Month of Sundays

• Synopsis
  
• By the Author
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Dedication
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-one
  
• Chapter Twenty-two
  
• Chapter Twenty-three
  
• Chapter Twenty-four
  
• Epilogue
  
• About the Author
  
• Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
  

Love doesn’t always happen overnight; sometimes it takes a month of Sundays.

Conservative accountant Rachel Bauer is recovering from the abrupt end of a long-term relationship when she’s tossed into the dating pool against her will. Expecting to meet friends for drinks, she finds herself in the middle of a blind date with Griffin Sutton, the sexy celebrity chef with a reputation for being easy on the eyes but hard on the heart. Rachel isn’t interested in becoming the latest notch on Griffin’s well-worn bedpost so she rebuffs her advances. Griffin, who hasn’t met a woman she couldn’t seduce, decides the best way to Rachel’s reluctant heart is through her stomach. She offers to take her on a culinary trip around the world one Sunday at a time.

If Rachel accepts Griffin’s proposition, will she find more than a good meal?

Month of Sundays

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Month of Sundays

© 2012 By Yolanda Wallace. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-790-5

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: September 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Cindy Cresap

Production Design: Susan Ramundo

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

In Medias Res

Rum Spring

Lucky Loser

Month of Sundays

I’ve been a fan of cooking shows like
Iron Chef, Top Chef,
and
Chopped
for several years, so I guess it was a given I would eventually attempt to write a novel with a chef as one of the main characters. I hope the manuscript that follows does justice to a profession I have long admired.

Thanks to the usual suspects—Dita for continuing to put up with me, my fellow authors for accepting me as one of their own, and Radclyffe, Cindy, and the rest of the Bold Strokes family for making the finished product look effortless. The biggest thanks, of course, goes to the readers. Thank you once again for supporting my work. I’ll do my best not to let you down.

Bon appétit!

Dita, I’m sorry I made you reach for the snacks so often while you proofread this one for me.

Love you, though. Mean it!

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Rachel Bauer took one look at the gorgeous blonde sitting next to her best friend Jane Mangano, turned, and fled. Thankfully, Jane was so engrossed in her conversation she didn’t see her leave.

When Rachel had agreed to meet Jane and her partner, Colleen Lambert, for drinks at Maidenhead, she had agreed to just that. Drinks. A couple of rounds of draft beer, perhaps an import or two. Not a surprise blind date with someone who made a supermodel look like the Wicked Witch of the West.

She knew Jane was desperate to get her out of her apartment, the safe harbor she abandoned only for work and the occasional foray to the corner bodega, but this was too much.

In her self-appointed role as Rachel’s social planner, Jane had made it her mission to force her to spend a night out at least once a month. To keep her spirits up before she turned into a recluse with a house full of cats. So far, so good. Her apartment was feline-free and her state of mind leaned more toward happiness than melancholia. Usually.

Jane meant well and Rachel appreciated her efforts, but sometimes she went a bit overboard. Like now. What was Jane thinking? When—
if
—Rachel ever made her way back into the dating scene, she intended to ease into it, not jump in with both feet. Spending even five seconds of face time with the blond goddess sharing a booth with Jane and Colleen would be like skydiving without a parachute. She didn’t feel like being turned into a really bad version of Crêpes Suzette.

On a scale of one to ten, the blonde was a twelve on an off day. Even when she took the time to primp and shellac herself to within an inch of her life, Rachel usually felt like a six at best. Lately, she had been feeling more like a four. She had been stress eating since her breakup with her ex, packing twenty pounds on her sturdy five foot eight frame. Her self-confidence was at an all-time low while her weight was at an all-time high. Not the ideal time to meet someone new.

She squeezed past the patrons in the crowded tavern and headed for the door, intending to retreat to her apartment, slip into her pj’s, and crack open a pint of ice cream—her preferred way to spend a Friday night.

She had been working nonstop since Thanksgiving, covering for coworkers who had back-ended their vacations to the latter part of the year so they could spend the holidays with their families.

