A Cookbook Conspiracy by Kate Carlisle Read Free Book Online

as distinctive as I remembered
     and he was even more adorable, if thatwas possible. “Kevin said you were out here, so I had to come see for myself.” He
     hugged me again and then twirled me around before setting me back on my feet. “This
     night can’t get any better.”
    Over Peter’s shoulder I could see Derek’s eyebrows shooting up. I wondered if his
     reaction was due to his hearing yet another British accent or to the way Peter continued
     to cling to me.
    I eased back from Peter, eager to introduce him to Derek. As they shook hands, I said
     to Derek, “Peter attended Le Cordon Bleu with Savannah and Kevin. And Baxter, of course.”
    “Of course,” Peter said dryly. “Can’t forget Baxter now, can we?”
    “Apparently not,” Derek muttered.
    “Peter and Kevin shared a flat with Baxter and Savannah,” I explained. “They let me
     invade their living room for two long weeks that summer. I was such a pain.”
    “You were sweet,” Peter said, nudging me gently. “We all got to be great friends.”
    “Well, most of us did,” I said, reminded of the ugly sleeping bag incident with Baxter.
    Peter apparently remembered, too, and glowered. “You should’ve let me kill him, Brooks.”
    “I know. Silly of me.”
    “And now you’ve gone and found yourself another Brit. Just to make me jealous, no
     doubt.” He tsked, then winked to make sure Derek understood it was all in fun. “Where
     do you hail from, mate?”
    I smiled. Just as Kevin had done a few minutes ago, Peter was playing the British
     guessing game. His approach was more direct, though.
    “A bit northwest of London,” Derek said cryptically. “And you?”
    “Gipping-on-Plym, one of the tiniest villages in Devon.” Peter’s expression softened.
     “Smaller than your elbow but pretty as a picture. Forty miles northwest of Exeter,
     if you know the area.Middle of nowhere, but we boast a film festival, a rather interesting church museum,
     and a champion tar barrel racing team.”
    “Both Kevin and Baxter grew up there, too,” I explained to Derek.
    “And all three of you became chefs?”
    “Yes,” Peter said. “Odd, isn’t it? But Kevin and I were always talking about food
     and cooking, so we finally decided to give it a go. Baxter just…well, he’s not exactly
     known for his original ideas.”
    “You must have been good chums,” Derek remarked, ignoring the note of bitterness in
     Peter’s voice.
    His eyes clouded reflectively. “At one time we were.”
    Just then, I noticed yet another chef, a gorgeous blond woman whose chef jacket was
     still pristine white, greeting acquaintances at a nearby table. “Peter, who is that?”
    Peter whipped around. “Ah. That’s Colette. Didn’t you meet her in Paris?”
    “I don’t think so. I don’t remember her.”
    “She’s married to Raoul. He’s here, too.”
    “Ah, Raoul.” I definitely remembered Raoul. At the time, I thought Raoul Luna was
     one of the most stunning men I’d ever seen. Picture a cross between Jimmy Smits and
     Antonio Banderas, with Paul Newman’s blue eyes. Tall, dark, and dreamy. Or as the
     French would say,
Tout simplement magnifique
. (That was years before I met Derek, of course, who is far and away the most handsome—and
     dangerous—man in the world.)
    “Lucky Colette,” I said, still watching her. She was glancing around the room now
     as though she wasn’t sure what to do next. She reached for the necklace she wore around
     her neck and twiddled with whatever stone was hanging on it for a minute. Not seeing
     anyone else to talk to, she turned and walked back to the kitchen.
    “I suppose,” Peter said. “They own their own restaurant inFlorida and have a couple of kids.” With a hint of disdain he added, “Raoul is Colette’s
     pastry chef.”
    “Nothing wrong with pastry,” I mused, envisioning Raoul doing…something…with a bowl
     of whipped cream frosting. I quickly shook away the image.
    “No,” Peter said, “but