Page 59 of The Bear's Perfect Mate
“Saving this little mountain dinner of yours, of course! When I heard about your...” he paused, eyes sweeping dismissively over the carefully arranged tables, “...quaint event, I knew I had to step in.” His gaze swept over Nero dismissively before returning to Sophie. “I thought you might benefit from a little professional guidance.”
A low growl rumbled in Nero’s chest. His bear was pacing, agitated, just beneath the surface.
“I don’t need your guidance,” Sophie replied, her voice cool and calm. “This is my menu. My vision.”
Tito chuckled, the sound hollow and theatrical. “Oh, come now. We both know your strengths and limitations. I’ve already made a few suggestions for your menu. Nothing drastic, just giving it a bit of polish.” He turned to Cassia. “You do want this evening to be a success, don’t you?”
Cassia opened her mouth to answer and then hesitated. Sophie turned to look at her, and her confidence faltered. She looked beaten, as if she already knew how this would end.
“I do,” Cassia replied as she finally found her voice.
“There, you see?” Tito grinned smugly. “I’m sorry Sophie has embarrassed you and herself.”
“On the contrary,” Cassia said, her voice low with an edge of menace. “The only one embarrassing themselves is you.”
“Me?” Tito took a step back as if Cassia had dealt him a physical blow. Something Nero’s bear would very much like to do.
“Well, turning up unannounced and trying to use Sophie to further your own flagging career is a little embarrassing,” Nero said, realizing the way to hurt this man the most was through punching his ego, not his face.
“My flagging career?” Tito suddenly realized that the few early diners had their phones out, filming the drama he had brought with him to the Thornberg Vineyard.
“Yes.” Sophie squared her shoulders beneath her elegant dress. As she touched her fingers to From Our Heart to Yours, she stepped forward. “I own every recipe I developed in your kitchen. The rose-infused olive oil technique that won you the James Beard nomination? Mine.”
Tito’s expression darkened, but Sophie continued, her voice gaining strength with each word.
“The deconstructed citrus tart that food critics called ‘revolutionary’? I developed that during my culinary school internship three years before I ever met you.” Her gaze remained steady, unwavering. “The slow-fermented hot sauce that’s now your best-selling product? My father’s recipe, which I shared with you as a gift.A gift.”
A current of whispers ran through the assembled diners. More phones appeared, recording the confrontation. Nero recognized the shift in energy. Anyone who may have initially been captivated by Tito’s celebrity presence was now firmly on Sophie’s side.
Our magnificent mate,his bear said with unmistakable pride.
“You’re being emotional,” Tito attempted, his smile now strained at the edges. “This isn’t the place to air personal grievances. I’m simply offering to help elevate your…”
“My recipes don’t need elevating,” Sophie interrupted, her voice resonating with newfound authority. “They were good enough for you to claim as your own for years. They’re certainly good enough to stand on their own merit tonight.”
A smattering of applause broke out among the diners. Someone at a nearby table called out, “We came for Sophie’s food, not yours!”
Tito’s face flushed, the practiced charm crumbling to reveal the anger beneath. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped as he revealed his true self. “Your little social media following might be impressed by home-style cooking, but these people paid for a fine dining experience.”
“Actually,” Cassia interjected, “they specifically paid for Sophie Truro’s interpretation of Bear Creek’s local ingredients. It sold out in hours.”
More applause erupted, louder this time, as more diners arrived at the restaurant to witness the scene.
Sophie stood her ground, her expression composed despite the high color in her cheeks. “These are my recipes tonight, Tito. My name. My event.” Her voice carried effortlessly now, reaching every corner of the restaurant. “And everyone here knows it.”
The dining room erupted in supportive applause. Nero saw several diners rise to their feet, adding enthusiastic whistles to the ovation. Even the kitchen staff had emerged to witness the confrontation, their applause particularly vigorous.
Tito stood frozen, his face contorted with humiliation as he scanned the room and found no allies. His gaze hardened as he turned back to Sophie. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed, low enough that only those closest could hear. “One mountain dinner won’t salvage your career when I’m finished.”
“I think the videos currently being uploaded to social media might suggest otherwise,” Nero replied calmly, nodding toward the dozens of phones capturing the moment.
Tito’s composure cracked completely then. “How dare you!”
“No, how dare you?” Sophie retorted.
“I think you have most definitely overstayed your welcome,” Nero said, striding to the door and yanking it open. “Not that you were ever welcome here in the first place.”
“Or ever again,” Cassia called out as Tito stalked away. As he passed Nero, he muttered something under his breath that only Nero could hear—a threat that made Nero’s bear roar with protective fury.
