Fire In the Kitchen by Donna Allen Read Free Book Online Page B

to the bench it was intrusive, and Cassidy knew it was going to be a big distraction when it was her turn to cook. Others were focused on the lighting, the sound, and even the positioning of the food items on the bench. It was hard not to watch as the competitors were made to stop, start, and often repeat what they’d said in different ways to mean the same thing: louder, softer, faster, slower. Smile. Don’t smile. It was a cooking minefield. Were they auditioning to prove they were great chefs or to film a soap drama?
    “Ok, cut,” a woman Cassidy assumed to be a producer called out. She watched as a crew member snapped down the yellow and black stripes of the digital clapperboard.
    “I’m melting, I’m melting,” an overweight judge said, wiping his fingers down his face. He showed his hand stained with makeup to the audience of hopefuls, who laughed appropriately at his dilemma.
    The producer indicated for someone to touch up his face.
    Cassidy took the opportunity to inconspicuously make her way to the viewers’ stand, ignoring rude stares from other competitors as she joined them to wait her turn.
    She recognized several popular chefs among them. She knew she looked like she’d been through the dishwasher and hosed down with the dirty dishwater. In contrast, they had crisp white jackets, checked trousers, and pretentious attitudes. She thought the female competitors might be more understanding, but they were worse. One even moved farther down the bench when Cassidy sat near her.
    Dante was there, the only friendly face. He waved and her heart hiccupped. She recalled how good her hand had felt in his as he’d rushed her along. She couldn’t help admiring the way he appeared so cool, as if he hadn’t made it there against the odds. How did he manage to look so good after the punishing elements? His wet black hair was slicked behind his ears, a few loose strands fell in sexy defiance. He’d obviously tidied up using his fingers instead of a comb and a mirror. His jacket was only damp, but it clung to his skin and flattered his physique. She wondered what it would be like to slide her hand inside the front buttons of his shirt and feel if his skin was as cool and firm as she imagined. Her gaze travelled up to his face and she was embarrassed to discover he’d caught her out. Their connection held as delicious moments that seemed like hours passed.
    His name was called. The invisible line joining them snapped.
    Chefs close to Dante patted him on the back and the remaining few applauded as he sauntered into the large fridge room. A couple minutes later, he came out with a full basket and made his way to the main stage.
    It took longer for him to audition than Cassidy would have thought possible. Cameramen shot him from every angle and asked him the same questions more than once. Unfazed, he followed their directions until it was time for him to start cooking. Then the time was all his.
    The chefs before him had introduced themselves to the judges and described their accomplishments before they’d started to cook. The judges had asked a few questions and flustered many of them…but not Dante.
    Dante smiled at the judges, who welcomed him as if he needed no introduction. The compère had fiery red hair and looked as if she really knew him, speaking to him as if he were the only one in the room and they had a romantic history.
    “It’s a real pleasure to have you here today, Dante,” she said. “Of course we all know who you are and your area of expertise is Italian cuisine with a fresh local touch. What do we have the pleasure of you preparing for us today?”
    “A tasting platter.” He smiled, and Cassidy felt her stomach tighten. As she watched, he meticulously laid out his knives and ingredients. The chefs around her spoke in loud awed whispers.
    “We’ve had it.”
    “How does he expect to prepare six things on a tasting platter in fifteen minutes?”
    “How can we expect a chef like him to do any