Hot Under Pressure (30 page)

“I wanted to give you something to round out the meal, but I’m not a pastry chef. Winslow, here, he’s got some game, so he helped me with it. And that’s part of what this dish is about—it’s a cheese course with one of my favorite French cheeses, Epoisses, and a caramelized fig tart. I definitely needed Win’s help to get this one done, and that’s a good example of the kind of support I rely on at Lunden’s Tavern. The people I work with there…”

Beck paused, surprised by the way his throat kept tightening up on him. He frowned and coughed, then pushed on, not quite wanting to make eye contact with Win as he said this part.

“My friends. My family, I guess. That’s what I’ve found at Lunden’s, and that’s why I want so badly to win this competition. For them. To show them how grateful I am that they took me in and accepted me, and that they can count on me as much as I count on them.”

He looked up and caught Nina dabbing her napkin at the corner of her eye and felt like a shit. He didn’t mean to make her cry.

But then Win moved back to his side, all five foot five inches of him vibrating with emotion, and Beck got distracted by trying to keep the kid from strangling him with a hug.

The scuffle got the judges to chuckle, so that was okay, Beck guessed, even if it made his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“I love you, too, man,” Win mumbled, pulling back and sniffling. “Now bring this baby home.”

Beck nodded, waiting for everyone to take a bite. He knew what they were experiencing—the strong, pungent scent of the melty, almost warm cheese, and the way it went nutty and salty as soon as it hit the tongue along with the fig tart …

“This dish is all about opposites attracting,” Beck said. “A good pairing, to me, isn’t about putting the obvious things together. It’s about finding two flavors that bring out the best in each other—maybe bring out elements in each other that don’t exist when those flavors are on their own. The buttery, flaky crust and the dark fruit of the filling gets brighter with the cheese—while the cheese, which can be kind of overpowering on its own, mellows right out as soon as you hit it with the fig.”

Claire Durand was nodding, Beck saw out of the corner of his eye, which was a relief, but most of his attention was pinned on Skye’s reaction.

She gave a full body shiver, visible even from a few feet away, and bowed her head over her plate.

He didn’t know what that meant, but he had to finish this. See it through all the way to the end, even if it didn’t work.

Voice as rough and raspy as if he’d screamed every word into a void, Beck said doggedly, “They’re made for each other. They’re only whole and complete when they’re together. And that’s how I feel about you, Skye. About us.”

At the mention of her name, Skye’s head shot up, her eyes wide and blue as the ocean. Her face was leeched of all color; even her trembling lips were pale, and Beck had to force himself to go on.

Come on, man. This is the last hour of Battle Stations, you just have to push through the final flood control drill and you’re on the other side of it. Push. Push.

Ignoring the way the judges’ heads were all swiveling to stare down the table, ignoring the looks of confusion, curiosity, interest, whatever on their faces, Beck narrowed his focus down to just Skye. He stared into her eyes and spoke to her as if they were the only two people in the room.

“I know I’m not what your parents had in mind. And I know I’ve disappointed you, hurt you, and left you alone to deal with the worst thing that ever happened to either of us. You moved on, after I left, and…” he struggled a little, here.

Man up, Beck.

“And I’m okay with that. I mean, I get it. We were over, and I’m glad you found someone that made you happy. He’s probably perfect for you in every way—smart, educated, into peace and do-gooding and all that hippie stuff you love—and if you decide to stay with him, I’ll understand.”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Beck straightened his shoulders, refusing to break down. “But I think you should pick me. Because we’re not perfect for each other on paper; I can see that. There’s no logical reason why we should work … but we do. You know we do. And I’m telling you now, Skye, I love you. And I’m not ready to let you go.”

Her eyes squeezed shut and both of her hands came up to clap over her mouth. When her shoulders started to shake, Beck didn’t know what to do.

He sent Nina an agonized glance, and she immediately put her arm around Skye’s hunched shoulders. Skye turned her face into Nina’s neck and clung, the way Beck had wanted to do a couple of times.

The way he kind of wished he could right now, with his whole future in the slim, freckled hands of a woman who appeared to be sobbing her heart out.

He had to get out of here.

Without another word to the judges or a backward glance, Beck walked out.

