Month of Sundays (29 page)

She and Griffin couldn’t be more opposite, but why did it feel so right when they were together?

After Isabel left, Rachel had been afraid to love again. Afraid to trust again. Afraid of so many things. If she wanted Griffin in her life, she needed to face her fears.

Griffin had proven herself worthy of trust. Could Rachel find the courage to bestow it?

*

Griffin butchered a side of beef. She sliced her carving knife into the meat, breaking it down into its various cuts. Brisket, short ribs, flank steak, round steak, top loin, sirloin, chuck eye, rib roast. Besides helping her practice for whatever the judges might throw at her in the final round, the tedious task kept her mind from wandering.

It had been days since Tucker had come through for her. Days since she had delivered the DVD and the accompanying letter to Rachel’s office. Had Rachel bothered to watch the footage? Had she read the letter? Griffin hadn’t heard from her. Each day that passed with no word made it seem less and less likely she’d ever hear from her again.

I waited too long
, she thought as she dropped a rump roast on the stainless steel counter.
I waited too long to tell her how I feel.

She attacked the meat again. She winced when the knife sliced into her thumb. Blood gushed from the wound, which was deep but didn’t seem to require stitches. She ran water over the cut, squeezed some antibiotic gel on it, and wrapped her thumb in a bandage from the first aid kit that hung on a nearby wall.

“Are you okay, chef?” Erica asked as Griffin pulled on a latex glove to protect her injured hand.

“I’ve been better.”

“An injury in the kitchen is a sign of lack of attention,” Erica said with a wink. “A wise woman taught me that years ago.”

Griffin smiled through the pain. Erica had trotted out one of her favorite mantras. “So you have been paying attention.”

“Only every second of every day.”

Griffin placed the fresh cuts in the meat locker, cleaned the counter, then carefully cleaned her knives. By the time she dried them and packed them in a hard-shelled carrying case, she had come to a decision about her future.

“The kitchen’s yours, chef. I couldn’t leave it in better hands.”

Erica looked up from the lamb chops she was marinating for tomorrow’s lunch service. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Logan, does your offer still stand?”

Griffin’s adrenaline spiked when her nerves threatened to get the best of her. She forced herself to be patient as Kenny, a makeup technician in skinny jeans and a rhinestone-crusted
Cabaret
T-shirt, slathered her face with a mixture of assorted bases, creams, and oils. She had often accused Veronica of treating food like a science experiment; now she was being turned into one.

“Is all this really necessary?” she asked as the makeup tech reached for another brush.

Kenny put a hand on his hip. “If I had a face like yours, I wouldn’t have to keep my plastic surgeon on speed dial. You don’t need me to make you more beautiful, girlfriend. You need me to make sure you don’t look like Casper the Friendly Ghost when the studio lights come on. How are you going to repay me?” He stepped back to review his handiwork. “You’re going to give me your assistant’s phone number, that’s how.”

Griffin cut her eyes toward the corner of the small dressing room, where Tucker was texting furiously and pretending not to be eavesdropping on their conversation. The hint of pink on his cheeks betrayed his knowledge of what was being discussed. He had often said he didn’t have a “type,” but the flamboyant makeup artist certainly seemed to have piqued his interest—if the Mona Lisa smile playing across his features was any indication.

“I think I’ll let my assistant have the final say on this one.”

Kenny tossed a powder puff in Tucker’s direction. “He isn’t going to be able to say anything with my breadstick in his mouth.”

Tucker brushed makeup out of his curly hair. “You bring the bread; I’ll bring the butter.”

“Ooh, child.” Kenny pulled Griffin to her feet. “Girl, get your ass out of that chair. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“I certainly hope you aren’t referring to me,” Veronica said. “If you are, we have a problem.” The leather on the makeup chair creaked as her weight settled into it. She combed her stylishly tousled hair with her fingers. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your hen party, Sutton, but I want to look my best while I’m kicking your ass in front of an audience of millions.”

Dodging the barb, Griffin tossed one of her own. “Where’s your Bunsen burner?” she asked after making a show of looking around the room. “I didn’t think you ever left home without it.”

“Good one, Sutton, but I don’t need tricks to beat you.” Veronica closed her eyes as Kenny began to ply his trade. “I’m still waiting on my apology, by the way.”

“For what?”

Veronica broke into a grin. “Kissing you on national TV has wreaked havoc on my love life.”

“It hasn’t done wonders for mine, either.” Griffin checked her phone, hoping Rachel would call or even send her a text. Something. Anything to let her know all had been forgiven. The phone remained ominously silent.

“Seriously, Sutton.” Veronica opened her eyes. “I know we’ve had our ups and downs over the years, but let’s put all the B.S. behind us for one night and focus on what’s most important: the food.”

“May the best woman win.”

Griffin held out her hand. Veronica’s grip was crushing.

“I intend to.”

Griffin flexed her fingers as she walked out of the room. If Veronica’s show of strength was meant to intimidate her, it accomplished quite the opposite. Now she was even more determined to win.

For her, tonight was about more than bragging rights. She didn’t just want to win. She needed to. If she won, she could leave New York feeling like a success instead of a failure. On the practical side, she needed the money. When her contract ended in March, she’d be out of a job until La La Land opened its doors. The $250,000 winner’s check would help bridge the gap. In more ways than one, her future was on the line.

At the moment, though, she didn’t care about any of it. None of it mattered without Rachel.

