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eyes drifted shut. He kept the spoon in her mouth, too good and too long.
    In that second, that moment of silence in which all she could do was taste and listen to their breathing, heat rushed through her body. Her nipples hardened. She could smell the bite of tequila on his breath, he was that close to her.
    She pushed him away, ignoring the way his body felt beneath the palms of her hands, warm and solid. She cleared her throat. “That doesn’t taste that bad. But it’s not on the menu.”
    “You always stick to the menu, bumpkin? No special orders for you?”
    “Shut up.” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “Go make the bread. And stop trying to show me up in front of my staff.” Then she walked out of the storage room, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter Three
    L ater that night, Nick sat on his front porch, staring at…
    Nothing. Because that was pretty much all he was surrounded by. Trees, trees, and more trees. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. And certainly no one to go anywhere with.
    He took a deep drag from his cigarette and sipped his tequila. His leg bounced restlessly, the heel of his trainer tapping a fast beat on the wooden porch. All this quietness drove him crazy. Normally he’d be in the kitchen until at least 1:00 a.m., or he’d be at a club. Back at home, he was very rarely alone, and this wasn’t something he was adjusting to well. Not well at all.
    The cabin wasn’t helping. It was nice, he supposed, by cabin standards. Fortunately, he didn’t know much about cabin standards. This one was small but functional, with a decent kitchen. A living room with an overstuffed sofa and matching chairs. A nice TV and even a decent stereo.
    He looked through the tree branches to where a small light glistened in the distance. She was there. It was Phoebe’s house. Part of the deal in coming here included residing in her guesthouse. Although at least an acre separated the residences, he somehow always felt her presence. And on the other side of her house was her “farm.” Which consisted of about ten acres of seasonal produce. She was, after all, a farmer. She smelled like the earth. It shouldn’t smell good to him.
    Why did it?
    Stop thinking! He picked up his cell phone and dialed.
    “Nick?” a female voice answered.
    “Hey, Sherry. What’s up?”
    “Just trying to explain to my son why he can’t combine cabernet with sushi.” Nick heard some shuffling, the low voice of her son in the background, and then Sherry’s screech. He yanked the phone away from his ear as she yelled, “I don’t care if it’s considered avant-garde! It’s just bad taste.” More phone shuffling and then a deep sigh came through the phone. When she spoke, her voice was overly calm. “Sorry, Nick. Shawn is driving me nuts. If you ever have a child, pray he doesn’t go into the food or wine industry.”
    Nick shuddered. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
    “Right, right,” Sherry said. “Nick Avalon. Perpetual bachelor and ladies’ man.”
    “You got it, sweetheart.”
    “One day, Avalon. One day.”
    “What?”
    “Some girl is gonna crack that stone heart of yours.”
    “Not likely.” He took another sip of tequila. He would have preferred to chase it with a lime, but he was too lazy to get up and get one.
    “Anyway. How are things going up there in the center of clean living?”
    “Bloody horrid. Can you tell me again how I ended up here?”
    “Let’s see. You drank too much at work. Showed up late far too many times. Tortured your staff, and what was that last thing? Oh, right. You publicly humiliated a Hollywood legend over a crème brûlée.”
    “He sent it back!”
    “And?”
    “It was perfect.”
    “Right. Because everything Nick Avalon does is perfection.”
    “Damn near.” It was true.
    “Must be nice to be you, Mr. Avalon.”
    Nick gritted his teeth. Sherry was the only person in the world who could get away with talking to him like this. Somehow, they’d become