Miracle Pie (3 page)

Rosa nudged her arm and still she couldn’t
speak. She was hyperventilating, her heart pounding, her breaths
puffing.

What was wrong with her? He wasn’t a movie
star. If he were, she suspected she’d be less bemused. She was
acting like a schoolgirl instead of a woman who’d had her share of
dates and even a couple serious boyfriends. None of them dogs,
either—though in four-legged dogs, even ugliness managed to be
cute.

This man...he wasn’t cute. He wasn’t even
the most handsome man she’d seen. But he was the
most...angelic.

He bent to greet Happy, not seeming to mind
that Happy smelled in a way that baths didn’t help. An old dog
smell that went with Happy’s old dog breath.

When Katie finally told Trish about this
day, she wouldn’t have to exaggerate her social ineptness.

“How old is your dog?” he asked, pulling the
long ears gently.

“Happy’s nineteen.”

“Happy? Good name.” Still petting Happy, he
gave her a smile that indented dimples in his cheeks.

The inside of her mouth dried up. She
shifted her gaze to the bowl of McIntosh apples on her counter that
her dad had picked from their own trees. Thoughts of her apple pies
brought moistness back to her mouth and her chest opened up, her
breathing easier.

“My dad got her when I was eight.”
Remembering the scampering little pup with the energy of an F-1
tornado, a smile grew inside Katie. “She was the runt of the
litter, and no one wanted her. It was either my dad or the humane
society.”

“She kept you company?”

“What eight-year-old doesn’t love a dog?”
Especially an eight-year-old who still wondered why her mother
didn’t keep her.

Boy, did she empathize with that dog.

Of course, being with Sam and her grandma
was the best thing that happened to her. Katie knew Happy felt the
same way about her.

Gabe gave Happy another scratch behind her
ears then straightened and glanced around the kitchen at her two
ovens, the KitchenAid mixer, the stainless steel refrigerator and
in the corner, her old white one. Then there were the gleaming work
spaces. Not the normal cottage kitchen.

She breathed in, feeling double lucky—lucky
to have this, and lucky that she remembered just enough of her
first five years to appreciate her life now.

“My dad and I redid it two years ago to meet
the Board of Health’s regulations.”

“I like it. A lot of stainless steel.”

“Stainless steel is a cook’s best friend,”
she said as she watched Happy limp to the rug in the corner where
she slept a good part of the day.

“That and wine,” Rosa said, the first she’d
spoken since she’d hugged Katie hello.

Gabe laughed low in his throat, more like a
devil than an angel. “You ladies are going to be naturals. I can
tell already. I have an idea.”

Katie groaned. He looked at her, an eyebrow
raised. She shrugged. “I heard that same line from Rosa
yesterday.”

“You’re here because of
my
idea.”
Rosa gave Gabe her I’m-done-with-taking-second-to-a-man look that
made his eyebrows rise. “We’re all here because of
my
idea.
To make
my
show.”

Katie restrained herself from patting Rosa
on the back and saying
You go, girl
. She knew half of Rosa’s
determination to do her show was because of Mike. She wanted to be
a huge success to make him sorry he’d cheated, though Katie
suspected he was already sorry.

But the other half...that was for Rosa.

“It’s Rosa’s dream,” Katie said. That’s the
real reason she’d said yes to Rosa. She admired people with
dreams.

“Not yours?” he asked.

She stepped back and bumped into one of the
wooden chairs around the wooden table, an old set that had belonged
to her dad’s grandmother and then to Katie’s grandmother. Plain
with no curlicues or notches. Plain just like Katie felt
inside.

“I don’t need to dream.” She peered around,
and contentment warmed her insides, like a muffin just out of the
oven. “I’m doing exactly what I want. I was eleven when I made my
first pie for money. A family friend had lung cancer.” She looked
at Rosa. “Remember Paul Trilling?”

“A wonderful man.”

“He was one of my dad’s hunting buddies, and
he loved my apple pie.” She heard her voice soften. “He said it
reminded him of his grandmother’s pie.”

