Behind her, the door swept open, admitting Katharine Garner and her husband, plus Ty Beckett and his business manager. Knowing that if she continued to stand in the entryway she wouldn’t be able to avoid Ty, Grace made a beeline toward one of the four bars bracketing the room. There, she accepted a glass of an award-winning cabernet blend so richly delicious that she immediately began trying to compose recipes to go with it.
She closed her eyes to better savor a sip, then opened them again as she sensed someone next to her.
“Is it good?” a baritone voice asked.
She turned to smile at Damien Craig, thinking it was a shame he didn’t narrate audio books. He was sort of generically handsome—he’s no Ty Beckett—but he had an incredible voice. “Mr. Craig, nice to meet you. I’m Grace Torres. And yes, the wine is fantastic.”
They stood making small talk about the vineyard, the upcoming festival and how he thought he had the best job in the world, traveling all over, meeting new people and enjoying meals prepared by legendary chefs. By the time he continued on with his social rounds, all of the contestants had arrived. Guests were grouped in clusters around the room, some standing near the large hors d’oeuvres table in the center, others chatting in corners or waiting for their wineglasses to be filled. Ty Beckett stood amid three attractive women. Naturally. One of them seemed to be on the show’s crew, but the other two were chefs. Judging from the women’s smiles and the way blonde pastry chef Phoebe Verlaine kept finding excuses to touch him, they didn’t find Ty less attractive just because he was the competition.
Grace was en route to say hello to Antonio Zavalo, a chef who’d known her father, when Ty unexpectedly fell into step with her.
“We meet again,” he said cheerfully.
“That tends to happen when you follow someone.” As an afterthought, she added a half smile to temper the acerbic words, but he wasn’t fooled.
“Are you always so prickly, Grace, or—” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper “—is this an act to keep people from knowing how much you want me?”
She nearly gaped at the outrageous comment but decided that would only encourage him. Rather than give him the satisfaction of a protest, she nodded. “Yes. Arrogant chefs who resort to mind games with their opponents are exactly my type.”
The amount of sarcasm dripping from her words would have shamed a lesser man into retreat. Instead Ty’s mischievous smile grew more wicked. “I knew you were crazy for me. Stephen didn’t believe me.”
Grace’s step faltered as she studied his grin. She was experiencing that tingle of déjà vu again. Was he familiar to her because she’d seen him on television? Maybe that was it, although she still felt as if he reminded her of someone specific, someone famous whose identity was right on the tip of her brain.
“Grace!” Meeting her halfway, Antonio stepped forward to pull her into his burly arms for a warm hug. “So wonderful to see you again. How are your brothers?”
“They’re…” Well, one of them was injured physically and the other was injured emotionally. “Oh, how rude of me. Antonio, do you know Ty Beckett?”
“Only by professional reputation.” The older man shook Ty’s hand. “Congratulations on making the semifinal round, to both of you.”
“It’s an honor,” Ty said. “Especially when it means cooking alongside greats such as yourself. I’ve always looked up to you. Of course, I still plan on beating you,” he added unrepentantly.
This was met with one of Antonio’s deep belly laughs. “Cocky. I’d heard that about you.”
“I’m afraid that, in my case, you should believe everything you hear.”
Antonio clapped him on the shoulder. “Hope you aren’t eliminated too soon. I have a feeling working with you around is never boring. Grace, I’ll catch up with you later. For now, I want to try a glass of their port.”
“I do believe he liked me,” Ty said as the other man walked away. “Most people do,” he added pointedly.
“Conformists,” she scoffed. “I’m not into groupthink.” Why was she bantering with him? What had happened to her plan of polite but remote? Face it, remote just isn’t in the Torres DNA.
“Is that why you do fusion food?” Ty asked. “Unique combinations of flavors because you don’t want to be like everyone else?”
“I’m not trying to make a social statement, just being who I am.” When he looked unconvinced, she added, “I have an eclectic background. My mother is of Irish descent, my father was Hispanic. My favorite cousin was adopted as a little girl from China. My music playlists are like that, too, jumping from genre to genre. I enjoy variety.”
“On that we agree, sweetheart.”
Suddenly it clicked. I know who he reminds me of! She flashed back to her childhood, watching Indiana Jones movies with her brothers. Ty’s gray-blue eyes were far too light, but his build was about the same. With his short brown hair, tousled slightly on top, and a five o’clock shadow that looked more like half past eight, he had the right mix of clean-cut masculinity and attractively scruffy. All he needed was the fedora.
Ty smirked, making her aware she’d been staring for several seconds.
Heat crept into her cheeks. “I—I was just trying to picture you with a hat and a whip.”
His face went completely blank at the non sequitur. She felt a twinge of satisfaction, seeing the irrepressible Ty Beckett nonplussed.
But he recovered with a lazy half smile. “Interesting game. My turn. Want to know how I’m picturing you?”
“No!”
At that moment, Damien Craig called for everyone’s attention, solidifying Grace’s belief that there was a benevolent God. She sidled away from Ty, losing him in the throng as people gathered toward the front tables. Damien spoke into a portable microphone, inviting them all to sit down.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I hope you’re all enjoying the wonderful food and wine…and getting to know your rivals. There are ten fantastic chefs in this room tonight, each with different backgrounds and unique skill sets.” He read all of their names in alphabetical order, starting with Ty and finishing with Seamus Wilson. “Unfortunately only five of you will actually compete in the events at Frederick-Fest, which begins Saturday. We’ll start filming tomorrow, giving you individual and team challenges this week until we’ve narrowed it down to our finalists. Good luck. Remember it’s an honor just to compete.” He waited a beat. “Of course, it’s a much bigger honor to win.”
* * *
DECLINING A CUP OF after-breakfast coffee, Stephen pushed his chair back from the table and stood. His expression, a combination of sternness and awkwardness, made him look like a father leaving his teenage son at college for the first time. “Would it do any good to tell you to behave?”
Ty grinned. “You’re one of the most paranoid SOBs I’ve ever met. What kind of trouble do you think I’m going to get into, exactly?”
“The mind boggles.” Stephen was returning to Austin to be with his pregnant wife and catch up on work for his other clients, but he’d promised to bring Donna up for the festival when Ty made the finals. “You’re going to be all right without a car? I could schedule a rental.”
“The producers are providing group transportation, remember?” He paused, considering. “Although, with any luck, I can sweet-talk Grace Torres into showing me around town.”
“I