All Fired Up (Kate Meader) Read Free

“Did you make her ill with all that jumping around?”
    “Ah, I’m just too much for one woman,” Shane said, exploding into that cheeky smile that had caught her attention the moment she’d entered the bar at the Paris Las Vegas Hotel. A patchwork memory of numerous drinking establishments flashed through her querulous mind. In every one, the guys had got there before the girls. And in every one, Shane Doyle had been first on his feet, motioning to his seat as soon as the lady mob arrived to meet up with the bachelor’s posse for the tandem shenanigans.
    A nice mama’s boy, she had decided. Polite and mannered. The kind of guy she usually liked to date because they let her call the shots. Where to go, what to do, how to please her. A few tears might be shed when they parted—not by her, of course—but so far it had worked out swimmingly.
    How had she messed up so spectacularly with Shane?
    The band took a break and the music switched to DJ-determined wedding classics. First up, the oom-pah booms of the “Chicken Dance,” and Cara found herself a tiny bit curious to see Shane’s interpretation.
    “We were talking about the cake,” Jack said, defaulting to his one-track mind. Marriage to Lili or bust. In telepathic communication, both chefs’ gazes slipped to the slice of maligned cake now insulting everyone by its mere presence on the table.
    Shane scoffed. “Whoever made this rubbish should be shot for crimes against pastries.”
    That pulled a deep laugh out of Jack and a juvenile eye roll out of Cara. Ah, chef humor.
    “So I’ll expect something amazing for my wedding.” He squeezed Lili’s waist. “We both will. You up for it?”
    A weird look passed over Shane’s face, clearing his cheer. If Cara didn’t know better, she would have thought he was annoyed, even angry. Which made no sense, considering what an honor it was to have Jack choose the new guy for such an important commission.
    “I would think you’d want to bring Marguerite in from Thyme,” Shane said, his voice as tight as the set of his mouth. “She’s your best pâtissière.”
    Thyme on Forty-Seventh, Jack’s New York outpost and Shane’s stomping ground until two weeks ago when he transferred to Chicago, sported any number of culinary stars, and Marguerite was the brightest of them all. Cara was with Shane on this. It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least if Jack wanted to fly the talented Frenchwoman in for the occasion.
    Shane’s mood change appeared to have passed unnoticed by Jack. “Yeah, she’s great, but I want you. You’re a wizard with desserts, and after chasing me around for months trying to get a job, I think you’re ready for the big leagues.”
    Shane smiled but it was as if the effort might result in the death of a puppy. There was something. “We could do angel food and pistachio cream, or maybe a rosemary lemon to keep the Italian theme.”
    “I like how you think,” Jack said, smiling broadly. “Keep it up and we’ll talk next week.”
    “Sure,” Shane said with a dimple blast in Cara’s direction. A return to charming, sunny Shane.
    Flustered, she felt her hand move to the still-full champagne flute she had been shunning since the toasts, but before her fingers made contact, he cocked his head. One of those Need a chaser of impaired judgment with that bubbly? head tilts that decelerated her brain. Damn the man and his caramel-hued eyes, now narrowed and holding her captive.
    “Back to the dancing,” he said.
    Cara had important things to say to Shane. Very important things. And avoiding him wasn’t going to get it done. After years of unhealthy denial, she had vowed to meet her problems head-on, so she wasn’t entirely sure why she had let a whole week go by without pulling Shane aside and telling him how it was. How it will be. She’d put it down to how busy she was ensuring Gina’s wedding wouldn’t be a complete debacle. Declining to examine that closely was about the only thing