Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(48)

Rita caught sight of Jasper’s grandmother, Rosemary, as she sailed forward through the group of white-haired women. “Rita!”

Her boots felt like cement shoes. “Hi. What…”

Rosemary drew close and encompassed Rita in a big, squeezing hug. “I was so excited when Jasper told me you were staying another day. Why, I got the phone tree lit up right away and moved our get-together to Friday, instead of Saturday. We are raring to be taught a professional recipe, I’ll tell you what.” She looked Rita up and down. “Black shorts, green shirt. Where is that rascal grandson of mine?”

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” Rita said, bolts tightening on either side of her neck. Until Rosemary’s explanation, she’d completely forgotten the conversation over lunch about Rita giving a cooking demonstration. Why would she remember something so offhanded when they were supposed to be back on the road by now? It had never really been a possibility in her mind. “Jasper planned this.”

It wasn’t a question, but all thirty women bobbed their heads with unrepentant enthusiasm, making Rita feel a little dizzy. And at that exact moment Jasper walked out of the kitchen, jingling his car keys, probably on the way to go pick her up at the Arms. Even though Rita had seen him only a matter of hours ago, the sight of his easy ruggedness spiked her blood with longing. When his gaze landed on Rita, she saw the purpose there, knew he’d spent the last few hours working hard to put the demonstration together, but nothing could eclipse the sudden anxiety. It barreled through her like an Amtrak train, releasing black smoke into every region of her insides, covering them in soot.

Jasper was in front of her before she blinked. “Hey there, beautiful,” he said for her ears alone, while Rosemary faded back with all the subtlety of a circus clown. “Changed clothes, did you? Damn, but those shorts hug your hips. If I didn’t have so many hawk eyes on me, I would turn you around and see what they do for your ass.”

Why was he talking to her like that? Couldn’t he tell she was debating whether or not running and leaping through the plate-glass window was feasible? “Jasper…what did you do? You shouldn’t have done this. I’m not…” Her palms started to sting, the sensation traveling up her forearms. “I’m not ready for this.”

A shadow passed over his eyes as they reassessed her, a slow journey over her face. “Sure, you are, Rita.” His voice had grown even more hushed. “You were in the kitchen last night and you survived. I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” Oh, God, she sounded like someone had hands wrapped around her neck. “I’m sorry, but you were wrong. You shouldn’t have done this. I’m going to disappoint them one way or another.”

“No. No, you won’t.” He cupped the sides of her face, eased into her space. And, damn him, it calmed her some. Not enough to ebb the terror, but enough that she could focus on his blue eyes. “This is just a hurdle you need to jump. Let me help you do it.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No, you didn’t. I don’t think you’d ask for someone’s help if you were on fire.” Rita’s body tensed at the choice of words and Jasper hung his head with a curse. “Jesus, I’m about as smooth as a pothole.”

“Everything okay over there?” Rosemary called, sending Rita’s heart into a round of thundering palpitations.

Jasper turned his head slightly. “We’ll just be a minute.” When he turned back to address Rita, his expression was one of determination. “I didn’t ask for your help naming my restaurant or giving my kitchen your seal of approval. Didn’t ask for this morning, either. But I’m damned grateful for it. Maybe I just needed to return the favor.”

Her head was full to bursting with arguments. Sound ones and immature ones, namely the one echoing the loudest. I don’t need these people. I don’t need this. Just turn and walk out. But then she saw the cookbook lying on Rosemary’s workstation. Miriam Clarkson’s Main Dish Cookbook, to be exact. And there was no doubt in her mind she stood in a room full of people who knew Miriam was her mother. That before she even picked up a spoon, she wouldn’t live up to the legacy. “Did you tell Rosemary?”

“No, she figured it out on her own.” Jasper sighed. “Every day I wake up wishing I’d never taught her how to use the Internet.”

If she walked out of the Liquor Hole now, she wouldn’t only be disappointing the women, she would be letting her mother down. Again. They would shake their heads, the way she’d seen so many critics and customers do, lamenting her inability to measure up.

Damn it.

No choice. She’d been given no choice. Resentment at being thrown back into the cauldron so soon making her throat feeling like sandpaper, she shrugged Jasper off and walked to the only available station, observing the ingredients. “I see we’re making french toast today.”

She picked up an egg and her hand began trembling violently. A ditch dug itself in the very center of her gut, deepening as the silence stretched, everyone watching. Looking for faults, of which there were so many. The egg cracked in her hand and she could only stare. Not really seeing the egg, but all the failed dishes and the fire. Always the fire now.

Jasper walked up behind Rita, reaching around her to collect the broken egg with a clean rag. She didn’t turn around to see where he discarded the mess, but his hands were back a few seconds later, lying over the backs of hers and picking up a new egg. Her hands were steadier this time around thanks to the warmth from Jasper’s solid touch, his reassuring presence at her back. But the resentment didn’t fade, making her acceptance of his help more grudging than anything else.