With her love life nonexistent, work was everything to her these days. It had been for a while. With nothing and no one to go home to, she had spent the past eight months chained to her desk for twelve hours a day, eating too much junk food and drinking too much coffee. The extended hours had been great for her productivity and her bank balance but hell on her social life. What remained of her social life, anyway.

She had devolved into something of a hermit since her ex had turned her life upside down and walked out of it for what Rachel hoped was the last time. Her apartment wasn’t filled with empty pizza cartons or discarded boxes of Chinese takeout, but it was starting to exude a distinct cave-like aura. Fitting. Because all she wanted to do when she walked in the door was grab a pint of ice cream, crawl into bed, and pull the covers up to her chin until the ache in her soul went away.

As she headed to the door, she wondered if she had enough ingredients in her refrigerator to make a truly decadent sundae. She wanted to slip into a sugar coma and put this near-miss behind her. She had almost made her great escape when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jane’s familiar voice asked.

With a heavy sigh, Rachel turned to face the music. “Home. Where do you think? I didn’t sign up to be a complete stranger’s plus one.”

“But you’re here now. You might as well make the most of it.”

“Why should I?”

Jane took a step back. “What are you so afraid of? That you’ll actually enjoy yourself for once, or you’ll lose your excuse?”

“My excuse?”

“The ‘I’m still recovering from a bad breakup so I’m too wounded to give someone else a chance’ excuse. You and Isabel broke up months ago. Isn’t it time you moved on?”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “That’s for me to decide, not you.” Jane’s words held more than a hint of truth, but she wasn’t ready to hear them yet. What were you supposed to do when your lover left you for someone else? What was the timetable for getting over something like that?

Jane threw her hands up. “Fine. I give up. Go home if that’s what you really want to do. I’ll come up with a reason for why you didn’t show up tonight. I’ll tell Griffin you had to work late or you were kidnapped by aliens or, better yet, you came down with a wicked case of the chickenshits and decided you’d rather barricade yourself in your apartment than spend time with your friends.”

Rachel groaned in frustration. Jane was blatantly manipulating her, but it was for her own good, so how was she supposed to hold it against her? “One drink. That’s it.”

Jane flashed a rakish grin and began to steer her through the crowd. “You won’t regret it; I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t…”

Words failed Rachel when she got a closer look at her date for the evening. Or was it the next thirty minutes?

“Rachel Bauer, meet Griffin Sutton,” Jane said, introducing her to the stunning blonde who was staring at the display on her cell phone. “Griffin, Rachel.”

Griffin, who looked vaguely familiar, stood up, put away her BlackBerry, and extended her right hand toward Rachel. A chunky silver bracelet dangled from her wrist. Rachel couldn’t read the engraving. She was curious about the message, but not overly so. Her eyes slowly traveled up Griffin’s long, lanky body and came to rest on her angular face. Her heart lurched painfully, preparing for the inevitable letdown. Her track record with blind dates left something to be desired. Why should this one be any different?

She could feel everyone at the table waiting for her to break the ice, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt like an awkward teenager. Her feet were rooted in place, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. She could barely breathe, let alone form a coherent thought. Fortunately, Griffin spoke first.

“Jane has told me so much about you,” she said with a warm smile. Her voice, a husky contralto, was like honeyed whiskey. Her gray eyes met Rachel’s and held them for a socially acceptable length of time. The expression on her face was open, non-judgmental. She seemed to see and appreciate Rachel for who she was and not who she wished her to be. Had Rachel dismissed her too soon?

Rachel shook Griffin’s hand. Griffin’s grip was firm and sure, two words Rachel couldn’t use to describe herself at the moment. “I wish I could say the same,” she said with a pointed glare at Jane. Although Griffin didn’t appear to have an agenda, Rachel didn’t think the same could be said for her so-called best friend.

Jane shrugged off Rachel’s protests the way she always did when she was determined to get her way. When Griffin sat down again, Jane pulled Rachel into the booth before she could turn and disappear into the crowd a second time. “You really need to get out more.” She wrapped an arm around Rachel’s shoulder to prevent another escape attempt. “Griffin,” she explained patiently as if she were talking to a small child, “is the head chef at Match.”