Page 50 of One Sweet Match Up

Hmpf. She turned to the sink and pushed up the faucet, washing her hands. The beginning of the end.

Do not go there.She shook the water from her fingers and defiantly turned back around. Her inner insecurity that she wasn’t good enough to stand in a kitchen next to Donovan wasn’t going to show up tonight. She stood tall. This was her shop,herkitchen, andhewanted to be in here. “I thought you were going to do a Soup of the Day.”

“I am.”

She cocked her head. Refrigerating the soup didn’t seem like him. He was more of a stove-to-table chef. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t taste nearly as good as if he’d just made it.

Was he planning on being away again tomorrow and wanted to get a head start on the soup? They’d never discussed the details of their partnership. What if he planned on making meals in the evening and not being here during the day?

That thought made her a little sad.

More than a little.

Donovan set the can of stock down and turned up the burner. “I’m going to make two large pots, which I think will go well with your chocolate frozen yogurt.”

Finally. Chef Foster was ready to get started. “Are you planning on being here tomorrow?” she asked, hoping the answer wasn’t no.

“Yes.”

“Great!” she blurted out a little too enthusiastically, dialing the next sentence down a bit. “I mean, everyone will want to meet the new celebrity chef.”

He laughed. “If all goes well tonight, we should have a full house tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tonight?” She was thoroughly confused. Did he want her to keep the shop open later than usual? She doubted customers would come in. Even if it wasn’t ten degrees outside, no one knew about their plan to serve meals. Maybe if he’d been around the last three days they could have talked about advertising, not that she had any extra income to do anything beyond taking out a small ad in the local newspaper or pinning some flyers up around town.

He moved from the stove, resting a hand on her arm, and oh yeah, skittles ricocheted up.

He gave her a short squeeze. “Tonight, we’re going to give out free samples at a high school basketball game. Do you have small cups?”

What?They were going to a public eventtogether. She went over to the shelves where she kept her paper products and bent down, pulling out two packages filled with small paper cups. “How many do you need?”

“Enough for three hundred.”

Zoe’s jaw dropped. “We’re giving out three hundred samples tonight?”

“Yeah.” He took one package from her hand. “Bad idea?”

“No. It’s a good idea. That’s a lot of people.”

“I know. Good thing the team’s undefeated.” Donovan returned to the stove, stirring the soup. “It should be packed.” He paused. “Do you have enough frozen yogurt for that many folks? I should have called you earlier to see.”

Yes, you should have.“I have three full tubs in the freezer display. I think that will be enough.”

“Great. If you could prepare the frozen yogurt cups, I’ll take care of the soups.” He grabbed hold of the mystery ladle, dipping it into the pot. “We make a great team, Zoe Mathews.”

Her cheeks flamed at that declaration. Never in a million years when she was standing in his kitchen in Denver with all the other line cooks would she ever have imagined that those words would come from his lips.

But they just did. She quickly turned her head away to shield her cheeks, grabbing another package of small cups.

Was this really happening? Was she going to spend the evening at his old high school giving out free samples to the town that officially announced her new partnership with Donovan Foster?

She glanced over her shoulder, watching Donovan as he lined up the cups along the counter, humming to himself.

Sure seemed that way.She placed a hand over her rapid heart, trying to keep inside the secret of how she felt about that notion.

12

Donovan shuthis car trunk and placed the last box of soup samples on the small dolly he’d borrowed from Mel and Betty earlier today. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his phone. Betty had sent him a text that halftime was about to start.

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