Winslow caught up with him as he pushed through the kitchen doors. “Well, that went well,” Win said brightly.

Beck shot him a look as he moved on autopilot to start packing up his knives.

“No, really.” Win hitched his skinny hips up on the counter and swung his legs. “She heard you, man. That’s what counts.”

Beck leaned over the table, breathing deeply, head down between his shoulders. Win was right. He’d said his piece, and Skye had heard it all. What she decided to do with it now was up to her.

*   *   *

It took both Nina and Eva Jansen’s help to get Skye out of the judging room, but she needed a minute to pull herself together, and the judges needed to finish their notes and discussion of Beck’s dishes.

So Skye got her breathing under control and tried not to die of shame that she’d just wept openly in front of the people who would be soon be deciding her fate in the competition.

Not that the RSC and who won or lost seemed to matter so terribly much, after everything Beck had said.

“Come on, bring her this way,” Eva said, beckoning them down the hall to an empty conference room. Nina, who still had a soft, motherly arm around her, helped Skye into a chair as Eva went off to find her a glass of water.

“I’m sorry to be like this,” Skye gasped out, still short of breath and feeling her diaphragm jumping around as if she’d been doing one of those yoga poses where her entire body weight was supported by her abs.

“Like what? Like a human being with emotions? Honey, don’t be sorry. You’re fine. I’d have been more upset if you didn’t cry, after all that. Lord almighty.” Nina pulled another chair off the top of a stack leaning against the wall and set it down in front of Skye, close enough to pat her knee.

“Yeah, emotions,” Skye hiccuped. “I’ve got ’em. And this last couple of weeks, they’ve been all over the place. God.”

Eva reappeared in the doorway, followed by Fiona’s very welcome, worried face.

Stupidly, Skye felt herself crumble all over again as she held out her arms to her best friend.

“Holy mother of crap, what happened?” Fiona demanded, rushing over to hug Skye.

Skye sank into the familiar peppercorn and lavender oil scent and sniffled pathetically. “Nothing. Except that Henry Beck is the most amazing, wonderful man in the world and he happens to love me. And I’m pretty sure I just gave him the impression that I wasn’t happy about that.”

Tears threatened again at the thought, but Fiona wasn’t quite as maternal as Nina. Fiona gave Skye a firm shake and a narrow look. “Hey, quit that. Breathe. Tell me what’s going on, so I can help you fix it.”

“What’s going on is that Skye has a choice to make,” Nina said calmly.

“And, not to be a bitch about it,” Eva broke in, sounding apologetic, “but it would be better if you made it quickly. The competition kitchen is ready for you, and I’m going to need to start your timer soon if you want to have the full five hours to cook before the judging at six.”

Skye sat up and accepted the tissue Fiona produced from one of the many pockets lining her olive-green cargo pants. “In other words,” Skye said, blowing her nose, “I need to get a grip.”

“That’s my girl,” Fiona said, smacking her on the back.

Standing, Skye pulled her wild hair back from her face and secured it in a messy bun. Shudders of fear, love, amazement, and joy still ran through her, but she was learning how to breathe around them.

“Let’s go cook.” Fiona headed for the door, but Skye took a moment to clasp Nina Lunden to her one last time.

“Thank you,” she whispered in the older woman’s ear. “I’m so incredibly glad Beck found you and your family.”

“So are we,” Nina said, pulling back to give Skye a meaningful look. “And we’ll always be there for him, the way family should be. But we’re not all Beck needs.”

Throat closing ominously, Skye compressed her lips and nodded.

The future stretched in front of her, a future she never thought she could have. It was harder than she ever would have imagined, and scarier, to stretch out her hands and take it.

“Come on,” Fiona said, impatience making her voice tight. “We’ve got a competition to finish.”

Nina gave Skye an encouraging smile, and Skye nodded again.

Beck had opened up and invited her into the warm, living heart of him. He’d given her a choice … now it was up to Skye to finally fight for what she wanted.

*   *   *

He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, considering how wound up—and up in the air—Beck felt after the judging, but as soon as he and Win cleared down the kitchen and went back to their hotel room, Beck passed out.

