The Chef's Choice: The Chef's Choice. Kristin Hardy
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all around you. Knock yourself out.” She turned to find him already handing her the next bag from her pile. She hesitated, then took the brown paper sack from him. “Thanks."
“Don’t mention it. What’s McBain Landscaping?” He nodded at the magnetic sign on her truck door. “I thought it was Compass Rose."
“The Compass Rose is my parents'. I’ve got my own business."
“Planting stuff?”
She scowled. “Yeah, I plant stuff, you fry stuff.”
“Okay.” Brown paper crackled as he handed her a bag of leaves. “Let’s start again. Along the lines of frying stuff, Roman says you’re the person to talk to about the farmers’ market."
“You’ve met him, finally. Good for you.”
He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “The farmers’ market?”
“What do you want to know? Directions?”
“Among other things.”
“Kennebunk has a market but it doesn’t open until June. This time of year you’ll have to go to Portland.”
“How long’s the drive?”
“As long as an hour, depending on traffic.” At his whistle, Cady shrugged. “It’s in town. It’s tricky to find parking. If you’re smart, you’ll do like Nathan did. Skip the market and have what you want trucked in from suppliers.” Before she’d even gotten the words out, Damon was already shaking his head.
“No trucks. I want local. Fresh.”
“People in hell. Ice water,” she countered. “It’s too early in the season here to have much of anything to harvest unless it’s greenhouse grown."
He picked up an armload of lilac branches and tossed them over the side of the truck into the bed. “Roman says Nathan supplemented shipments with veg he bought locally."
“When he could.” Cady added an armload of her own.
“Roman says he’s been going with local stuff, too. Actually—” Damon flicked an assessing glance at her “—he said you were the one who went to the market for him. Said he’d never have made it through if it hadn’t been for you."
Cady shifted uncomfortably. “Roman talks too much.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Don’t get any ideas. He was shorthanded and working his butt off, so I pitched in to help. It’s not an ongoing program. I’ve got a business to run.” She shut the tailgate of the truck. “You want the farmers’ market, big guy, that’s your job. I’d be happy to write down directions for you."
“Better yet, go with me.”
“Hello? Business to run?” She tapped the side of the truck.
“Just this once, that’s all. Show me around, introduce me to the people you do business with."
“Money’s the best introducer there is.”
“And you know as well as I do that business is about relationships.” He gave her a second glance. “Then again, maybe you haven’t figured that out."
“I’ve got all the relationships I need.”
“You might be surprised. The right one could change your whole world view."
“My world view is fine, thanks very much.”
“Look, just give me tomorrow morning,” he said in exasperation. “I’ll keep it quick."
She reached in her pocket for her keys. “Tomorrow won’t work. They only hold the market twice a week—today and Saturdays."
“Twice a week? For a town with as many restaurants as Portland? You’re kidding."
“It’s May. It’s Maine. You’re lucky the market’s even open this time of year."
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
She’d promised to be civil, Cady reminded herself, and even for her, she wasn’t doing a very good job. She let out a long, slow breath. “All right. It just so happens that I’m working a job today for a summer client, so they won’t know if I push them off until later. If you’re obsessed about having me take you to the market, I’ll take you. One hour only,” she warned. “And you’d better be ready to go now. I’ve got a job site to be at this afternoon.” She opened her driver’s door.
Damon glanced at the rubbish-filled truck bed. “Are you going to take it like that?"
“What, you think people are going to steal my dead leaves?”
“No, because I figure it’s all going to blow out by the time we hit the highway. Let me drive."
“I didn’t know Manhattanites knew how to.”
“I’ve seen it on TV,” he said.
“Forget it. I know where we’re going. For your information, the dump’s on the way. I was already planning to stop."
He eyed her. “You just want to be behind the wheel.”
“That’s right,” she said, getting in. “Nobody moves me from the driver’s seat."
His slow smile set something fluttering in her stomach. “We’ll see about that."
Chapter Four
It was what she got for being nice, Cady thought as they drove up the highway to Portland. If she’d thought twice, she’d never have agreed to be stuck in the tight confines of a vehicle with Damon Hurst. He sprawled comfortably in the passenger seat, his lanky frame making the cab seem very small. It was impossible to ignore him. However much she tried to pay attention to the road, he was what she noticed.
He didn’t bother to make conversation. She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or if it left her to focus all the more on him. He just sat there in his leather jacket and stubbled chin, looking like something out of a blue jeans ad, looking like—
Cady cursed and stomped on the brakes as the car ahead slowed suddenly.
“A decent following distance might help with that,” Damon said mildly, though she noticed he reached up to grab the overhead handhold.
“If you’re going to be a backseat driver, change seats.” “You don’t have a backseat.”
“I know. So relax and enjoy the scenery.” She whipped over into another lane and onto the exit ramp.
“I can’t see it with my eyes closed,” he said through his teeth as the truck swayed with the quick succession of turns she made on the city streets.
Cady caught sight of a parking space and punched it to get through a yellow light and to the opening. “Well, you can open your eyes up now, sweet pea. We’re there."
“Thank God,” Damon said and slowly, carefully, released his grip. “Next time, I’m driving."
“There won’t be a next time.”
“I’m still driving.”
The square before them was filled with the color and hubbub of the farmers’ market. Canvas-tented booths in blue and green and yellow displayed boxes of lettuce in a bewildering variety, pyramids of the fall’s apples and potatoes and cabbage. Hothouse tomatoes provided flashes of red next to the vivid purple and green of rhubarb. Even though it was barely eight, the market was bustling.
Catching sight of a stand selling pastries, Cady made a quick beeline for it.
Damon came to a stop beside her. “What are you doing?”
“Breakfast,” she told him. “It’s