The Perfect Dish Read online

  Cursing himself for stuffing his boot in his mouth, he gave her a half-smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Life does go on. I promise.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. After seeing what Shelby was going through, he understood.

  She grabbed her purse and hooked the strap over her shoulder. “Give me an address and I’ll send her an autographed copy, but seeing me isn’t going to lessen the amount of grieving she needs to do. That’s a very personal thing.”

  He slid to the edge of his seat, his hands itching to grab her and make her listen. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. “I’m not asking you to see her as a patient, just meet her. Give her a few encouraging words. That’s all.” This had gone so much easier in his head. “Please.”

  He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a business card. “We’re having a private shindig at my restaurant Sedona tomorrow night to celebrate the cookbook coming out. Shelby promised she’d come.” He snagged a pen off the table and signed his name on the back before offering it to her. “Just say a few words to her and then enjoy the party. That’s all I’m asking.”

  She took the card and turned it slowly in her fingers as if doing some serious thinking. “That’s all?”

  Bingo. He nodded. Maybe the chocolate was working after all.

  She sliced the air with the card, twin diamonds winking from the band on her right hand. “I’ll come on two conditions.”

  He slapped his thigh. Gram would be so proud. Good ole Texas charm never failed. Well, that and the power of the book’s recipes. “Anything. Just name it.”

  “I’d like to bring two friends with me.”

  “Sure thing. And?”

  She fixed him with a look that said she meant to get what she wanted. Little did she know how eager he was to please. “Make another batch of those chocolates.”

  “You got it.” He’d planned to anyway, just to make sure she kept seeing Shelby.

  “Saturday night then.” Meredith gave him a nod and stood to leave. He stood too, watching her on her way out. She stopped only long enough to have a word with the owner. Kelly heaved out a sigh of relief and fell back into his chair. Mission accomplished. The urge to whoop was overwhelming.

  So what if the good doctor looked like fun was a foreign word - she’d buried two husbands. That had to change a person. Shame, though. A woman with legs like that should get out two-stepping once in while.

  He leaned back and propped his booted feet on the table. What kind of men had the doctor married? Had they died with smiles on their faces? There was a certain something about her—like that tied-up hair and all-business outfit was trying to corral a wild woman. He pictured her in cutoffs and cowboy boots, t-shirt tied at the waist, hair down over her shoulders. He grinned at the image. Highly unlikely the good doctor had ever dressed that way in her life.

  He shook his head to clear the thought. Whatever Meredith was hiding was her business. He wouldn’t deny the good doctor got his curiosity up, but truth was, besides Gram, Shelby was the only woman who mattered in his life. He’d do whatever it took to make sure Meredith helped her.

  Chapter Two

  Meredith ate a bite of croissant. Brunch at Viv’s was an exercise in excess, just like everything else in Viv’s life. The woman didn’t do things any other way.

  Swan, Viv’s amazing housekeeper and all around girl Friday, filled the china cups with fresh coffee. “Eggs coming right up, Miss Vivian.”

  “Thank you, Swan,” Viv said.

  Across the table, beyond the fragrant centerpiece of lilies, Vivian dropped a single cube of sugar into her coffee. The granddame of fundraising took a sip, set her cup back down then spread blood-orange marmalade on half a toasted English muffin.

  Seated between Meredith and Vivian, Celia Barstow Wentworth added two packets of Splenda and enough heavy cream to muddy her coffee.

  “Don’t tell me you’re back on the low carb thing?” Meredith asked. Celia was perpetually trying to lose five pounds.

  Celia stirred her coffee then pushed her honey-blonde bangs out of her eyes. “Yes. I’ve given up spinning. All that pedaling and you never move. I’m over it.”

  Viv laughed. “You look lovely the way you are.”

  “Says the size two,” Celia added, rolling her eyes. “Daddy says I look fine, but mother says no Barstow woman has ever worn a wedding dress larger than a four.”

  “Maybe you should remind your mother no Barstow woman has ever had your net worth either,” Viv said.

  “Or been married without actually having a fiancé,” Meredith added. Poor Celia. She’d yet to date a man who saw past her prodigious trust fund or social standing, qualities that seemed to suit her mother just fine.

