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 don’t think so. Face it, you’ve finally met your match. She might be your kryptonite. Meaning you should probably stay away from her.”
Ty made a noncommittal mmm sound but couldn’t help thinking that if Stephen believed he could walk away from the challenge of befriending Grace, his manager didn’t really know him at all.
Not long after Stephen left, it was time for Ty and the other chefs to meet in the hotel lobby. They were taken to the industrial kitchen of an upscale local restaurant that that was closed on Mondays. The owners, delighted by the publicity it would gain them, were letting the show use its facilities for the first challenge.
Once the chefs were gathered, Damien explained that they had a warm-up task involving local Texas wines. “You had the opportunity to learn about some local wines last night. Now let’s see how you do with a blind tasting.” They were given tasting notes to read, then they were shown to a table of numbered bottles with no visible labels. They sipped rieslings, cabs, chards and tempranillo, cleansing their palates between with bites of bread.
After they all turned in their sheets, Damien and one of his production assistants conferred in the corner, checking answers. The host returned to the center of the room. “As expected from chefs of your caliber, most of you did well. Katharine Garner and Grace Torres did particularly well, only transposing two of the wines. They tied for second place, beaten out by Ty Beckett.”
Grace swiveled, pinning Ty with her dark gaze. “You didn’t miss any?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer before Damien responded, “Oh, he missed one of the same reds you and Katharine missed. But instead of mixing up number two and number eight, he hedged his bets by putting eight for both of them, giving him one more correct answer than either of you. As a reward, Chef Beckett, you get first pick of who you would like as your partner for today’s cooking challenge.”
Ty’s grin widened as he pretended to debate his options. It would be undiplomatic to blurt the first name that came to mind, as if he hadn’t even considered all the other fine chefs in the room. So he waited, giving the moment a significantly dramatic pause before declaring, “Grace Torres.”
Chapter Three
Aware that a camera had probably panned to her the minute Ty said her name, Grace struggled to keep her face neutral. Having grown up with two brothers, there were a lot of things she’d learned to do as well as Ben and Vic—fishing, skateboarding, throwing darts. Alas, she’d never mastered a poker face. “You might as well hand us your money the second you sit down,” Ben had said, laughing. “You’re way too expressive.” Could everyone in the room see just how aggravated she was at the idea of working with Ty Beckett?
Ty ambled toward her, looking entirely too self-satisfied. To be fair, she doubted his smugness was directed at her. He probably woke up looking like that every day.
“There are people who would consider it an honor to be working with you,” she murmured under her breath. “But you may have noticed, I don’t like you.” Grace had watched him work the room last night; even married Katharine Garner, who was older and far more acclaimed in her career, had favored him with girlish smiles. It was important Ty understood he couldn’t twist her around his little finger just because of those silvery eyes and his gotta-love-me grin.
He stood beside her, watching as Damien matched up the next two chefs. His lips barely moved as he answered, “You’ll
