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  “He could use a hand, and mine will be full. You’ve proved yourself capable and a quick learner.”

  Ari clasped her hands and widened those big brown eyes in an expression that reminded Logan of his baby sister, Laurel. “Will you come in and talk to Mom and Dad about it? Please?”

  He really hadn’t had the time to drive all the way into Eden’s Ridge to drop her off. The tractor had crapped out again, and if he didn’t get the damned thing running for tomorrow, he wouldn’t get the north field plowed and the broccoli seedlings in the ground before the rain hit this weekend. He’d had enough trouble working around the extra wet spring to get seedlings planted. But Pru had texted that something had come up and begged. Since riding lessons for Ari had been his idea in the first place, here they were, piled in his truck and nearly to her house. If he went in, he’d get drawn into a visit because that’s how life went in the south. But hell if he could resist that face. He needed a break anyway. It was getting on toward dinner time, and he was optimistic enough to hope he’d score an invite so he didn’t have to scrounge for his own supper tonight. Cooking took energy he didn’t have.

  “Yeah, all right.”

  “Yes!” She pumped her fist and he swallowed his chuckle. This kid was a trip.

  The late April sun still rode high, slanting through the trees to dapple the big Victorian house that Pru and her sisters had turned into a bed and breakfast last year. The Misfit Inn nestled among the trees, perched on top of a bluff overlooking the Great Smoky Mountains. Off to one side, work trucks surrounded the converted barn that now housed the day spa. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were doing over there, but the Reynolds sisters were nothing if not ambitious.

  Parking in the circular drive, Logan climbed out of the truck, trailing Ari up the steps and following her through the front door without preamble. She made a beeline for the kitchen, toward the babble of voices that made it clear the gang was all here. He wondered if he was inadvertently interrupting a family meeting.

  “Athena!” Ari’s joyful squeal had Logan’s step faltering.

  But it was too late to hide. He’d already made it to the doorway.

  The sight of her was a sucker punch, as it always was. Even with lines of fatigue bracketing her eyes—typical after the full day of travel it usually took her to get here from Chicago—she was the female equivalent of a shot of top shelf tequila. Her long brown hair was caught back in a tail that trailed over one shoulder. The mouth he was used to seeing curled in a sardonic smile bowed up as Ari grabbed her in an enthusiastic hug, but she didn’t quite pull it off. There was something, some chink in her usual armor that had his curiosity piqued. Athena wasn’t one to show weakness of any kind, and it had him wondering what that vulnerability was about.

  Athena wrinkled her nose. “You smell like horse.”

  “That’s because I’ve been grooming them all afternoon.” Beaming, Ari swung around. “Look who’s here, Logan!”

  Athena’s gaze snapped up, catching sight of him in the doorway. In an instant, she pokered up. “Hey Logan.”

  “Hey.”

  Everybody started greeting him at once, but he was only half paying attention because Athena’s gray eyes were still on him and he couldn’t look away. Unbidden, his mind went to her sister Kennedy’s wedding last summer, when he’d met those eyes across the crowded reception. Her smile then had been flirtatious and playful, and the tension between them had been thick enough to strum, even from twenty feet away. Giving in to that electric need had led to the best night of his life. But that was all it had been. One night. And a handful of phone calls that made them…not quite friends but more than a simple wedding hookup. It had ended there, in that liminal space. Her life was in Chicago and by the time he’d seen her again at Christmas, she’d been attached to someone else, so his longing for a repeat performance had come to nothing. And that was for the best. He didn’t have time for…anything.

  But as he stood at the edge of the big kitchen, with several of her family members and the big farmhouse table between them, he realized the electricity was still there, humming between them. He wished he’d taken the time for more than just changing out of his muddy boots before coming over here.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here.” Logan Maxwell. Farmer and master of understatement.

