Molly O'Keefe - Dishing It Out

Dear Reader,

For those of you who have read my books, you might have noticed that I love food. My characters all share my food obsessions—they find comfort in chocolate and peanut butter, they recognize the beauty of bacon and they know that a Mi Fiesta burrito really is the perfect food. I know that this isn’t a healthy obsession. I have tried to cultivate the same feelings for carrots and apples, but frankly, they just aren’t as delicious.

For me, part of loving food comes from cooking and I learned from some great cooks over the years working as a waitress and prep cook. Those jobs also gave me a front-row seat for the theatrics of a professional kitchen. The romances, egos and creativity—there was never a dull moment. The seed for this story was born watching behind the scenes of a good brunch rush.

Since all the chefs I have known are passionate, creative and driven people and sparks always fly when they fall in love, Dishing It Out made perfect sense. Sparks certainly fly between Van MacAllister, my half-Scottish, half-Italian chef, and Marie Simmons—Anna’s sister from Pencil Him In, Flipside #15—a woman with a small, but growing, cooking empire to protect. I hope you enjoy their story!

Check out my Web site at www.molly-okeefe.com. You’ll find some of the recipes Van and Marie make in the book. And please share some of your favorites!

Happy reading,

Molly O’Keefe

“Look who’s on the cover of the Weekend Magazine.”

Marie looked at the magazine her producer Simon held up. Van MacAllister was staring at her in full-color, glossy arrogance.

“That’s great,” she lied, feeling certain she sounded convincing. “Good for him.” She tried to ignore the giant spike of irritation she always felt about Van. With his new restaurant across the street from her own, he had single-handedly made the past six months of her life even more strained and tiring.

“You’re not still upset about what he said in the Examiner, are you?” Simon asked.

“I’m not upset.” She shrugged and unclenched her fists. She’d sworn she wouldn’t wallow in her anger over him. “I mean, just because he called my bistro a ‘cute little coffee shop’ in an international paper, why would I be upset?” Marie felt a rant approaching and knew she had to stop before she scared Simon. “So why are we talking about Van?”

“This is big, Marie. Exciting.” Simon paused to grin outrageously. “Meet your new cohost!”

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Molly O’Keefe grew up reading in a small farming town outside of Chicago. She went to Webster University in St. Louis where she graduated with a degree in Journalism and English and met a Canadian who became her college editor, and later her husband and tennis partner. She spent a year writing for regional publications and St. Louis newspapers, before she began moving around the country and writing romance novels. At age 25, she sold her first book to Harlequin Duets, got married and settled down in Toronto, Canada. She and her husband share a cat and dreams of warmer climates.

HARLEQUIN FLIPSIDE

15—PENCIL HIM IN

HARLEQUIN DUETS

62—TOO MANY COOKS

95—COOKING UP TROUBLE/ KISS THE COOK

To Sinead, Maureen, Mary, Michele, Susan and Teresa for the advice, food, booze, ideas, laughs, sympathetic ears and constant, steady and crucial support. You make this process a joy.

I can’t thank you enough, ladies.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

“CHOCOLATE IS SEXY,” Marie Simmons said, smiling into the eye of the camera. “It should taste good, smell good and yes—” she spooned berry coulis over the top of a gorgeous flourless chocolate cake “—feel good. Remind you of anything?” She arched an eyebrow and the studio audience laughed, giving her a few moments to stall. She shot the camera a smile and then scanned her workspace for the mint while she blathered on about sexy food. Mint! There it was, under the bowl of raspberries. She broke off some leaves and pressed it into the cake’s fudgy soft center.

Running out of time, she told herself. She’d have to scrap the homemade whipped cream, though it was gorgeous.

She lifted the warm cake, tilting it toward the audience and the camera. She smiled in what she hoped was a cool and confident manner. “Good food doesn’t just feed the body, it feeds the soul.”

She winked and the crowd cheered.

Martha Stewart ain’t got nothing on me! Marie howled inside of her head. She managed to keep herself from doing victory laps around the stage. Another great and mostly disaster-free segment of Soul Food done.

Marie caught sight of the floor manager, Roger, in the shadows past the lights, frantically gesturing for Marie to tilt the chocolate fondant up more so the camera could have a better angle. “Up,” he mouthed, lifting his hands in slow motion.

She shook her head. Any more angling and the cake would be all over the floor. But Roger was getting red in the face so she tilted the plate and hoped it would stick until the cameras were off.

I finally get a segment with no fires, short circuits, broken dishes or blood and I am going to ruin it by dropping a cake on the floor.

Roger yelled, “Cut!” and Marie sighed, putting the plate back on the counter. The miniature kitchen set that Soul Food called home was suddenly swarmed with men and women dressed in black, wearing little headsets. They had ninety seconds to clean her set, break it down and get it out of the way for the rest of the live morning show.

There was so little time or room for error. It reminded Marie of being in a kitchen during a dinner rush. Live TV was like jumping out of a plane, and sometimes cooking on live TV was like jumping out of a plane with a possibly faulty parachute.

Marie unhooked her mic, took off her apron and ran backstage, getting out of the crew’s way. Her segment producer and good friend, Simon, was waiting for her in the wings with a bottle of water and a giant grin.

“Great show, Marie!” he whispered.

“Thank you, Mr. Producer,” she said and, feeling a huge gust of affection for him, bent down to kiss his shiny bald head.

Good old Simon. Six months ago he turned his addiction to her lemon bars and lentil salad into a monthly gig on AMSF, the most popular morning show in the Bay Area. Three months ago, they gave her another half-hour slot and now she was on twice a month.

“Coming through!” A woman carrying a giant cat for the next segment came running past them.

Showbiz, Marie decided, is definitely for me.

She felt alive here, fully on top of her game. She didn’t feel like she was pretending under those bright lights. Even when things went wrong, like the grease fire two weeks ago, she felt in charge and in control. If not a little singed.