Now Max finished searing the ahi, plated it, and put it in the fridge to chill. Meanwhile, she’d diced the green onions and thinly sliced some Maui onion she’d found at the food market he’d taken her to yesterday. Next she prepared a sauce with a dab of mayonnaise, pickled ginger, masago and shoyu from the Asian market, sesame oil, and Hawaiian salt that he just happened to have in his cupboard.
She’d died and gone to culinary heaven.
“We’ll plate it with a swirl of the mixture, then the ahi and some greens and the onions.” He held a towel in his hand. “Let’s see how the cake is doing.”
They’d prepared the cake in individual Bundt pans, and it saturated the kitchen with the aroma of the islands—nutty coconut, fresh vanilla bean. He opened his oven, pulled out the pan. Set the spongy cakes on the baking board. “We’ll let these sit for a few minutes, then remove them from the pans and poke holes in them. When we get to Jace’s place, we can warm them, then pour the glaze over.”
Eden had rightly chosen Jace’s place for tonight’s photo shoot, although they could have easily taken the shots here in Max’s beautiful kitchen overlooking the Mississippi River.
“What’s next?” he asked.
Next? Oh. “We’ll grill the butterfish at Jace’s, and I have a Waimanalo salad with greens, an orange, an avocado, goat cheese, and macadamia nuts.”
“Yum.” He tossed the towel on the counter. “I think we’ve got this, 9B.”
The name took her breath, just for a moment, and she nodded, hating the sudden rush of tears and her still-tender heart.
She turned away, untying the apron.
“Grace, are you okay?”
She nodded again but didn’t look at him, just tossed the apron over a chair and headed for his bathroom.
Grace washed her hands. Stared into the mirror. He hadn’t done anything, really, but be kind to her, and if it weren’t for that night on the boat, she might dupe herself into believing that they were—could be again—friends.
She closed her eyes. “Lord, You know I gave my heart to You. And that was for keeps. So help me to keep Max in his rightful place. Help me not to start wishing for things I can’t have.” She spoke the words softly so she could hear them, remind herself. “Help me trust You.”
Do you love Me, Grace?
“You know I do, Lord.”
Then feed My sheep. Be his friend.
She blew out a breath. Yes, she could be a friend.
“Grace, we gotta go!”
She exited the bathroom and saw that he’d packed all the food in various containers. A real traveling gourmet. A reminder to check on service supplies and the staff at Eden’s venue struck her as she picked up the warm cakes and followed him out of the condo.
He put the food in his trunk, stacking it carefully. “It’ll be fine for the trip to Jace’s.”
She trusted him—the man seemed to care more for her photo shoot than she did.
Although, admittedly, the spread would get her the recognition she needed to launch her business. A business that Max had helped her set up yesterday online. A few clicks to a web template and suddenly she felt real.
Grace’s Catering, “Distinctive food for distinctive events.” She even listed her cell phone number and displayed pictures of their cooking event that he’d grabbed off the Internet.
Yes, he made her feel real.
“Thank you, Max,” she said as they drove to Jace’s.
“Hey, it was fun.”
Fun. Like “Hey, let’s shoot some hoops, play some hockey” fun. Buddy fun. Okay, Lord. I can be his friend.
When they pulled up to Jace’s, Max let the valet park his car while they brought the food upstairs. Jace met them at the door in a pair of dark dress pants, a gray metallic shirt, a black tie. Inside, Eden had spiffed up too, wearing an emerald-green dress.
The power couple.
A photographer worked to set up the shoot in the dining area. A man about Grace’s age—young, hip, wearing jeans and a printed button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves—adjusted photography umbrellas to even the light. The writer for the piece had commandeered Eden for an interview.
Grace felt a little like the hired help as she entered the kitchen, but Max appeared anything but fazed as he unloaded their supplies.
Eden excused herself from the interview and sidled up to Grace. “So . . . how is everything going?”
“Fine,” Grace said, almost too cheerfully. But she didn’t have time to explain. Especially with Max firing up the oven. “Oh no, I need a broiler pan,” she said to Eden, but Max produced one from the drawer under the stove.
Broiler pan, check. It only reminded her that everywhere she turned, Max kept saving her.