  If Athena was as affected as he, she didn’t show it. “The restaurant is under renovation, and I’ve got some time off, so I drove home with the idea that I’d help out with the inn. With Pru getting close to her third trimester, I didn’t figure y’all would turn down some extra hands.”

  Pru rubbed a hand over her pronounced baby bump. “You are not wrong.”

  “How long can you stay?” Ari demanded, draping an arm around her shoulders.

  In the beat of hesitation, as she wrapped an arm around her niece’s waist, Logan saw Athena reach for something other than the truth. “Not sure, exactly. At least a couple of weeks. Probably longer. Renovations are so uncertain.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Pru agreed. “You probably saw all the trucks. Porter’s been trying to work on the expansion for the spa around appointment times, and it’s driving me absolutely batty.”

  As conversation turned to construction issues, Logan wondered about the lengthy stay and whether Athena’s boyfriend had likewise chosen to come to Tennessee during the renovation. He had something to do with Olympus, right? There was no sign of him in the kitchen, no other luggage piled in the corner but her single suitcase. What did that mean? Was he still in the picture? It wasn’t like he could ask in front of this audience.

  “—stay for dinner?”

  Logan blinked, realizing Pru was talking to him and he hadn’t been paying a damned bit of attention. “Sorry?”

  “You should stay for dinner.”

  “Xander will be here,” Kennedy added, referring to her husband and Logan’s best friend.

  “Do stick around and help me balance out all the estrogen,” Flynn added. Pru shot her husband a mock glare, to which the Irishman responded with a smacking kiss and a spate of Gaelic that had her cheeks going pink.

  For a moment, Logan considered it. He’d come hoping for food, and if he stayed, he might actually find out what he wanted to know. But what purpose would that serve? Even if Athena was single again, she’d never give up Olympus and he’d never give up his land. There’d be no picking up where they left off that hot summer night. And that was for the best because he wouldn’t want to stop with just one more taste. So better to let that attraction fade with time and distance.

  “I really can’t. I’ve got a date with a recalcitrant tractor.”

  Ari’s lip instantly rolled out in a pout.

  Logan couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Athena to see her reaction. Not disappointment. Not relief. Maybe the pull was one-sided after all this time.

  The weight of Pru’s speculative gaze made him want to twitch. Through circumstances he didn’t quite know the details of, she knew about his night with Athena. She’d kept the secret as a bit of quid pro quo because of the shenanigans she’d gotten up to with Flynn that night and had said no more about it. But he knew she thought of it every time he and Athena were in the same room.

  Ignoring the look, Logan focused on the reason he’d come inside in the first place. “I really just stopped in to ask if it’d be okay if Ari did some more work on the farm this summer, with the horses. If you can spare her from the inn, that is.”

  “Please, Mom? Please, please, please, please, pleeeeeeease?”

  “It’d be minimum wage and more riding lessons for payment.”

  “I’d get paid?” Those eyes lit up again. “This just gets better and better.”

  “We’ll talk about it,” Pru promised.

  Logan just nodded and took a step back. “I’m gonna leave y’all to visit. I need to get on back to work.” He was already turning away, as he looked back at Athena. “Welcome home.”

  She inclined her head. “It was g
ood to see you, Logan.”

  Was it?

  He told himself again that it didn’t matter as he lifted his hand in a wave and walked away. But he knew he’d be puzzling over the mystery of Athena Reynolds the whole time he fought with that damned tractor.

  Chapter 2

  When Jayson’s number flashed up on the screen of her cell phone, Athena almost smiled. Not even twenty-four hours in Tennessee. He hadn’t wasted time getting to the groveling, and she appreciated that. Not that it would be anywhere near enough to make her accept whatever bullshit explanation he intended to offer for his cheating, but abject supplication would go a long way toward mollifying her temper in the absence of actual bloodshed. Which she owed Moses a thank you for preventing.

  “What do you want?”

  “Don’t hang up. Please. We have things to discuss.”

  She gritted her teeth at the sound of his voice, her empty fingers clenching for the knife that wasn’t there. “I don’t think I’m much in the mood for discussion.”