“Now I remember.” Rosa’s throaty voice
thickened. “Suzie ordered from us, too. The seafood cannelloni.”
She gestured with her hand, as if Paul and his wife were in the
kitchen, watching them. “That’s
my
specialty, but Mike
claimed the credit. He didn’t want me to outshine him. Before
Paul’s chemo started, Suzie wanted to give him a meal he could
remember. We didn’t charge her, but she insisted on paying us. She
wanted it to be her gift to Paul.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes and Katie
sniffed her own tears back.

“That’s perfect.” Gabe’s eyes glowed with
approval. “I want you to tell this story on your show.” He leaned
toward both of them. “It’s not the cooking that makes people watch
a show. It’s not even the attractive cooks.” He paused, and Katie
leaned toward him to hear him better, somehow knowing this
important. “It’s the story.”

“Is that your idea?” Rosa asked. “For us to
tell stories?”

“That’s an extra.” He smiled, the kind of
smile Katie imagined the Pied Piper gave the kids before he led
them out of Hamelin, playing his pipe and dancing. “We can film an
episode and then you can send it out to the different stations. A
long, tedious, frustrating process. But there’s another way to get
noticed.”

Katie’s stomach tightened and she fought an
urge to put her hands over her ears. She didn’t know what he was
going to say, but she was sure she didn’t want to hear it.

It had better not involve wearing a swimsuit
while doing her pie segment.

Or worse, no swimsuit. Their show would be
The Nude Cooks
. Rosa would have to watch out for grease
splatter, while Katie would just get flour splotches.

“Tell us.” Rosa crossed her arms, her voice
heavy with suspicion.

Katie crossed her arms, too. There was too
much change already, happening too fast, and she was pretty sure
she wasn’t a fast woman.

Chapter Five

Looking at the two women with their crossed
arms, Gabe thought,
Tough crowd.

But he would win this.

His gaze lingered on the younger woman. She
was...not ordinary, though she dressed ordinary, as if she tried to
fit in. Not slouching but not standing tall, either.

The camera would show the truth of her. It
would love the high cheekbones, the triangular chin, and the angles
in her face. The sweetness, goodness and even a bit of
edginess.

When she saw the film, he guessed she would
be surprised and pleased—and a little shocked—to see herself as
others saw her.

His gaze switched to Rosa. A classic Italian
beauty with the kind of striking looks that didn’t fade with age.
As if she were a goddess who’d come down to earth for the span of a
human life. He grinned. You could take the goddess out of Mount
Olympus, but you couldn’t take the goddess out of the woman.

He didn’t allow himself to look below their
necks. This was business. But when he’d entered the cottage
kitchen, he’d given each woman a quick sweeping glance. He’d seen
enough to know the pictures his uncle had sent didn’t lie. They
weren’t deficient there. Not by any measure.

The viewers would eat them up.

“Well?” Rosa asked. In another moment she’d
be tapping the toe of her shoe on the floor. Like a bull, she
wanted to take charge. Maybe she didn’t have balls, but for a long
time Gabe had suspected a vagina was a hell of a lot stronger.

He held back a laugh. This was the wrong
time to think of vaginas or testicles or any body parts. Food and
money. That’s what he needed to think about.

“A lot of chefs are trying to make it,” he
said. “On the Food Channel, the Travel Channel, the Top Chef shows,
the morning shows, the afternoon shows, any show they can get. Most
with impressive credentials and awards.”

Rosa gave him a stare that reminded him of
his fourth grade teacher when he displeased her. “I don’t care.” A
faint southern Italian accent thickened her voice like honey
sliding out of the hive. “I believe in myself.”

“You’ll need to believe in yourself. Your
competition isn’t coming from neighborhood diners. They’re from
four-star restaurants. Everyone wants to be famous.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to
discourage us?”

He glanced at Katie. Her gaze was switching
back and forth between him and Rosa, a frown puckering her forehead
as she waited for them to duke it out.

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said,
turning back to Rosa.

“In that case, we don’t need you.” Rosa took
a decisive step out the door.

He stayed planted on the cream-tiled kitchen
floor. “There’s another way to get in.”

Rosa stopped. Her narrow-eyed stare could
have bored holes in his brain. “I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from
his eyes. When he sobered, both women were frowning at him as if he
were a turd on the sidewalk.

