But Asher appeared unfazed.
“Yes, I am,” he said cheerfully. “Or at least, I’m working toward it.” He gave the nape of Sera’s neck a kiss that managed to be both gentle and wildly stirring. The BRBs sighed. Sera turned pink as a Valentine’s Day Peep, feeling a rush ten times headier than sugar flood her system.
Lego-head fiddled with her digital recorder, pointing it toward Asher. “Interesting,” she grunted. “So, as Miss Wilde’s significant other, what’s your reaction to the comments made recently by Chef Austin?”
“Comments?” Asher looked puzzled, glancing down at Sera for an explanation. She tried not to squirm. Maybe I should have told him. But I just couldn’t bear to drag him into this. It’s so ugly, and it shouldn’t have to be his fight. “Bliss, what is she talking about? What has that man said to you?”
“It’s not what he said to Sera, studly, it’s what he said to the world,” Pauline huffed before Sera could begin to explain. “That rat slandered my Baby-Bliss to this”—she glared at the reporter before seeming to recall that alienating her would be a poor idea—“to this fine journalist here. Half the town probably read what she printed. We’re trying to set the record straight.”
At her side, Sera could feel Asher stiffen. “What exactly did Mr. Austin say about Serafina?” he asked very quietly.
The BRBs looked at one another, then at Sera, uncomfortable.
Marnie’s eyes lit at the prospect of conflict. She emitted a teeny smile. “Miss Wilde hasn’t shown you the article? Interesting. Well, I have a copy here in my bag.” She dug in her messenger tote for the latest issue of the Chile Paper. She handed it to Asher, who received the newspaper as though it had been marinating in a storm gutter for a week. “Here, take a look.”
Asher took a look.
With each paragraph his eyes scanned, his expression turned stonier. Sera found herself wanting to comfort him, though it was she who’d been maligned. Now he’s really finding out what he’s gotten himself into with me, she thought, feeling sick. Damn Blake to hell. If he ruins this, too, I’ll gut him and make a fricassee out of his kidneys.
The reporter didn’t miss Asher’s expression. “Would you care to make a statement?” she asked, waving her digital recorder in Asher’s face. “After all, you’d be best qualified to rebut some of Chef Austin’s more, ah, personal accusations about Miss Wilde.”
Asher snapped the paper shut. He was breathing with great deliberation, Sera saw, and his eyes had gone from green to golden, as they did only with strong emotion. He rose to his feet and towered over Marnie as he very deliberately handed back the offending tabloid.
“I have no intention of commenting on my girlfriend’s personal business. No man of any worth whatsoever would do so—not in private and sure as hell not in public.” His tone was so clipped, so fiercely leashed, that all the women held their breath, wondering when he’d lose it. “You want a statement? Print this, Ms. Pyle: It takes a man of extremely questionable character to say something of this nature in a public forum. Anything that comes out of Mr. Austin’s mouth is to be examined very closely as to motive. If he slanders Miss Wilde—”
“Libels,” muttered Marnie.
“If he speaks ill of her,” Asher said quellingly, “it’s due to some sick ‘shortcoming’ of his own. And while I won’t discuss the intimacy I am honored to share with Miss Wilde, there is one thing I will say—and say without hesitation. This woman I love is the finest pastry chef this city has ever seen—and there is no doubt in my mind that she can outbake Blake Austin any day of the week.”
Pauline stood up and cheered. “You tell ’er, hot stuff!”
The Back Room Babes clapped and whistled, stomping their feet.
“Ooh, hey!” cried Syna, shushing them with an impatient gesture. “That’s totally what we should do! Have a bake-off! We’ll teach that scuzz Blake a lesson and prove Sera’s the better chef!”
“Hells yeah, girl!” Aruni squealed, grabbing Friedrich’s arm hard in her excitement. She beamed at Sera. “You could so take that dude down in the kitchen! We’ll show everyone he’s full of shit and prove your baked goods are out-of-this-world orgasmic!”
Friedrich did not seem to mind Aruni’s viselike grasp, though he blushed at the word “orgasmic.”
The BRBs started throwing out ideas for how Sera could show up Chef Austin. Pauline and Hortencia got in a squabble about who got to be Sera’s trainer for the big showdown. But Sera couldn’t think about bake-offs or getting back at her ex-boyfriend. She was still reeling from what Asher had said—in front of all her favorite people and the press.
This woman I love.
Did he even realize he’d said the words? She dared a glance up at her newly designated boyfriend. He had eyes only for her, ignoring the fluttering BRBs and the avidly observing reporter. His gaze held everything she loved best about Asher: honesty, tenderness, and a wide-open window to his truly spectacular soul. And what she saw when she peered inside made her catch her breath.
Yup, he realized.
Sera’s eyes welled. She couldn’t look away, only blink rapidly as Asher returned to her side, kneeling at the foot of her chair. “I love you, Serafina Wilde,” he said. His eyes were molten gold with emotion. “I am very angry with you right now for not telling me about this business with Blake Austin, but I do love you, and I want to help you face whatever comes. Please don’t keep something like this from me again. Promise me, Bliss.”
Sera snarfed back a sob. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to cradle his face with both hands. “I promise. And, Asher…” She smiled tremulously. “I love you, too.”
When he captured her lips with his, it felt like fate.
When she turned back to the BRBs, she found her fate had already been sealed.
“Ladies, I can definitely make this happen.” Bobbie, looking self-satisfied, was patting her already perfectly curled bangs into place.
“How?” Hortencia wanted to know. “Austin’s not likely to accept Sera’s gauntlet just because she throws it down. What’s in it for him, besides total humiliation?”
“Don’t be a downer, Horsey,” Pauline scolded. “That’s where Ms. Pyle comes in.”
As one, the women turned to stare at the reporter, who wore a wary but intrigued expression. Conflict was her stock-in-trade, after all, and a feud between foodies was sure to spur circulation. As a springboard into investigative journalism, this wasn’t exactly the sort of story that got one nominated for the Pulitzer, but anything that increased her readership was a plus. Marnie cleared her throat. “What do you have in mind?”
“We want you to print a challenge to Chef Austin!” Aruni chirped, bouncing over to join the ladies with a sassy backward glance at the flustered Friedrich. “Right, ladies?” She checked with her sisters, who nodded confirmation, then plunked hands on hips and gave the reporter a gamine grin. “You send that windbag a straight-up dare to meet Serafina in the kitchen and she’ll prove once and for all who’s the best.”
“Where would you have this showdown?” Marnie wanted to know. “And when?” She was scribbling notes on her pad.
“That’s where I come in,” Bobbie said proudly. “I’m an events planner for the Santa Fe Winter Fiesta, which as you know is running all next week. I can absolutely slot in a cook-off, even last minute, and I’m sure we can sort out a venue. If you print the challenge, I’ll publicize the heck out of it all over town and let people know where to show up. It’ll be a sensation!”