  Viv tapped her spoon against her water goblet. “Enough chit-chat. Out with this important news, Meredith. Waiting gives me wrinkles.”

  “Botox not working?” Meredith asked sweetly.

  Viv faked a laugh. Meredith sipped her coffee then set her cup on its saucer. Taking her friends to this party should finally shut them up about her lack of social life. “We have a date this evening.”

  Celia clapped. “How wonderful! It’s about time you went out again.”

  Meredith grimaced at the younger woman’s insinuation. “I meant we as in us.” She swirled her fingers in a circle to indicate the assembled trio.

  “Not a date?” Celia’s disappointed tone mirrored Viv’s expression.

  “Men aren’t poison, you know,” Viv said.

  But I am. “I’m not interested in dating.” Especially not a man younger than me. Meredith gave her head a half-shake but Celia interrupted before she could continue.

  “Please tell me this isn’t another lecture on the stages of grief. I love you, Mer, but I can’t sit through that a third time.”

  “I agree,” Viv added. “I’d rather have tea with those old biddies from the Theater Guild.”

  Meredith refrained from reminding Viv she was the same age as those old biddies. “No lecture. It’s a party.” She stabbed a bite of salmon and feigned disinterest. “A big party, from what I understand.”

  Viv straightened in her chair. “A party or a social event worthy of new shoes?”

  “Hah,” Meredith scoffed. “Like you need a reason to buy shoes.” Years ago when Viv had come to Meredith looking for solace in dealing with her first husband’s death, Meredith had assumed Viv’s voracious shopping was her way of subjugating the pain. Meredith had been wrong.

  Viv held up a hand. “Don’t say another word.” She tapped one manicured nail on the table and narrowed her eyes. “Only two events going on tonight are worth being seen at. The Christian Louboutin trunk show at Bar Nine and that darling Chef Spicer’s book launch party at Sedona.” She lifted the linen tablecloth and stared in the direction of Meredith’s classic black loafers. “I think the odds are good you’re not shopping for a new pair of stilettos, so it can’t be either of those.”

  “Flats are healthier.” Meredith crossed her ankles, tucking her shoes out of view. “How do you always know what’s going on in this town?”

  “It’s my cross to bear.”

  Celia’s eyes held a far away, dreamy look. “Have you seen those billboards? That man is gorgeous. He can cook for me anytime.” Celia fanned herself. “Tell me you got invites to that party at Sedona and I’ll be your best friend for life.”

  Viv raised a brow in Celia’s direction. “A handsome man like that and you’re still thinking of food?” She sighed. “He is quite a dish, isn’t he? Wouldn’t mind a taste of that myself.” She smoothed her sleek ice-blonde bob.

  Meredith shook her head. Chef Spicer’s looks were beside the point. “I can’t believe the two of you, going on like a bunch of teenage girls. Not to mention one of you is married.” She glared at Viv. “He’s young enough to be your son, you know.”

  “Bite your tongue. I’m not that old,” Viv said. “What does age matter anyway? Jack is thirteen years my senior. You’ve
never made a fuss about that.”

  Meredith shrugged. “Why would I? Men mature at different rates. An older man works well with a younger woman. Besides, your husband never acts his age.”

  Viv dismissed the comment with one heavily jeweled hand. “Back to the hot young cowboy. I approve. It’s high time you had a man in your life.”

  Here we go again. Meredith smacked the table top with her palm, rattling the crystal. “Chef Spicer is at least ten years younger than me. And I don’t need a man. You know how I feel about that.” She glanced at Celia. Her smirk put her firmly in Viv’s camp. Traitor.

  Viv pursed her lips. “So how exactly did you get these invitations, my dear?”

  Meredith ground her teeth together. “He sat next to me at the signing.”

  Swan returned pushing a silver teacart. She placed a plate of poached eggs with caviar cream sauce and a petite filet of dilled salmon in front of each of them. Dishes of melon slices and fresh strawberries went onto the table as well as a crystal bowl of crème fraiche. “Enjoy your breakfast, ladies.”

