure, and they had made sure I never forgot—as if that had been a bad thing.

  Those days were behind me now. My Louis Vuitton shoes had been traded in for cushiony sneakers, and I’d found I enjoyed them infinitely more.

  “Ladies,” I said, opening the door wider. The trio smiled, but I was careful not to read too much into the pleasantry.

  “Come! Come in!” Chef John’s voice boomed from the middle of the kitchen behind me.

  I let the door swing shut, but the long fingers of a large hand shot out to keep it from latching. When the door opened wide again, it revealed a boyishly handsome man whom I’d come to know well and care about even more.

  “Joel!” I put my arms around his neck and let him lift me in a hug. Of course, there was no way the man could be standing while I had my arms around his neck without him picking me up. At 6’5”, he was a whole lot of man. A whole lot of very good man.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, kissing my cheek. He walked me several steps into the kitchen before letting my feet touch the ground again.

  “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t that I was unhappy to see him. Just the opposite. Joel and I were dating, and he’d recently asked me to go away with him for a long weekend.

  The thing was that I was dating Brad too, and Joel saw whisking me out of state for a nice vacation as an opportunity to get some Brad-free time with me. I hadn’t answered him yet, even though I knew it needed to be “no.” Going away with Joel was moving too fast, too soon.

  “Chef Radde reached out to me. Asked me to come take pictures.” He tapped the green leather satchel at his side. I knew it contained his camera. Joel was the owner and operator of the Camden Falls Herald, and it made sense that Chef John would reach out to someone there to find a photographer. In fact, Joel was the person the local police often turned to when they needed a crime scene photographed.

  I shook my head.

  “What?” Joel asked.

  “It’s Chef John… I mean, Radde. He’s so together. He’s so good at thinking four steps ahead. He’s writing a memoir, so the pictures you take will be perfect for that.” I hoped I wasn’t wrongly outing Chef John by telling someone else about the memoir he was writing.

  “You got some of that four-steps-ahead in you yourself, kiddo,” Joel said, tweaking my chin with his thumb and finger. I could only describe the look on his face as adoration. His honey-brown eyes melted me, and his lips were beyond kissable. It made the “no” that danced on the tip of my tongue want to turn into a “yes.” If I didn’t turn him down soon, I’d be a goner to his plans for sure.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Saved by the bell!

  I forced myself to turn away from Joel to get the door again. Pushing it open revealed a woman close to my age with light brown hair and sapphire blue eyes. Her flawless, glowing complexion sported a no-makeup look that I suspected had taken a half-hour of makeup application to perfect. She was tall and slender with bikini-model curves.

  And I knew her.

  “Lara?” The last time I’d seen her was in Chicago, eighteen months ago. She’d worked with my husband on a marketing campaign for Hibbert Air, the industrial heating and air company we formerly ran together. My tone turned from disbelieving to excited. “How are you?”

  Lara’s gaze had initially brushed over me but quickly zeroed in when I said her name. Recognition struck and she took a hesitant step backward. Her eyes went round. “Kylie?”

  I reached a hand out to her. “Are you okay?” Her radiant complexion had paled.

  Lara’s gaze took in her surroundings. “What are you doing here?”

  “I own this café. Actually, I own the whole building.” I spoke gently, as if to a young child. The woman was smart, driven, and sure-headed. I couldn’t fathom why seeing me had startled her so.

  She broke into a quick smile and gave a nervous laugh. She took one of my hands in both of hers. “I knew you’d end up on your feet,” she said, patting the back of my hand. Her expression had turned pitying. I wanted to pull my hand away from her touch, but fear of being rude locked me in place. My skin began to itch and burn from contact with her.

  Finally, I pulled away. I stepped aside of the entryway to allow her entrance, but her long, delicate fingers caught my elbow and guided me back into place. She threw a nervous glance over my shoulder at the room and the people beyond, then leaned in. When she spoke, it wasn’t much above a whisper.

  “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about what happened between me and Dan.”

  Wham! The girl just sucker punched me, and I never even saw it coming.

  I opened my mouth, but only a squeak came out.