The restless nights and early mornings finally caught up with him, and he slept the sleep of the emotionally wrung-out for the entire afternoon.

His internal alarm woke him in time to shower and get changed before he had to head back down to the judging chamber for Skye’s final challenge.

Already dreading stepping into that room again and coming face to face with the judges, Beck was still in the shower when he heard the hotel room door open.

“Beckster, you almost ready?” Winslow called. “I brought you a coffee from Blue Bottle.”

Beck switched off the shower and toweled himself briskly before pulling on a pair of jeans. “Thanks, man,” he said, stepping out of the bathroom. “I need this.”

“This, too, yeah?” Win tossed the clean black T-shirt that had been lying out on Beck’s bed at his head, and Beck caught it one-handed.

He skinned into it, nearly scalding himself with hot coffee in the process, and sat on the end of the bed to put his boots on.

“How you feeling?” Win asked, all casual, as if the answer didn’t matter much.

Beck hid a smile. He liked that Win wasn’t the most subtle, sneaky guy around. Made him easier to deal with, easier to trust. He bent over his laces and said, “Before the Navy, I used to hate sleeping during the day. I’d always wake up groggy, my body clock all confused. But the Navy taught me to catch sleep whenever and wherever I could.”

He glanced over at Win, who blinked. “Wow. When you decide to start sharing, you really go all the way, don’t you?”

Beck shrugged. It was sort of like flipping a switch, he figured. Not that he planned to go around spouting off about his innermost whatever twenty-four/seven, but now that he’d broken the seal? It wasn’t as hard to open his mouth and let fly with something personal.

“So…” Win dug the toe of his white sneaker into the thick pile of the carpet. “I hate to push my luck, but…”

“No, you don’t.” Beck stood up and stamped his feet to get the boots to settle properly. “You live to push your luck.”

“Okay, you’re right. I do. So since I’m Mr. Pushy, how are you feeling, really? Not about the nap, about going back down there.”

Beck grabbed his chef’s jacket, not sure if he was supposed to wear it for the judging or not. “Like if we don’t head out, we’re going to be late.”

Win deflated a bit, and Beck rolled his eyes and caved. “And also, a little nervous to come face to face with the judges again.”

Perking back up, Win nodded and sipped at his coffee, eyes bright over the rim of the paper cup. “Right, ’cause they’ve seen your soft, gooey center.”

“Okay,
now
you’re really pushing it.”

Win cackled and ran out of the room before Beck could do more than glare at him. But he was sober again by the time Beck pulled the door closed behind him.

“I wish I could go in there with you. If nothing else, I could keep you from whaling on that guy who’s going to be there for Skye. Jeremiah What’s-his-face.”

Beck came to a complete standstill in the middle of the hall, his mind wiped clean of any thought beyond
oh shit.

“Christ. I’m going to have to sit through Skye’s five-course meal next to Jeremiah Raleigh.”

The man Skye was, most likely, going to choose over Beck.

Win made a sympathetic noise. “I know. I saw him a few minutes ago in the lobby, and I hate to say it, but boy is fine.”

That got Beck moving again, and Win scurried to catch up with him. “Not as hot as you, though! Obviously. Plus, I’m pretty sure you could kick his ass, if it came down to a fight.”

“It won’t,” Beck swore as he pushed open the door to the stairwell and mentally thanked Eva Jansen yet again for putting him and Win on the lowest possible floor of hotel rooms. The shorter the elevator ride, the better.

He definitely would not throw a punch at Jeremiah Raleigh. Beck was through trying to pummel the world into going the way he wanted it to. Either Skye had heard what Beck told her, and she wanted the same thing he did, or … she didn’t.

Unwilling to confront the yawning chasm that opened up inside him when he thought about what his life would look like without Skye in it, Beck picked up the pace and got them down to the conference room level of the hotel in near total silence, and with ten minutes to spare before judging was officially supposed to begin.

And there, in the hallway outside the judging chamber, stood Nina Lunden.

Win bounced over to her and threw his arms around her, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Nina hugged him back, but her eyes were all for Beck.

“Hey, I’m going to go get the concierge to call a cab for you, Nina,” Win said, walking backward the way they’d just come. “I know you’ve got a flight to catch.”