Page 5 of Quinn

Although the apartment mix-up still niggled at the back of her mind, making her wonder what else might not be as expected, Sissy’s words echoed with reassuring certainty. “Not to worry, dear. Things have a way of working out in our neck of the woods.”

Danny would laugh if he could see her now. Her big-city chef persona transplanted into this reviving ghost town, carrying pastries like a white flag. She’d faced tough crowds in Chicago’s cutthroat restaurant scene. A bunch of contractors and their television crew would be a piece of cake—so to speak—to win over.

The crisp morning air brightened her already good mood. A delightful change from the icy mornings in Chicago. West Texas dust danced around her feet as she walked toward the restaurant site. Some day, when she had to clean her home, the dusty air might be a problem, but for now she felt like a time traveler walking into the Wild West. Any minute now, she almost expected to see Miss Kitty emerge from the still neglected saloon. How silly was that, but it did confirm one thing, the folks who planned the revival of this old town knew what they were doing.

Construction vehicles lined the street, workers moving about with purpose. The TV crew was already setting up, cameras positioned to catch every moment of the renovation. This wasn’t just a restaurant—it was a performance, and already she could feel the energy crackling in the air around her. This was going to be so much more fun than she’d expected. To think, she and her new restaurant would be a part of the rebirth of a town’s history.

Adjusting her grip on the tray, she resisted the urge to brush at her chef whites—crisp, professional, a statement of her capabilities. The fabric was a second skin, a uniform that spoke of years of hard work, of kitchens where only the strongest survived. She was ready to make a good first impression.

A man stood with his back to her, directing workers. Broad shoulders, work boots, the kind of stance that suggested he was used to being in charge. Must be one of the Farraday brothers—the Construction Cousins themselves. She’d watched enough of their show to recognize that particular brand of Texas confidence.

“Excuse me,” she called out.

The man turned, and Eloise found herself looking up—way up—at a wall of muscle and stern expression. This was definitely not the welcome she’d imagined. Up close, he was even more imposing. Carved from granite, with deep steel blue eyes that seemed to look right through her.

“Delivery’s around back,” he muttered, not bothering to look fully her way.

For a moment, her good mood wavered. She’d left behind everything for this moment and this was her welcome? Straightening her spine, lifting her chin, widening her smile, she cleared her throat. “I’m Eloise Carey.”

The man barely glanced her way, already turning back to the workers. “Yes. Delivery’s still around back.”

Not letting her smile slip or her good mood wither, gripping the tray more tightly, she followed him. Her steps quick, her stride determined. “I don’t think you understand.”

“Of course I do.” He glared down at her, handed her a five-dollar bill, and turned away. “Delivery is still around back.”

He walked faster.

She walked faster.

The TV cameras were definitely catching this now. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Never in his life had Quinn met such a determined delivery person. Not even a healthy tip slowed her down.

“Mister. I. Am. Not. Making. A. Delivery.” The sternness in her tone had him stopping mid step. “I’m the new executive chef for the restaurant.”

“Oh, good.” His sister-in-law, Valerie, the producer of the show, the one with the bright idea that had roped all of them into this crazy reality TV show business, stood grinning at them like the Cheshire Cat. “I see you’ve met Eloise Carey, our new executive chef.”

Quinn stared at the petite woman who didn’t look strong enough to carry anything heavier than a cup of coffee, never mind a heavy sauce pan. His mind scrambling to process what the two women had just told him. The new chef was this tiny woman who barely reached his shoulder? This slip of a thing who’d been chasing him around the construction site with pastries? “Chef?”

The woman let out a deep sigh, raised her gaze heavenward, all while continuing to balance the tray of coffee and pastries. “I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

His face heated. He’d dismissed her, handed her a tip, and walked away. Multiple times. And the cameras had caught every second of it. He’d love to think it would make the cutting room floor, but this was exactly the sort of faux pas the production crew loved to capture—and air on television.

“Cut!” the director called out, practically bouncing on her toes. “That was perfect! The viewers are going to love this. The gruff contractor and the determined chef. Pure gold.”

His gaze darting to where Valerie stood still grinning like a fool, Quinn shot his sister-in-law a glare that would have wilted a cactus. Somehow she just grinned wider.

“Now,” the director continued, “let’s get some shots of you showing Chef Carey the kitchen layout. Quinn, you can explain the modifications we made to accommodate the equipment she specified.”

Chef Carey’s expression brightened. “All of it?”

“Everything exactly as you requested,” he managed, still thrown by this turn of events. He’d expected… well, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but not this woman with her determined stride and professional demeanor who somehow made him feel like he was the one who needed to catch up.

“Perfect.” Glancing around, she hesitated, then spinning about, faced Valerie. “I brought this for the crew. Where can I set them down?”

Overhearing her, Ryan came strolling over, his nose sniffing the air like a hound dog on a trail. “Are those still warm?”

Her chest puffed with pride, the new chef nodded. “Fresh out of the oven.”

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