  Lara didn’t even notice. Her lips kept moving and words kept falling out. She was too absorbed in unloading her burdens to see she was crawling over me like a steamroller. Feet first.

  “If I’d known your marriage wasn’t a sham, I never would have slept with him.”

  She was practically up to my hips now. Why couldn’t she put a bullet in my head and be done with it?

  “He was just so charming! Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. You know how he can be.”

  I was going to run head-first at a wall in hopes of smashing my skull on a stud.

  “And then he started promising me the world, that we could go anywhere and do anything. We made all these plans. But none of it was real for him. It was all a fantasy. He was never going to leave you. You were his everything. Took me months to figure that out. He’d lied to me from the very start!” She had the gall to sound put upon by his dishonesty with her.

  “Lara,” I croaked, “why are you here?” My head swam, and I wondered if I’d be able to remain upright.

  “Oh, dear! Are you okay?” Concern etched Lara’s face. She had my hand between both of hers again.

  “I’m okay,” I breathed out as black dots danced in front of my eyes.

  “Well, like I was saying, I’m so sorry about what happened. I hope we can put the past behind us. I know I have.” She smiled, toothy and bright. “I’m very happy now. A great guy, and I’m the world to him. Know what I mean?”

  I did know what she meant, and it made me need to vomit.

  There was no way I could go away with Joel. There was no way I could ever get serious with Brad. Never. Never ever again. Simply never. The ability to trust any man who vowed he cared about me was no longer in my DNA. Dan had scorched it out. Incinerated it.

  “Lara!” Chef John’s voice boomed from behind me. “You made it!”

  My hand slipped free of Lara’s as she headed past me. It was all I could do to lean my shoulder against the door frame and breathe in the cool night air. I was shaking. I felt as though my blood sugar had dropped and I was two seconds away from slipping into a diabetic coma.

  Using the door frame to steady me, I turned to watch Lara and Chef John. They greeted each other with a long familiarity. She hugged him, and he kissed her on both cheeks before he pulled away.

  I had no idea who Chef John’s fiancée was, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t Lara. While there were an unspoken familiarity and intimacy between them—and I was sure I saw sparks from a flame that should have already died out, there was also a lot of hovering without touching. They might have been together once, but they weren’t together now. Even so, they leaned their heads close as they talked. He said something and she shook her head and stepped away, but he pulled her back in with the o
ffering of a scrumptious morsel that he hand-fed her himself.

  Whoever Chef John’s fiancée was, she had better get here quick. Lara was giggling through long slender fingers coquettishly held to her lips. She was going to stake her claim on Chef John no matter who she hurt in the process. I had no doubt about her willingness to have her cake and eat it too.

  “Over my dead body,” I mumbled and pushed myself away from the door frame.

  I closed the heavy steel door with a hearty push that slammed it into place. Everyone stopped talking and all eyes turned to me. If I’d been Xena, this was the moment I would have grabbed my fancy frisbee weapons, jumped up on the middle island with one graceful leap, and trilled a shrill battle cry that turned everyone’s blood to ice in their veins.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Dang it! I silently howled.

  My moment of relevance slipped impudently away as everyone went back to their huddled conversations. And I opened the door.

  “Agatha!” In an instant, I went from being ready for war to feeling overwhelming relief. I practically fell into the woman’s arms.

  “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

  I pulled away. “I am now. Look, if I kill anyone tonight, you have to promise me you’ll feed Sage.” My darling, sweet, loyal, and sometimes murderous cat was stuck upstairs in my apartment. I didn’t trust her not to scamper out into the night with so many people funneling in and out the kitchen’s back door.

  Agatha chuckled, then looked past me at the room’s occupants. “Who’s the intended victim? Let me know when you need me to start a diversion. I’m an old woman. I can accidentally set someone’s shirt on fire and they’ll all forgive me five minutes later.”

  I pulled Agatha in for another hug. “Thank you!”

  “Everyone, gather round the center island,” Chef John called. “Pick a spot and call it yours.” The cooking class was finally about to begin. Lara had meandered over to stand near the trio of well-coiffed ladies who had arrived first. But though she was standing near them, the tight, cliquish group wasn’t having anything to do with her.