  “I’m sorry for how things went down.”

  “You’re sorry you got caught, you mean.”

  He heaved a sigh, and she could just imagine him pinching the bridge of that blade-straight nose. “Athena, I’m trying to apologize.”

  “There is no ‘I’m sorry’ big enough to make up for what you did. If you think you’re going to weasel your way back into my bed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “I’m not calling for that.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it again. She didn’t want him back. She hadn’t been in love with Jayson so much as the idea of him. Of a man who shared her passion for food, her vision for the future. It wasn’t heartbreak she was wrestling with but sheer, unmitigated fury at her own stupidity for trusting him in the first place. Still, him not begging her to take him back was a blow to her pride.

  “Then why are you calling?”

  “About Olympus.”

  Ah, here was what she really wanted. Him imploring her to come back to take her rightful place in the kitchen. That was what really mattered in all of this.

  “I want to buy out your share in the restaurant.”

  Her brain staggered and stopped. She hadn’t heard that right. For a full ten seconds she sat on her bed, mouth agape as she tried to figure out what he’d really said.

  “Athena, are you there?”

  “You…what?”

  “I think we can both agree after how things ended that working together will be impossible. You made the right decision in leaving, so I want to buy out your share. You’ll be free and clear to do your own thing.”

  Which really meant, I’ll be free to put the chef of my choosing in your place. She was under no delusion that it would be anyone other than her backstabbing bitch of a sous chef.

  The tide of fresh betrayal rolled over her like a tsunami, knocking her off whatever even keel she’d managed to cobble together since she’d left Chicago.

  Had they planned this? Had the two of them played her? Known her well enough to predict that she’d fly off the handle and quit her own restaurant in retaliation for the affair? The very idea of it had her blood boiling.

  “Do you have any idea how insulting that is?” She snarled the words, wishing for something sharper that would do more damage. “Olympus is mine, Jayson. My vision. My dream. My fucking Michelin star. It isn’t Olympus without me.”

  “You are, unquestionably, the creative mind behind the menu and the concepts. But the recipes belong to the restaurant, and you don’t own the controlling share. I do.”

  Of course he’d throw that back in her face. The truth of it scalded her. She shoved up from the bed to pace. “You bastard.”

  “I’m trying to do the right thing here, Athena. I’ll make you a generous offer for your portion.” He named a figure that had her brows climbing to her hairline. “I know you need the money.”

  And that was just another betrayal. She’d cared for him, confided in him. He knew the reason she hadn’t been able to buy up more shares in the restaurant than she had. And damn him for using that against her.

  Damn him for being right.

  But if she did this, if she handed her baby over to him, to them, she wouldn’t just be severing professional ties. She’d be lacing that bridge with C-4 and blowing it to kingdom come.

  She tried to imagine going back to Chicago, back to Olympus. Tried to imagine some sudden windfall that would allow her to turn the tables and buy that controlling share from him. And she knew almost at once that she couldn’t do it. He’d poisoned the whole place for her. She’d never again be able to cook in that kitchen without imagining them there. Without remembering the pain and the fury and wanting to stab him all over again.

  She let out a slow, controlled breath. “Fine. I’ll sell you my share.” Thinking about Maggie’s blood-thirsty negotiation tactics, she shot a figure back at him that was a good thirty percent higher than what he’d already quoted her. He’d probably say no, but she might as well try to get in one last lick on him.

  “Done. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up and sent to you as soon as possible.”

  Staggered by his ready agreement, she could only stare at the wall.

  Jayson’s tone went soft. “You’re a brilliant chef, Athena. I wish you all the best.”

  Before she could snarl back an appropriately scathing reply, he’d hung up.

