And that the soup would taste good.
He stood with Grace, fighting the urge to take her hand again and then angry that he longed for her touch. He watched the hippies present their dish while trying to rewrite yesterday’s conversation to something that made sense and sorting through what they might do today after the competition that would help him find his footing again and—
“We’re up.” Grace nudged him and gestured to the tray.
Already? He’d missed the hippies’ feedback and the Twinkies’, so he hadn’t a clue how they’d fared. He presented the soup to each of the judges.
Keoni made no sign of recognition and Chef Rogers had his gaze on Grace. Tonie raised an eyebrow and he smiled as he stepped back.
“We made a tofu and plantain yellow curry bisque, garnished with cilantro and served with charred pineapple,” Max said.
He found Grace’s hand in his as the judges dug in.
He was never good at reading faces. Body stance, skate direction—yes, he got that. Could read a player’s forecasted moves better than his own sometimes. But he had nothing as the panel tasted the soup.
The crowd seemed to hold their collective breath.
Then Keoni smiled. “Delicious.”
Palani handed him the mic.
“Smooth, creamy. The curry is perfect, with the slightest hint of sweetness from the pineapple.”
Grace squeezed Max’s hand.
“I agree,” Rogers said. “Some of the pineapple is just a little mushy, but that’s hard to get right.”
Max kept his smile.
“But the texture is perfect, and the caramel char on the pineapple is an interesting blend with the curry.” Rogers looked at Grace, warmth in his smile.
Max tightened his hold on her hand.
Tonie set down her spoon. Licked her lips. Sighed. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you could pull it off. Soup is . . . well, it’s easy to step over the line from a hint of curry to overpowering. But this . . . yes, I agree with the panel. Although I might have added a smidge more ginger and a little less pineapple.” She looked at Max. “And I didn’t find the pineapple overdone.”
Not a glance at Grace, but he didn’t care. They moved away and listened to the judges evaluate the aloha siblings. Who apparently hadn’t followed the instructions at all and, according to the judges, created a main dish instead of a delectable side.
Max had to stop and orient himself a moment when the results came in, let it sink in that he and Grace had made it to the main course round.
He had to admit, deep inside, he hadn’t expected them to advance past the first round. Then again, nothing with Grace Christiansen seemed predictable.
Grace was jubilant and nearly hugged him onstage. However, she waited until they’d exited, until the cameras shut off, before flinging herself into his arms. “You were fabulous!”
He held her as long as he dared, then put her down. Smiled into her eyes. “No, you were. Who would have thought . . . soup?”
“Curried potato soup is one of my mom’s favorites. Only she makes it with coconut milk. The swirl of cream—all Mom. And the pineapple we had a few years ago during a cookout. So I wasn’t completely original.”
“You were fantastic,” he said, meaning it.
“But you’re wearing the hat tomorrow, Chef Maximoto. I can’t handle all this pressure. It’s just so . . . Wow.” She pulled off her hat. “I could use some surfing.”
Surfing.
With that, the last of his anger worked free. Because despite knowing that he had to leave her in five short days, he would still choose every wonderful, infuriating, frustrating, glorious moment of being near her.
“Let’s catch some waves.”
OKAY. FINE. She could admit it.
Grace was in love with Maxwell Sharpe. She’d probably fallen for him on the airplane ride over the ocean, when he’d practically helped hold her barf bag. Definitely when he shoved his foot into her door and forced her to escape from her hotel room and raised her meager expectations of this trip. But it had only been cemented when he’d helped her believe she was capable of more than she’d ever dreamed.
Like snorkeling. Parasailing. Surfing.
Being a finalist in Honolulu Chop.
When Palani had uncovered the Twinkies’ plate during today’s main course round, leaving only the hippies and Max and Grace to compete in the dessert finale, Grace simply had no words.
No words except I love you, Max.
She wanted to grab his beautiful face with both hands, look him straight in those hypnotizing brown eyes, and blurt it out.
Maybe even kiss him. Oh, she’d thought about it—a lot, in fact. What it might feel like to be in his arms—really be there, not just by chance, but because he wanted her.