Summer in Napa (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (32 page)

“Looks like you’re up,” Marc said, taking Lexi’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Ready?”

“Yup.” She gave a decisive nod.

Both sides had delivered all three courses. Natasha had just finished a beautiful presentation, which would be hard to beat, and taken her seat next to her friends. Now it was Lexi’s turn. She was to approach the bench and stand next to the jury box, ready to answer any questions that the Tasting Tribunal might have. Only she couldn’t seem to get her feet to work. Part of the problem was her shoes. She’d worn them because they were sleek and sexy and turned Marc on, which she’d thought would help her feel a little naughty and a lot kick-ass chef. She’d thought wrong. The only thing her designer peekaboos had helped was the blister forming under her big toe. The other part of the problem was sheer nerves.

It had taken three pep talks, two sex marathons with Marc, and a plate of éclairs to relax her enough so she could walk through this door. Now, after seeing that half of the town had turned out—mainly the retired half—and that Natasha had gone more traditional, Lexi decided that her appetizer was too edgy, her rolled boar loin too gamy, and her chocolate-or-bust bonbons too small and that she might
not win this thing. And if she didn’t win—well, she couldn’t think about that right now.

She’d put herself on that plate, and that was all that mattered. Or at least that’s what she told herself as the five judges studied the dish in front of them. Well, four judges studied while the fifth was busy growling at a cork-sized dust bunny and nipping at the mayor’s ankles.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Rose said, her voice booming though the microphone and giving a screech of feedback. The room went silent, and all two hundred sets of eyes turned to Lexi. Who forced a smile.

Mrs. Rose was on the far side of eighty, a fire hydrant of a woman who loved hunting and guns, and when dressed in black robes with a gavel she could easily be mistaken for the Honorable Judge Pricket—who was male. Something Lexi had done once in the eleventh grade and hoped never to repeat again.

Mrs. Rose poked at Lexi’s first course. “Is this raw? My Barney died eating raw fish.”

“Raw?” Isabel Stark said, rising to her feet, hand over her chest. “We can’t serve raw fish. There are several pregnant women from Mommy and Me coming. They can’t eat raw fish.” She looked at the junior league in horror. “Who serves raw fish to pregnant women?”

A series of concerned and shrill whispers erupted from the defense.

“Your husband died, God rest his soul”—ChiChi paused to make the sign of the cross—“of a heart attack.”

“Which was brought on by too much raw fish.”

“Last I heard they fry their fish at McDonald’s.” ChiChi pointed to Lexi’s plate, adding, “And her fish isn’t raw. It’s called sashimi.”

“Actually—” Lexi began to correct ChiChi, but no one was listening. They were too busy wagging fingers at each other.

“Which is raw,” Isabel pointed out.

“It’s delicious,” Lucinda said, taking to her feet to join in the fight. Lexi doubted that the woman ever ate anything but meat—on the bone—but her support was appreciated.

“It’s cliché,” Natasha mumbled with an elegant eye roll.

“So is using your silicone wiles to land a man, dear, but pointing things like that out is rude,” Pricilla said, sweet as can be.

“Order!” Mrs. Rose slammed down the gavel so hard a piece of wood splintered off. But to Lexi’s surprise, she was the only one who jumped. Everyone else looked from the defense to the prosecution and back to the judge, waiting to see who was going to be held in contempt. Everyone except Simon, who was standing on the table and showing Mrs. Rose just how sharp his canine teeth were.

“Why don’t we let the chef explain her dish,” Marc said and, as casual as ever, leaned down and whispered, “By the way, nice shoes, cream puff,” right before he smacked her on the fanny and sent her down the aisle.

Lexi stifled a yelp, but she was already in motion heading toward the bench, suddenly happy she’d worn the shoes.

“Well, which is it, missy?” Mrs. Rose snapped, still poking at her dish when Lexi had made it to the front of the courtroom.

“Each plate has two bite-sized potato pancakes topped with asparagus mousse and a balsamic glaze, which are all locally grown and produced. The one on the right is a more traditional take, using smoked wild salmon, whereas the one on the left uses locally caught, sashimi-quality sea bass.” Lexi
held up her finger to silence Isabel. “Which is raw, yes, but since I have paired traditional with the experimental, there will be something for all.”

Lexi went on to explain the rest of her menu, highlighting how each course paired the new and the old, and all used locally sourced products. When she finished she resumed her place next to Marc at the back of the room, and waited.

She waited as the judges tasted and compared, waited while they huddled around the bench and held hushed conversations about her food. She even waited through Mrs. Balldinger’s entire cell-phone slideshow of Jeffery and Sara’s honeymoon photos. Finally, Mrs. Rose tapped the mic.

The muffled sound echoed off of the plaster walls. “Quiet, please. We have reached a decision. Would the jury please rise and state their choice.”

Simon let out a low moan. The poor thing seemed to be panting as he turned toward Nate—and threw up the entire contents of his stomach.

“What the—” Nate jumped up.

Frankie praised the dog.

And Natasha stood and started clapping. “That’s one vote for me.”

“How’s that?” Lexi asked, passing Nate a roll of paper towels from her bag.

“He ate mine first and seemed fine. It wasn’t until he got to yours that his stomach rebelled.”

“It’s not like we can ask him his opinion,” Nate muttered, wiping off his lap.

Lexi was about to ask the tribunal how they had intended on weighing Simon’s vote when Mrs. Rose rapped her gavel. “Has the jury reached a decision?”