  “Thank you, Swan.” Viv gestured to Meredith with her fork. “I knew that signing was more successful than you let on. There was something in your voice when I talked to you.”

  “There was nothing in my voice. Your hearing is going.”

  After brunch, they moved to the sitting room. Walls of deep coral made the room glow with its own light. They relaxed on the embroidered silk chaises, Celia on one, Viv and Meredith on another, while Swan poured mimosas.

  “What exactly do you plan on wearing to impress your new cowboy admirer at this event?” Viv asked. “Boots and a Stetson?”

  Celia laughed until Meredith shot her a look. “I’m not trying to impress him and he’s not my admirer. I told you he just wants me to give his sister a book.” There was no way a handsome, young—she swallowed. Pointless thoughts. Chef Spicer wanted a book for his sister, nothing more. The feeling was mutual. She would hand over the book, then show her friends she could be as social as the next woman.

  Viv wiggled her French-tipped finger in Meredith’s direction. “If that’s how you went to the book signing, you’re probably right.”

  “Of course not.” Meredith’s hand strayed to her low ponytail. “I always look professional.”

  “Professional or repressed librarian?” Celia chimed in, barely suppressed laughter lightening her voice.

  “Let me guess,” Viv said. “You wore the tan suit and sensible heels.”

  “What’s wrong with that outfit? It’s very nice.” Viv’s accurate guess rankled. Predictability was a perfectly respectable trait. And one that made the bad days easier. Who could think about what to wear when you were trying to find a reason to get out of bed?

  “Nice? Oh, sweetheart, that outfit doesn’t let the real you shine through. It’s completely blah,” Viv said.

  “Blah?” Chef Spicer hadn’t thought her blah, had he? He’d seemed...well, at least somewhat interested. In getting help for his sister.

  “Bet your hair was up, too.” Celia took a long sip of her mimosa.

  “The twist is a classic French hairstyle.” Meredith felt her defenses rising, but couldn’t help it. Hair was hair. Wasn’t it?

  “The twist is a classic, you have to give her that,” Celia said, giving Meredith new affection for the young heiress.

  Viv shot a glance at Celia before arrowing her gaze at Meredith. “Lovey, you’re Irish-Polish. Time to say au revoir to the twist. Men like hair they can run their fingers through.” She grinned like the devil with a new soul. “Grab hold of when they’re in the throes of—”

  “Enough.” Meredith pressed her palms to her forehead. “Again, let me state for the record, I am not looking for a man. I have Jason and he’s the only man I need. And can I remind you that I’ve been married twice? Meeting men was never a problem for me.” She closed her eyes for a brief second against the nearly omnipresent ache in her soul. “It was just keeping them alive.”

  “Honey, your son is a lovely boy, but he doesn’t exactly qualify as proper male companionship.” Viv polished off her mimosa. “How’s he doing at Tulane, by the way?”

  The change in subject was a relief. “Fine. I think he has a girlfriend but he won’t give me any details.”

  “Everyone needs someone to love,” Celia said, her blue eyes sparkling.

  And we’re back. Meredith blew out a soft breath. She appreciated that her friends didn’t see her for the husband-burying jinx that she was. And granted, there were nights when she missed the companionship of a good man. Not that Chef Spicer was in any way that man. No one was. She simply refused to put another husband in the ground.

  Viv set her empty glass down and slipped her arm around Meredith’s shoulder. “Your books talk about moving on after the death of a loved one, but you look like a woman stuck in the past. What’s the cowboy’s sister going to think when she sees you? Maybe it’s time to take your own advice. You know, that bit about ‘investing in your new reality?’”

  Meredith studied her short, unpolished nails. The last time she’d had her hair done was right before Michael’s wake.

  “What do you say we have an afternoon of beauty and make you look like the successful psychologist and best-selling author that you are?” Viv gave her shoulders another squeeze. “Looking good never hurt anyone.”

  Having no desire to be worn down by Viv, Meredith held her hands up in submission. And maybe her pride didn’t mind a little primping for the handsome chef’s sake. She may have sworn off men, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t touch up the exterior a bit. “Nothing crazy.”

  Viv smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Celia clapped, her face a shining beacon of happiness.

