re-prove his goodness to himself. And that was the biggest victory she could imagine.
Jill reached over and touched his face. He smiled a little in his sleep, looking very much like a little boy without his retro glasses on.
She kissed him on the forehead and went in to take a shower. They had to be up at five and report by six. She knew she’d never go back to sleep anyway.
After a lingering kiss which Cole was reluctant to break, Jill slipped out to her room so when the cameras arrived they could film her leaving her room and not Cole’s. But Don, who she didn’t think was such a bad guy now, was down the hall leaning against the wall. He knew – she was aware – but that was fine.
It was a nerve wracking hour where she did her hair and paced her room and gave herself brief moments to relive the night they’d spent together. It hadn’t just been the sex, it was the closeness that kept popping into her head with the most force. It was the intimacy of waking up for brief moments to feel him there next to her and the swell of gratitude she felt for it.
Jill had liked feeling him next to her in the dark. She tried to remember ever feeling that way before.
‘I can’t,’ she said to her own reflection, her cheeks bright splotches of pink from remembering him moving inside of her. ‘I cannot remember ever feeling that way.’
When the knock sounded on her front door she jumped. ‘Coming!’
They filmed the two final contestants leaving their suites with their knives rolled in portable cases. And it was all Jill could manage not to turn – despite the filming – and kiss Cole good morning. He looked a bit tired and tousled but sexy as hell. Completely doable, she realised, and blushed again. She was pretty certain all the women who ended up watching this season of Best Chef would agree.
It was going to be an interesting morning.
Down in the kitchen when everything was prepped and lit, Kat Stephens walked forward and said, ‘Good morning, Chefs. You are our final two competitors. It is down to the best of the best for Best Chef. Are you ready for you mystery ingredient?’
Cole and Jill glanced at each other once, smiled and then in unison: ‘Yes, Kat.’
‘Go on and open your bags, then.’
Next to the host stood a guest judge who looked like a farmer mixed with a fisherman mixed with a woodsman. He was an interesting character for sure.
Jill opened her bag and watched Cole do the same. The moment she saw the bag’s contents she smiled.
‘What you have, Chefs, is alligator. Fresh ’gator meat hunted by Mr Pritchard here.’
‘I’m a hunter,’ he said just a tad stiffly. Someone unused to being filmed. ‘And I’m dying to see what you can do with this here meat.’
Jill had an image of her dish. Creamy but spiced, delicate but hearty to eat. And then she glanced at Cole and remembered her plan.
Alligator stew it was. Not the dish that sprang to mind, something tasty but by no means a winner.
She hurried to the pantry – grabbed some canned tomatoes, some okra, some corn. She found some new red potatoes and some Cajun seasoning. Good but predictable. Cole passed her on his way to a different shelf and eyed her armful.
‘What is that?’
‘My ingredients,’ she said.
They passed each other again and she felt the zing-sizzle of his energy so close to hers. It made her shiver and needful and it also made her excited to see him win.
They passed each other once more by the sink and he made a surprise dodge into her, forcibly – but without hurting her – pushing her to the sink. It looked like they were both getting ready to rinse something at the faucet. Instead, he turned the water on with one hand and then pressed his mouth to her ear.
‘Do not give anything less than 100 per cent,’ he said.
‘I –’
‘You are,’ he growled. ‘I don’t want to win because you threw it. Or because you let me. And the person you are, the chef you are, the woman you are is why
Jill reached over and touched his face. He smiled a little in his sleep, looking very much like a little boy without his retro glasses on.
She kissed him on the forehead and went in to take a shower. They had to be up at five and report by six. She knew she’d never go back to sleep anyway.
After a lingering kiss which Cole was reluctant to break, Jill slipped out to her room so when the cameras arrived they could film her leaving her room and not Cole’s. But Don, who she didn’t think was such a bad guy now, was down the hall leaning against the wall. He knew – she was aware – but that was fine.
It was a nerve wracking hour where she did her hair and paced her room and gave herself brief moments to relive the night they’d spent together. It hadn’t just been the sex, it was the closeness that kept popping into her head with the most force. It was the intimacy of waking up for brief moments to feel him there next to her and the swell of gratitude she felt for it.
Jill had liked feeling him next to her in the dark. She tried to remember ever feeling that way before.
‘I can’t,’ she said to her own reflection, her cheeks bright splotches of pink from remembering him moving inside of her. ‘I cannot remember ever feeling that way.’
When the knock sounded on her front door she jumped. ‘Coming!’
They filmed the two final contestants leaving their suites with their knives rolled in portable cases. And it was all Jill could manage not to turn – despite the filming – and kiss Cole good morning. He looked a bit tired and tousled but sexy as hell. Completely doable, she realised, and blushed again. She was pretty certain all the women who ended up watching this season of Best Chef would agree.
It was going to be an interesting morning.
Down in the kitchen when everything was prepped and lit, Kat Stephens walked forward and said, ‘Good morning, Chefs. You are our final two competitors. It is down to the best of the best for Best Chef. Are you ready for you mystery ingredient?’
Cole and Jill glanced at each other once, smiled and then in unison: ‘Yes, Kat.’
‘Go on and open your bags, then.’
Next to the host stood a guest judge who looked like a farmer mixed with a fisherman mixed with a woodsman. He was an interesting character for sure.
Jill opened her bag and watched Cole do the same. The moment she saw the bag’s contents she smiled.
‘What you have, Chefs, is alligator. Fresh ’gator meat hunted by Mr Pritchard here.’
‘I’m a hunter,’ he said just a tad stiffly. Someone unused to being filmed. ‘And I’m dying to see what you can do with this here meat.’
Jill had an image of her dish. Creamy but spiced, delicate but hearty to eat. And then she glanced at Cole and remembered her plan.
Alligator stew it was. Not the dish that sprang to mind, something tasty but by no means a winner.
She hurried to the pantry – grabbed some canned tomatoes, some okra, some corn. She found some new red potatoes and some Cajun seasoning. Good but predictable. Cole passed her on his way to a different shelf and eyed her armful.
‘What is that?’
‘My ingredients,’ she said.
They passed each other again and she felt the zing-sizzle of his energy so close to hers. It made her shiver and needful and it also made her excited to see him win.
They passed each other once more by the sink and he made a surprise dodge into her, forcibly – but without hurting her – pushing her to the sink. It looked like they were both getting ready to rinse something at the faucet. Instead, he turned the water on with one hand and then pressed his mouth to her ear.
‘Do not give anything less than 100 per cent,’ he said.
‘I –’
‘You are,’ he growled. ‘I don’t want to win because you threw it. Or because you let me. And the person you are, the chef you are, the woman you are is why
Similar Books