“We have, Your Honor—um, Mrs. Rose,” the mayor said, standing from the first juror’s seat. He was a tall man, with long limbs, a beaked nose, and a wiry mop of gray hair. He was also looking directly at Natasha as he made a big ordeal out of opening the results, which made Lexi’s heart drop to her toes.

“It doesn’t matter what happens here,” Marc whispered in her ear, brushing a kiss against her hair. “You’ll get your bistro.”

Lexi looked up at him and offered the best smile she could pull off. Apparently it was already one vote Natasha, Lexi zero.

“I hope so.”

“Oh, sugar, I know so.” He lightly tugged her hair, and she felt a simultaneous tug in her heart. Those simple words, spoken with so much conviction, made Lexi believe. Faith was something that she’d thought she lost in the divorce.

There were no words to explain what he’d just done for her, so she gave him a gentle kiss.

“In the case of the junior league versus the senior league, the jury finds in favor of the plaintiff.”

The mayor finished and no one spoke. They were too busy trying to figure out who the plaintiff was.

“Pricilla’s girl.” Mrs. Rose smacked the gavel. “They choose for Pricilla’s girl to cater the Summer Wine Showdown.”

“What?” Natasha snapped, looking at Isabel and her league. “There is no way she won. You said I had this in the bag.”

“Yes, well, this town likes their food like they like their girls,” ChiChi said proudly. “Homegrown and good-natured.”

“I was born here. I’m homegrown,” Natasha argued, crossing her arms under her chest.

“Not all your parts, dear,” Pricilla said with sweet smile.

Before Natasha could respond, the courthouse doors blew open, bringing in hell with a cane.

“Overruled!” Charles Baudouin yelled, raising his cane in the air and waving it angrily.

Marc barely ducked out of the way. The man might be old as dirt, but he still had a lethal swing. He also had terrible timing. Just a moment ago Lexi had been so excited, so proud of what she had accomplished. And now she just looked confused—and sad.

“You don’t get to overrule a verdict,” Mrs. Rose said, standing up before Marc had the chance to tell the man to get the hell out—in the most respectful way possible, of course. “You’ve got to be wearing a robe to do that. And I’m the only one here wearing a robe!”

“Then I’m requesting a change of venue.”

“Enough,” Marc said, approaching the old man and grabbing his cane before he started swinging again. “Whatever your beef is with my family, it has nothing to do with today. Lexi won on her own merit—”

“I don’t care about the caterer.” Charles looked as confused as Marc felt. “I’m demanding a change of venue for the Showdown.”

“On what grounds?” Marc snapped.

“On account of the fact that your family has botched this thing up at every turn. And you may have saved the food,
but from where I’m sitting, you’re still one person shy of a tribunal.”

“Have you met my friend Tanner?” Marc asked with a smile. Tanner waved. “Local hero and former NFL superstar.”

“Look at you grinning like you’ve already won. You’re just like your grandfather, so full of sh—”

“Charlie,” ChiChi scolded, and the man’s face immediately reddened. “There are ladies present. And that is my grandson you are speaking to.”

Charles took off his hat and covered his heart with it. “Sorry about that, Chiara. I let my mouth run away with me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time.” ChiChi walked over to Charlie and rested a pudgy hand on his arm. The man who just a second ago had been all piss and bluster was now blushing like a schoolboy. “And sadly, I don’t think you’re ready for it to be the last. When you are, let me know.” And after a congratulatory kiss to Lexi’s cheek, ChiChi left, looking much older than she had when she’d entered.

Charles watched her leave and then mumbled a few choice words, too low for Marc, or the ladies, to make out, but his emotion was clear. He was watching the woman he loved walk out—again. Only this time he wasn’t losing her to someone else. He’d lost her all on his own.

Lexi stood in her apartment kitchen wearing her purple apron, peekaboo shoes, and nothing else. The sun was slowly creeping across the valley floor, and Main Street had yet to wake. But Lexi was awake; she had never actually fallen asleep.

After last night’s win, Marc and his family had taken Pricilla and Lexi out for a celebratory drink. She’d forgotten how great it felt to be a part of people’s lives. Back in New York, she’d been so busy trying to keep the restaurant afloat and her marriage intact she had lost touch with all of her friends from culinary school. But here, back in St. Helena, she felt like she had connections, roots. She felt like she belonged.

After drinks, they’d picked up Wingman and come back to the apartment, where Marc had slowly peeled her clothes off and made love to her—all night. Sometime between washing each other’s backs—and fronts—in the claw-footed bathtub and making out on the couch while watching late-night television, Lexi had realized that she was in love with Marc, in every way possible. She wasn’t sure if he was
in
love with her, but she had no doubt that he cared deeply for her. It was in every touch and smile.

The water turned on in the bathroom, and her panties—had she been wearing any—went wet. Just the thought of him naked in the shower was enough to make her hot.

She reached behind her and grabbed a skillet, her heels clicking against the wood floor. She’d never cooked in the buff before. Then again, she’d also never had a sexy man in her shower who had a thing for her apron. The apron that she’d embroidered, in a moment of sheer giddiness, with the words
Morning, Hot Stuff
.

After pouring the eggs in the skillet, Lexi slid the frittata in the oven when a low whistle of male appreciation greeted her.

She closed the oven and turned around. Marc leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, in nothing but a towel and wet skin. Lucky girl that she was, the towel was around his
neck and not his middle, which was wide-awake. She stood there for a moment savoring the view of him. Thankfully, she had closed all of the blinds, because the man was so handsome he was dangerous—naked, he was lethal.

And this morning he was all hers.