  She dropped the phone onto her bed before she could hurl it at the wall. It was over. The dream she’d fought for tooth and nail, sweated blood and tears to make a reality, was gone. On some level she’d known that when she walked out, and it hadn’t stopped her. The hurt, the anger, was too huge to stop her from throwing it away because escape had been more important. Now she had no job, no source of income to take care of the responsibilities that hung around her neck like a noose.

  What had she done?

  Panic and grief welled up, tightening her throat, making her eyes burn.

  No. Fuck this. She hadn’t cried at her mother’s funeral. She wasn’t going to cry about this. Tears were senseless. A waste of hydration and energy. But she needed to do something to let all of this out.

  In less than a minute, she was searching through kitchen cabinets and drawers, taking stock of the contents of the refrigerator and freezer. She needed comfort food. Not merely the soothing deliciousness of carbs and fat but the act of creating it. She needed to prove that something in her world still made sense.

  Ari came in, Kennedy behind her, as she piled ingredients on the big island.

  The girl dumped her backpack in one corner. “Ooo, you’re cooking! What’s on the menu?”

  “Shepherd’s pie.” Because it had been Mom’s favorite and being back in this house where she’d spent her teenage years made her ache to curl up at Joan’s feet and ball yarn as she spilled out the whole sorry mess and waited for her adoptive mother’s unique brand of wisdom to make her feel better. But she’d never get the chance for that again.

  “I love shepherd’s pie. Can I help?”

  Before she could come up with a response that wasn’t a growl, Kennedy swung an arm around Ari’s shoulders. “Athena’s pretty territorial about her kitchen space. She doesn’t like anybody underfoot.”

  “I can follow directions,” Ari insisted.

  Athena wanted to say no. She wanted to be alone. Wanted the chance to actually cook, preparing a meal herself from beginning to end, with no waiting patrons, no stakeholders, no prospective critics, no snooty-ass foodie wannabes putting in their two cents. There’d been no opportunity for that in months. But looking at the open enthusiasm and gangly limbs of her niece as she folded herself onto a stool at the counter, Athena couldn’t bring herself to snap at the girl. This upset wasn’t about her and she didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Athena’s shitty coping skills.

  “You know how to brown ground beef?”

  Ari grinned and brought her hand to her brow in a sharp salute. “Aye, Captain!”

&n
bsp; Despite the simmering rage, Athena’s lip twitched. “The correct response is ‘Yes, Chef.’”

  As Ari slid off her stool and came around to pull out a skillet, Kennedy lifted her brows in surprise. Of everyone in the family, she was the only one Athena had ever trusted in the kitchen.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she jerked her shoulders. “You wanna prep the mushrooms?”

  Kennedy’s smile spread slow. “Yes, Chef.”

  This, too, was a Thing. She hadn’t cooked with Kennedy in years. She’d barely spoken to her sister to spew anything other than accusations about how Kennedy had selfishly left all of them behind when she turned eighteen and stayed away a full decade. When Kennedy had returned to Eden’s Ridge for Mom’s funeral, it had been…bad. Still reeling from the loss, Athena had needed a punching bag, and Kennedy had been a prime target. But the situation hadn’t been what they’d all believed. Her reasons for leaving hadn’t been selfish. And over the past year, Athena found she’d finally let go of the resentment she’d been toting around.

  As Kennedy moved smoothly around her, she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. This felt familiar. Good.

  At the opposite side of the island, her sister began cleaning the baby Bella mushrooms. “This feels like old times.”

  Athena glanced up, her knife not slowing as she efficiently cubed the potatoes she’d scrubbed. “Nah. There’d have to be Verdi playing at ear-splitting volume and Lorenzo constantly trying to pinch our asses.”

  “I do not miss that man.”

  “Who was Lorenzo?” Ari asked.

  “Lorenzo Ossani is one of the most lecherous, temperamental chefs to ever walk the streets of Florence, Italy. He’s also a freaking god of food. Kennedy and I spent a memorable summer sweating it out in his kitchen, learning everything he’d teach us. The stuff I learned from him was the reason I got into Le Cordon Bleu.”