  Feeling suddenly afraid, Meredith groaned. No one did personal maintenance like Viv. The woman was a beauty commando. “I’m serious, Vivian. Nothing drastic—”

  “Swan!”

  The housekeeper stuck her head around the corner. “Yes, Miss Vivian?”

  “Ask Marcus to bring the car around.”

  “Yes, Miss Vivian.” Swan disappeared.

  Viv punched a number into the cordless. “This is Vivian. Tell Timothee I have a beauty emergency.”

  * * *

  Meredith stared at her reflection in the salon mirror. “I look ridiculous.”

  “Timothee does not make women look ridiculous.” The man standing behind her chair made jazz hands around her new hairdo, his multitude of silver rings glinting in the salon’s halogen lights. “Timothee makes them divine.”

  He raised a hopeful brow. “Why don’t we show Vivian and see what she thinks?”

  Meredith pursed her lips. She already knew what Viv would think. Timothee could do no wrong. “Fine. Whatever.”

  He flounced out of the room, returning moments later with Viv and Celia trailing behind. Celia squealed. “Mer, you look twenty years younger!”

  Meredith frowned.

  “Okay, maybe not twenty years but still,” Celia corrected.

  “It’s to die for,” Viv agreed.

  “That’s not funny,” Meredith said.

  Viv ignored the comment. “The cut is fabulous. Who knew you had such marvelous cheekbones?”

  Celia nodded. “That color is delish. What’s it called?”

  “Venetian Cognac.” Timothee preened. “With honey highlights.”

  Meredith took a closer look. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. A littler brighter than what she was used to, but it almost matched the color she’d had as a kid. She sighed. The maintenance was going to be a pain. She’d forgotten how much work it was to be girly. “I guess it’s okay.”

  “On to eyebrows and nails. Time’s wasting,” Viv announced before kissing Timothee on each cheek. “Wonderful job, darling. Thanks a million.”

  “For you, Vivian, Timothee does anything.” The stylist fluttered himself with an imaginary fan as they left.

  After Meredith’s manicure and pedicure, Viv corralled t
hem back into the limo and they headed for Barney’s. Viv’s personal shopper, Lizza Bouchon, meet them in the VIP reception area of the upscale department store. Great pots of forced hyacinths wafted their perfume through the walnut-paneled, ivory-carpeted room.

  Lizza and Viv exchanged air kisses. “Hello, Vivian. So good to see you. I understand we have an event?”

  With her cropped bangs and jet-black hair done in a high ponytail, her cat-eye makeup and dark red lips, Lizza resembled a cross between Mortica Adams and Audrey Hepburn with a little Bettie Page thrown in for kicks. Meredith glanced back toward the elevator but the doors had already closed.

  “Yes, we do.” Viv grabbed Meredith’s hand as though sensing her urge to run.

  “Party at Sedona this evening, correct?” Lizza smiled in a sort of this-is-going-to-hurt-me-worse-than-it’s-going-to-hurt-you kind of way.

  “Yes.” Meredith had never seen Lizza in an outfit that didn’t contain the color black. Today’s corset top and leather pants were no exception. “Nothing too wild,” she added, unable to look away from the rhinestone skull belt buckle winking beneath Lizza’s belly button.

  Lizza winked. “Not to worry. We’ll steer clear of the rock star section.”

  Meredith relaxed her shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. Lizza dressed Viv without turning her into a Goth.

  “Right this way, ladies.” Lizza circled her hand through the air like she was ushering them into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. “I have a selection of things set aside.”

  An assistant passed flutes of champagne as Meredith was whisked into the dressing room. Lizza gestured to the rolling racks of clothes against the wall. “Start anywhere you like.”

  Lizza shut the door and Meredith eyed the racks. Lots of color, including alarming amounts of red, but not a speck of tan or gray, her standards. She rifled through the selections, mostly things she wouldn’t have looked twice at on the hanger. She stuck her head out of the room. “Why am I doing this again?”

  Lizza was showing Viv some shoes. Celia set her glass down and walked over. Her voice was low as she spoke. “I know Viv can be a bit pushy at times but—”