Chef Kristy smiled at Molly as she approached. “Last but, I hope, not least.”
Todd split a scone in half and slathered both sides with butter. He handed one half to Jake, who ate it without expression.
Kristy was next, trying the tiniest piece. Then another morsel, then another. She looked at Molly and smiled. “Much to my surprise, Molly, that’s an excellent scone with a wonderful taste on the palate. Well done.”
Really?“Thank you, Chef.”
Jake said nothing, but as Molly went to remove the board from the trestle table, he reached for it first and handed it to a volunteer to distribute among the audience.
13
Early the following morning, with the windows of her Vitara down and a Brandi Carlile CD playing from the slot in the dash, an anxious Molly drove to Petrie Bay, a favorite stretch of surf beach where the Parker/Dobson families would often congregate when she visited Clifton Falls as a child.
Despite the incessant chatter in her head surrounding Jake Sinclair, Molly had enjoyed the previous afternoon much more than the morning. Even so, after leaving the zest out of her lemon bundt cake, she’d only just scraped through to Sunday’s round by a whisper, according to Chef Sinclair.
The dawn was fine, a warm breeze ruffling the pines as she parked adjacent to the pancake rocks. At nine, she’d return to the wine and food festival to compete in the morning round, but right at that moment, Molly longed to ground herself in the damp sand and feel the swash warm and brackish on her feet.
With her penchant for perfect hair and makeup and breasts that struggled to fit into a double D-cup on a good day, the younger Molly had never been much of a swimmer. Now, it was one of her passions.
And yet, as Molly strolled down the path and onto the beach, a strange sense of unease gripped her. Late last year, her goal had been to return from the States with a new enthusiasm for life and reimmerse herself in Kiwi culture while she coaxed her savings back to life. Secretly, she’d dreamed of falling in love with that quintessential guy who lived rent-free in her head—the guy who wanted what she did: commitment, and kids, and lots of laughter. Great sex would be a much-longed-for bonus.
However, she hadn’t factored in how hard it was to meet someone in a new city. New York, while on a much larger scale, had been similar, and the entire time she lived there, Molly seldom dated. And now, the thought of wading through the quagmire of dating apps in search of a swipe-right match didn’t appeal in the slightest.
Molly sat on a large log of driftwood, kicked off her flip-flops, and burrowed her feet into the sand, the early morning sunshine tender against her skin. At the northern end of the bay, a scattering of clouds swirled and mingled in greeting, and as she closed her eyes, thoughts of the day ahead did the same. Mingled.
Moments later, with the voile of her dress fluid around her thighs, she stepped into the swash and stood with her arms stretched out behind her back as she watched surfers bob up and down on the swell.
CeCe had once offered to teach her to surf, but like other sports, Molly had never been interested. However, lately, the more time she spent at the beach, the more she wanted to learn—to join that saltwater world where thoughts and feelings played a lesser part and being at one with nature fed the soul.
Molly was about to return to her vehicle when she noticed a surfer walking toward her. He looked strangely familiar, but from a distance, she couldn’t tell who it was until… “Shit.”
With his surfboard tucked under one arm, a now easily recognizable Jake Sinclair strolled along the beach as if he had all the time in the world. Molly wanted to turn and sprint across the sand, back to the safety of her car, but he’d obviously noticed her, so she had no option but to stay.
His hair was slightly longer than the first time she’d spotted him on his Vespa, and with it dripping wet and slicked back from his face, Molly’s thoughts shifted into overdrive. That air of confidence he carried solidified his place in the upper echelons of the attractive male scale—setting him a smidge above the rest—but she reminded herself that a man’s pleasing physical appearance didn’t necessarily equate to an agreeable personality. A lesson Molly had often disregarded when younger.
“Morning,” Jake greeted, as if they were friends who’d just met for coffee the day before.
Molly removed her sunglasses and took a step back as she said his name.Jake.Solid and to the point, it suited his no-nonsense persona.
“Cooling off before today’s heat?” he asked, his expression serious with just a hint of curiosity as he gave her the up-down shuffle.
“What, you mean in the kitchen?”
“Yes. The pressure will be more intense today.”
Great.That’s all she needed to hear. “Thanks for that little snippet of insider information. I was nervous enough before. Now I’m petrified.”
He smiled—a gentle lift of his lips, nothing too dramatic, but it still caught Molly off guard. With those deep brown eyes holding her attention and his pecs and shoulders so defined under the neoprene, there was no denying he looked sexy as hell, and that continued to confuse her. She mentally batted her impure thoughts away with a determined hand.
“Don’t be. It’s all just a bit of fun.”
Molly almost laughed in his face. A bit of fun—with Jake the Judge watching her every move as she addressed him as “Chef” while her hummingbird cake spent a minute longer in the oven than it should have?How ridiculous.
Jake reached around to his back and tugged at his wetsuit zipper, and Molly struggled to look away as he peeled the top half down his torso and left it hanging. There was something about a man with long, lean muscles glistening with salt water. Her favorite look. But on Jake Sinclair?
She dug her toes into the sand. “Isn’t talking to contestants outside of competition against the rules?”
His expression shifted a notch toward annoyance. “Is it? But I could hardly ignore you, could I?”