She peeked through the curtain that separated the set from the backstage area. She scanned the faces in the audience while one of the technicians fitted her with a microphone and battery pack. The eliminated contestants milled around in front of their reserved seats in the front row. Kathleen and Ava sat nearby. Most of the other seats were already filled. Most of them. The ones that corresponded to the tickets she had left for Rachel were empty.

She let the curtain fall back into place. It was finally time to face the truth. She and Rachel were over.

*

Rachel and her parents found their seats just before the floor director began counting down the remaining minutes before the broadcast went live. Rachel was so nervous she could barely sit still. She would have preferred to watch from the privacy of home so she could chew her fingernails in peace, but she had to be here. She had to see Griffin one more time.

Rumors were circulating Griffin was leaving Match when her contract was up to return to Newport Beach and open her own restaurant. The one she and her brothers had decided to buy while they sat around a bonfire on the beach. The night Griffin had taken her to the scene of her first kiss.

Rachel remembered the smell of the ocean breeze and the feel of the salt water when they had stood under the pier and she had said, “Tara gave you your first kiss. I want to be the one who gives you your last one.”

That night seemed so long ago. Was it really less than three months? They had known each other only since December, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Is that Elinor Davies?” Rachel’s mother asked as Elinor, Stewart Sands, and the evening’s guest judge took their places at the front of the room. “She’s even more beautiful than she is on TV.”

“Mmm,” Rachel said noncommittally. Elinor was a looker, all right, but she wasn’t who Rachel had come to see. Rachel sat up straighter when the finalists’ sous chefs marched in.

Erica Barrett led Griffin’s team onto the set. The rest of the staff followed. If the rumors were true, the group would soon be reporting to Erica full-time. She looked ready for the challenge. Rachel hoped she would be able to say the same about Griffin. Griffin had come so far and fought so hard. She had sacrificed so much for this competition. She didn’t deserve to go home empty-handed.

“Ten, nine…”

The floor director’s countdown to airtime reminded Rachel of Griffin’s New Year’s Eve party. Flirting with her while they sampled exotic spices. Kissing her while the band played “Auld Lang Syne.”

“…six, five…”

Rachel still remembered the feel of Griffin’s lips and the taste of her tongue as she had sampled both for the first time.

“…two, one…”

The On Air sign overhead lit up in bright red letters.

Elinor Davies addressed the audience in the studio and the one at home. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this season’s final episode of
Cream of the Crop
.” The Applause sign flashed and the audience clapped on cue. “We’re a couple of minutes away from beginning the final elimination challenge,” Elinor said when the noise died down. “Let’s hear it for the two talented chefs who will be competing for the chance to be called the cream of the crop.”

Rachel led the cheers as Griffin and Veronica took their positions behind their respective prep areas. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Griffin tried to see into the audience. The lights shining in her face were so bright she probably couldn’t see past the first few rows.

Rachel’s mother nudged her in the side with her elbow. “She’s looking for you.”

Rachel raised her hand in a tentative wave. She had hoped to remain incognito until the competition was over. She didn’t want to be the distraction that cost Griffin a prize she seemed to value above everything else. Or was she already too late? Griffin looked anxious. Her body language was tense. She looked nothing like the relaxed, confident chef she had proven herself to be. She didn’t wave back.

“She can’t see you,” Rachel’s mother said. “You have to do something more dramatic to get her attention.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Something like this.”

“Uh oh.” Rachel’s father dropped his head and covered his eyes. “Here she goes.”

Rachel’s mother stood up, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled so sharply dozens of heads whipped in her direction. As Rachel tried to drag her back into her seat, her mother cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Griffin, she’s up here!”

“Mom!” Rachel covered her face with her hands, fairly certain she was about to discover if it was possible to die from embarrassment.

Her mother resumed her seat with an air of triumph. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Rachel peeked between her splayed fingers. Griffin was grinning from ear to ear.

*

“It sounds like we have some enthusiastic fans in the audience tonight,” Elinor said with a laugh.

Her comment prompted a round of cheers for both contestants. Griffin could barely hear them over the beating of her heart.

Fighting her instincts, she hadn’t contacted Rachel since she delivered the package to her office. Instead, she had given Rachel the time and space she needed to make up her mind without any external pressure. The tactic had used up every ounce of her patience, but it had worked. Rachel was here.

She rubbed her palms together in anticipation, then gathered her team around her. “No matter what happens tonight, guys, always remember what I’m about to tell you.” She looked at each of their eager faces. “You’re the best group I’ve ever worked with and I love every one of you.” The words that had always been so hard suddenly came so easily she had to say them again. “I love you, guys. Now let’s have some fun.”

“Yes, chef!” they said in unison.

“Tonight’s challenge will test the limits of our contestants’ imaginations,” Stewart Sands said, his shaved head gleaming under the bright lights.

Two volunteers brought out large wicker baskets and placed one in front of Griffin and the other in front of Veronica. Griffin inhaled deeply to try to guess what was inside but couldn’t detect any distinctive aromas. She laughed when she saw Veronica doing the same thing.

“The competitors have no idea what’s in those baskets,” Stewart said, “and as you can tell, they’re chomping at the bit to get inside them.”

“Chefs, after you open your baskets, you will have one hour to create an appetizer, an entrée, and a dessert,” Elinor said, reminding everyone of the rules. “You must incorporate all the ingredients in your baskets into your dishes. You will also have unlimited access to the items in the pantry to your left. The clock starts…now.”

Griffin and Veronica opened their baskets and began to remove the contents: a watermelon, a block of feta cheese, a carton of strawberries, a pack of portobello mushrooms, and a bag of prosciutto.

Her hands on her hips, Griffin stared at the ingredients and tried to formulate a plan for a three-course meal.