In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (love story books to read TXT) 📕

can as he said, “There are things like best burger and best seafood dish, but the Best of the Fest is an overall award.”

“What dish did you win with the last two years?” Lauren asked as they strolled side by side back to the main market area.

“The first year was my lobster linguine with chiles,” Nick said, “and then last year I made an artichoke chowder with soft-shell clams.”

Lauren stopped walking. “But Dempsey’s menu is all bar food.”

Two steps ahead of her, Nick stopped and turned around. “Yeah, but that isn’t all that I make.”

“If you can make dishes like that, then why do you work at a bar?”

His eyes turned dark as his jaw tightened. “Cooking is cooking. So long as it’s full of flavor and satisfying, then no one food is better than another.”

She begged to differ. “Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit.”

“The hell it isn’t. There’s a reason a burger joint has never won a Michelin star.”

“And plenty of Michelin star restaurants have burgers on their menus. It isn’t what you make, Lauren. It’s how you make it.” Shaking his head, he added, “Any chef worthy of the title should know that.”

Fuck that.

“Last I checked, you were a head cook without a culinary education. You can tell yourself learning on the line is the same, but it isn’t. So the next time you feel like handing out free advice, save us both the time and stick it up your ass.”

Pulling her keys from her pocket, Lauren strode off toward the parking area and could almost feel the smoke coming out of her ears. She was a chef, goddamn it, and she didn’t need Nick Stamatis or anyone else’s approval to claim the title. Not about what you make? What nonsense. A chef’s dishes were an extension of who they were. The culmination of years spent mastering techniques and honing their skills to be the best.

Lauren would be considered one of the best someday. Even if it was over one bar cook’s dead body.

“What the hell did you say to her?”

Nick spun to find Mona Bradwell behind him, her eyes on Lauren in the distance. A ball cap covered her short black hair and a pair of sunglasses sat atop the bill of the hat. The UNC hoodie was two sizes too big for her, but matched the teal Chucks.

“Something she didn’t want to hear,” he replied. “That’s what you get to deal with if you go back.”

Mona smiled. “The only part I heard was her telling you to shove it up your ass. I like her.”

Not the reaction he expected. “I thought you didn’t like hotheaded chefs.”

“Who says she’s hotheaded?”

He looked toward Lauren and back. “Did you not just see that?”

The woman share a wry smile. “You pissed her off and she snapped back. That makes her ballsy in my book. Let me guess. You were telling her how to run her restaurant.”

Not exactly. At least not in that moment.

“All I did was point out that fine dining isn’t superior to bar food.” And he’d questioned her right to call herself a chef, which had been out of line.

“According to whom?” Mona shook her head. “Nobody is going to pay caviar prices for one of your crab cakes.”

“Who’s selling caviar?” Deborah Prince asked as she joined them. He should have known the two would be together. Deborah’s sweatshirt was similar to Mona’s, as they both had daughters who attended the university.

Mona turned to face her friend. “Mr. Nick here thinks his bar fare is on the fine dining level.”

“I never said that.”

“The male ego is a wondrous thing,” Deborah said, ignoring his response. “I can’t argue that Dempsey’s serves good food, but you are not serving up anything that competes with a five-star restaurant.”

“I didn’t say Dempsey’s is a five-star restaurant.”

“You said it was just as good.”

“I’m saying all food is equal so long as it makes people happy.”

Deborah snorted. “My husband makes me happy, but I don’t delude myself into thinking he’s just as good as George Clooney.”

“George is so fine,” Mona mumbled.

“Yes, he is.”

Nick was losing control of this conversation. “Who said anything about George Clooney?”

“It’s called an analogy,” Deborah replied. “Proof that all men are not created equal, just like all food is not created equal. What’s good will always be subjective, but equal is a whole other matter.”

“The best cheeseburger is never going to beat the best filet mignon,” Mona added. “So I see why Chef Riley told you to stick it up your ass.”

“She said that?” Deborah asked.

“Loud and clear,” Mona assured her.

“Then I like her already.”

This was not how Nick saw his morning going. “We’ll see if you two feel the same after spending a week in her kitchen. And that’s if she gives you a job.”

“I sense a little rivalry going on,” Mona murmured.

“He’s definitely feeling threatened,” Deborah nodded.

Nick didn’t like that implication. “I am not threatened by Lauren Riley.”

“If you say so.”

The women didn’t look convinced.

“I have a restaurant to run.” He held up the greens as if they were proof of his claim. “Good luck working with your new chef. When it falls apart, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He walked away before either could toss out another sarcastic remark. The last thing Nick expected was for the two kitchen powerhouses to actually like their potential new employer. They were probably only messing with him, and if he were honest, this was the best thing that could happen. Lauren needed help and she clearly wasn’t going to take it from him.

Maybe he’d just done her a favor. Getting Mona and Deborah on her side instead of fighting against her would make the reopening go that much smoother. By the time he reached his truck, Nick was patting himself on the back for turning a potential problem into a solution. She would never know it, but he was saving her ass already.

5

Since the tables and chairs were finally being delivered to the restaurant, Lauren held the staff interviews at the