“What kind of mind do you have?” he
asked.

“The kind of mind that knows how men
think.”

He grinned. This was turning out to be more
fun than he’d hoped. “A friend—a
woman
friend—is a shoe
addict. She started putting videos on YouTube that showed off her
shoes. Telling viewers where she bought them and how much they
cost, where she wore them, and what people said about them. The
videos are fun and funny and short. Viewers have found her. She
signed up for an advertising program. It’s been a year. Her views
are in the high six figure mark, and she’s making good money.”

“Advertisers?” Rosa’s forehead furrowed. “On
YouTube?”

“You know what YouTube is, don’t you?”

“It’s a place with videos of people doing
silly things.”

“Or singing songs,” he said. “Or cute cats
doing cute things. Or clips from weddings. And sometimes...” he let
his voice croon... “cooking. The money you get for each view is
small, but the more viewers, the more the money adds up.”

The lines on her forehead deepened. She
shifted her gaze to Katie. “What do you think?”

“It might be cheaper.”

“It might be faster.” Rosa’s tone was
considering, but she frowned even fiercer. Gabe could practically
see her creating an Excel sheet in her head, pros on top, cons on
the bottom.

It was his job to make the pro list longer.
He needed to convince her that his vision was the better choice for
her.

“You could build an audience with the
shorter clips,” he said, getting Rosa’s attention and holding it.
“All the money would go to you. Not to the TV station, which would
give you a tiny percent. But to
you
.” And to him. They’d
each get their fair share. “I know a way to help with the
costs.”

“What’s that?” Once again her eyes narrowed
in suspicion. With eyes like that, she didn’t need to talk.

His gaze traveled to Katie. Her lips were
partly open. With her reddish brown hair, he’d expected brown or
green eyes, but they were blue gray, reminding him of a rainy day
sky. And something else. Something he couldn’t quite grab hold
of...

He frowned and looked back at Rosa. This was
the wrong time to let his mind wander. He had an idea to sell. No,
not an idea. A dream. Under his guidance, it could be a lucrative
one for all three of them.

“I’ll do it for one-third of the show. I’ll
produce it. I’ll pay my own salary.” He grinned at them, his heart
pumping. He was fighting for this, and it had been a long time
since he fought for anything. “And I’m
very
expensive.”

“So are we,” Rosa said, her tone
militant.

“I can tell that by looking at you.” He
switched his gaze to Katie who was watching him as if he were an
exotic snake. “And you.” He heard his voice lower, a note in it
that didn’t belong in the kitchen. At least, not with Rosa
watching.

He quickly turned back to Rosa to see her
hands on her hips. Her lips twisted, mocking him, as if she saw the
lust in his mind.

He grinned again. After all, he was a man.
And he was lusty. And sometimes that led him into making mistakes.
Mistakes like Cherise.

Some things just couldn’t be turned off,
even if they came up at the wrong place, wrong time and wrong
woman.

And this was the wrong place, wrong time and
Katie sure the hell was the wrong woman. Too diffident. He always
went for the outgoing, decisive women. Not a woman who baked pies
in her dead grandmother’s cottage.

Rosa’s derision changed to a scowl.

Already his libido was causing problems.

“We’ll do the pilot,” Rosa said. “I don’t
want to compromise until I’ve at least tried to sell my show.”

He shrugged, the buoyancy sputtering out of
him. “It’s going to take a long time to shop it around. Do you even
know who to send it to?”

Her chin went up. “My sons can find
out.”

“They have connections at the cable
stations?”

“The local one.”

“And what will the local cable station
pay?”

Rosa’s nostrils flared. “That will be
between me and the station. Once I get on the station, we’ll have
more shows to shop around.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, shook his
head slightly and lifted his shoulders slightly. Sending small
signs of doubt without being too actively negative. If she settled
for the local cable station, no way would it pay her enough to
afford him. Not in an area where the biggest employer was a cheese
factory.

But when a women talked to him in that tone,
as if she was about to pour the nearest scalding cup of coffee on
his head if he dared disagree, there was nothing else to do.