The Chef's Choice by Kristin Hardy Read Free Book Online

at the first place you go?” he asked, then shook his head. “Never mind, I’ve seen your truck.”
    Cady scowled. “What’s wrong with my truck? It got you here, didn’t it?”
    He put down the head of lettuce and walked to the next stand. “Thank God for small favors.”
    â€œIt’s under no obligation to get you home, you know. Speaking of home, when, exactly, are you going to start buying things? You are going to eventually, aren’t you?”
    â€œMaybe. I don’t know.” He stopped at a vendor selling mushrooms and picked up a deformed orange thing that looked as though it had grown under someone’s back steps. Cady repressed a shudder. Her notion of cuisine ran toward pizzas and burgers, not something nasty that looked like an alien life form.
    â€œIf you’re not going to buy anything then what, exactly, are we doing here?”
    â€œRecon.” He gave her an amused glance. “I want to see what’s out there, what I can get around here. If I can find something for tonight’s special, so much the better. Like these.” He picked up a different mushroom.
    â€œWhat are they?” She stared suspiciously at the pointy, honeycombed fungus.
    â€œMorels. Unbelievable flavor and texture.”
    She watched as he sifted through the pile, hands quick, picking some mushrooms for his bag, leaving others. “I’ll take your word for it.”
    â€œWhat I need now are some ramps,” he said after he’d finished with the cashier. “I’ll sauté them up in a little ragout and put it over a poached haddock.”
    â€œI’m sure they’ll all come running. What are ramps, anyway?”
    â€œWild baby leeks that grow in the woods this time of year. They taste like a cross between onions and garlic. I can’t believe nobody’s got any here. We’ll have to hunt some down.” He started walking again.
    She trailed along after him. “Not we, you. I’ve got a job, remember?”
    â€œHow about you quit and come be my forager? You grow stuff, you’d be good at it.”
    â€œI brought you to the market. Wasn’t that enough?”
    â€œIt would be if it was a real market.” He shook his head. “This is pathetic. Most of it’s from last year.”
    The criticism had her raising her chin. “I told you, it’s too early for fresh produce here. It won’t really get going until July.”
    â€œThe green market in Manhattan had ramps and asparagus and squash blossoms last week.”
    â€œAnd it’s four temperature zones away from us,” she defended. “This is Maine. We have snow until April. We grow what we can. If you want more of a choice, feel free to drive down to Boston. In fact, feel free to keep going.”
    He studied her. “You don’t want me here, do you?”
    Cady opened her mouth, closed it. “It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s my parents’ business and they think you’re the right guy for the job.”
    â€œYou’re evading the question.”
    â€œOkay, how about this? I’ve seen the headlines. I know your style. You don’t fit here.”
    He smiled. “You don’t believe in soft-pedaling things, do you?”
    â€œWhy waste the time?”
    â€œAnd you think you know all about me.”
    â€œGiven all the press you’ve generated, it’s kind of hard not to.”
    â€œNow who’s wasting time?” he countered. “Half of those stories are exaggerations, the other half are outright lies.”
    She folded her arms. “So, what, you didn’t throw people out of your restaurant?”
    â€œOkay, I might have asked one or two people to leave early on,” he admitted. “You’ve got a restaurant, you know how they can be. In fact, I’d be a little shocked if you’ve never thrown someone out yourself.”
    â€œThe customer is