with excitement, as he gnawed on the leg of the mayor’s chair. Frankie drew close, cornering him and grabbing him around his abnormally wide girth. She hoisted him up, his little legs still moving as though trying to get traction on the air, and plopped him on Nate’s lap with a growl—it was Frankie growling, not the dog.
Unaffected, Simon snorted happily up at Nate and then took to gnawing on his watch.
“Seems like that’s not the only favor he had to pull to make today happen,” Lexi said, feeling guilty.
“Nah, Nate and Frankie have been trying to kill each other for years. It’s kind of entertaining,” Abby noted.
And if that wasn’t enough, the DOP senior league, huddled around the prosecution’s table, was shooting rubber bands at the junior league, who’d settled themselves primly behind the defense. It was like Iron Chef meets the Hatfields and the McCoys, and somehow Lexi’s dish, and her and Marc’s relationship, were at the center of the feud.
Isabel Stark turned around and saw Abby. Her eyes went wide, and she started waving, with a smile that was both caffeinated and kiss-ass. Just watching her was exhausting.
Abby nodded back. “Oh God. That woman has been calling me nonstop, asking if I need to talk about Richard, wanting to know how I’m holding up, if Nate is looking to settle down.”
“According to Isabel, she’s the F to your BFF,” Regan said, waddling through the doors, one hand on her belly and the other tangled with Gabe’s. “Hey, Lexi, we came to wish you good luck.”
Abby rolled her eyes, and Lexi noticed it was not directed at Regan, but rather inclusive of. Their relationship had been rough at the start, but Abby was genuinely trying to make Regan feel welcome in the DeLuca brood. Lexi knew it was hard on her friend and was proud of the progress she’d made. It was one step closer to her letting go of the past.
“Looks like you’re up,” Marc said, taking Lexi’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Ready?”
“Yup.” She gave a decisive nod.
Both sides had delivered all three courses. Natasha had just finished a beautiful presentation, which would be hard to beat, and taken her seat next to her friends. Now it was Lexi’s turn. She was to approach the bench and stand next to the jury box, ready to answer any questions that the Tasting Tribunal might have. Only she couldn’t seem to get her feet to work. Part of the problem was her shoes. She’d worn them because they were sleek and sexy and turned Marc on, which she’d thought would help her feel a little naughty and a lot kick-ass chef. She’d thought wrong. The only thing her designer peekaboos had helped was the blister forming under her big toe. The other part of the problem was sheer nerves.
It had taken three pep talks, two sex marathons with Marc, and a plate of éclairs to relax her enough so she could walk through this door. Now, after seeing that half of the town had turned out—mainly the retired half—and that Natasha had gone more traditional, Lexi decided that her appetizer was too edgy, her rolled boar loin too gamy, and her chocolate-or-bust bonbons too small and that she might not win this thing. And if she didn’t win—well, she couldn’t think about that right now.
She’d put herself on that plate, and that was all that mattered. Or at least that’s what she told herself as the five judges studied the dish in front of them. Well, four judges studied while the fifth was busy growling at a cork-sized dust bunny and nipping at the mayor’s ankles.
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Rose said, her voice booming though the microphone and giving a screech of feedback. The room went silent, and all two hundred sets of eyes turned to Lexi. Who forced a smile.
Mrs. Rose was on the far side of eighty, a fire hydrant of a woman who loved hunting and guns, and when dressed in black robes with a gavel she could easily be mistaken for the Honorable Judge Pricket—who was male. Something Lexi had done once in the eleventh grade and hoped never to repeat again.
Mrs. Rose poked at Lexi’s first course. “Is this raw? My Barney died eating raw fish.”
“Raw?” Isabel Stark said, rising to her feet, hand over her chest. “We can’t serve raw fish. There are several pregnant women from Mommy and Me coming. They can’t eat raw fish.” She looked at the junior league