always calmed him, the glow of twinkling lights, the soothing melodies of Christmas carols. As a kid, the closest he came to this perfect holiday scene was standing in a department store among the floor models of artificial trees. He would sneak to the toy department, load his arms with everything he’d never get, and place them under the trees. And he’d pretend they were for him. He’d playact the Christmas morning of his fantasy, mimicking the ripping open of wrapping paper. He’d act surprised to receive such glorious toys. He’d pretend to hug and thank his imaginary parents for their generosity.
Pathetic.
Tonight, he lit the gas fireplace and a fire burst into being. Then it was on to the cinnamon-scented candles on the mantel and coffee table. He didn’t need to pretend anymore. He had everything he wanted and only had himself to thank. Life didn’t get any better.
He stood in the center of the room, breathing hard through flared nostrils. The tree lights glowed and reflected off the innumerable wrapped presents around its base. “Silent Night” played from the stereo speakers. He inhaled the scents of cinnamon and evergreen and spun a slow circle in the center of the room. It looked like the home in his childhood imagination. It was perfect.
Why didn’t it bring him peace tonight?
Amy. Her big, trusting eyes. Her family on the verge of catastrophe at the hands of his uncle’s company. He dropped to his favorite chair and focused his gaze on the tree. He sung the lyrics to “Silent Night” under his breath, concentrating on clearing his mind.
It was no use.
He couldn’t get Amy out of his head. She’d been so warm and soft crushed between his body and the church office wall. She’d tasted of sugar from the doughnut she’d shoveled into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. His lips twitched into a smile at the memory of the way she’d broken into a flat-out sprint through the sanctuary to avoid him.
She probably ran because, like him, she knew if the two of them got up close and personal, the pull of attraction was too powerful to deny. She flipped a switch in him, a crackling of electricity. And when he touched her, they’d both felt the surge of hot, unrelenting need. The promise of ecstasy in her arms, in that luscious body that seemed custom made to fit against his.
With a growl, he rolled his neck, annoyed by how tough it was to get past his attraction to her. His desk in the corner of the room caught his eye and he stood. What he needed was a reminder of all the ways she was wrong for him. Not only because of her problems with Amarex, but because she was the opposite of the kind of woman he wanted in his life. She humiliated herself on national television, so everyone had whispered at the time that chef show aired. Like her mother, she’d disgraced her family name, folks had said. Was that the kind of person he wanted in his life? One who couldn’t keep her dignity in check while the world was watching?
Hell, no.
The words “Amy Sorentino Chef Showdown ” entered into a search engine were enough to take him straight to a complete series listing for Ultimate Chef Showdown , season five.
He positioned the pointer over PLAY for episode one, but stopped. Why did he feel guilty, as though he were violating her privacy? There was nothing private about appearing on a nationwide syndicated prime time reality show. Everyone in Catcher Creek, save for farmers like him who went to bed at nine o’clock and rose at four, knew every intimate detail of her abbreviated stint as a celebrity.
He pressed PLAY. It was time to find out what all the fuss was about.
The opening sequence introduced the competing chefs with a cheesy voice-over calling each one’s name as if they’d been selected to appear on The Price Is Right while flashing an image of them in chef jackets, striking poses while holding various kitchen utensils. Amy was the fifth chef introduced. She’d been glammed up,
Pathetic.
Tonight, he lit the gas fireplace and a fire burst into being. Then it was on to the cinnamon-scented candles on the mantel and coffee table. He didn’t need to pretend anymore. He had everything he wanted and only had himself to thank. Life didn’t get any better.
He stood in the center of the room, breathing hard through flared nostrils. The tree lights glowed and reflected off the innumerable wrapped presents around its base. “Silent Night” played from the stereo speakers. He inhaled the scents of cinnamon and evergreen and spun a slow circle in the center of the room. It looked like the home in his childhood imagination. It was perfect.
Why didn’t it bring him peace tonight?
Amy. Her big, trusting eyes. Her family on the verge of catastrophe at the hands of his uncle’s company. He dropped to his favorite chair and focused his gaze on the tree. He sung the lyrics to “Silent Night” under his breath, concentrating on clearing his mind.
It was no use.
He couldn’t get Amy out of his head. She’d been so warm and soft crushed between his body and the church office wall. She’d tasted of sugar from the doughnut she’d shoveled into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. His lips twitched into a smile at the memory of the way she’d broken into a flat-out sprint through the sanctuary to avoid him.
She probably ran because, like him, she knew if the two of them got up close and personal, the pull of attraction was too powerful to deny. She flipped a switch in him, a crackling of electricity. And when he touched her, they’d both felt the surge of hot, unrelenting need. The promise of ecstasy in her arms, in that luscious body that seemed custom made to fit against his.
With a growl, he rolled his neck, annoyed by how tough it was to get past his attraction to her. His desk in the corner of the room caught his eye and he stood. What he needed was a reminder of all the ways she was wrong for him. Not only because of her problems with Amarex, but because she was the opposite of the kind of woman he wanted in his life. She humiliated herself on national television, so everyone had whispered at the time that chef show aired. Like her mother, she’d disgraced her family name, folks had said. Was that the kind of person he wanted in his life? One who couldn’t keep her dignity in check while the world was watching?
Hell, no.
The words “Amy Sorentino Chef Showdown ” entered into a search engine were enough to take him straight to a complete series listing for Ultimate Chef Showdown , season five.
He positioned the pointer over PLAY for episode one, but stopped. Why did he feel guilty, as though he were violating her privacy? There was nothing private about appearing on a nationwide syndicated prime time reality show. Everyone in Catcher Creek, save for farmers like him who went to bed at nine o’clock and rose at four, knew every intimate detail of her abbreviated stint as a celebrity.
He pressed PLAY. It was time to find out what all the fuss was about.
The opening sequence introduced the competing chefs with a cheesy voice-over calling each one’s name as if they’d been selected to appear on The Price Is Right while flashing an image of them in chef jackets, striking poses while holding various kitchen utensils. Amy was the fifth chef introduced. She’d been glammed up,
Similar Books
