“That went okay, didn’t it?” Susa asked.

  “Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”

  The other chefs took their places as the judges went through the entries. Spencer’s entrée looked like lamb with some kind of potato side. He wore the same noncommittal smile that Nate had had when he stepped back in line, both of them trying hard not to give anything away.

  Finally, the judges stood up and left the room, going somewhere to confer and maybe swallow a few antacids. Nate walked toward us. He looked more tired than he had before, his smile fading when he got to the chair I’d saved for him. Before he could sit down, he was intercepted by Madge and Coco who both hugged him with broad smiles. Nate pushed his lips into something like a smile again, but I had the feeling his heart wasn’t really in it.

  Oh, hell. Maybe the questions hadn’t gone well. Maybe he’d already heard the results or had reason to think he knew what the judges were going to do. He gave his mom another hug, then sat down beside me and Susa.

  “How’d it go?” Susa asked. “You look great, by the way.”

  I gave him a quick hug, pressing my lips to his cheek. “What she said.”

  Nate sighed, running a hand across the back of his neck. “They asked me about the sauce on the chops, and they were intrigued by the rose petal jam. But Spence did rack of lamb with a rosemary crust and duchess potatoes. I can’t compete with that. We don’t have the resources at Robicheaux’s.”

  “Of course you can compete with that,” I said loyally. “It’s not about how expensive the food is, it’s about how well prepared it is. And yours is super.”

  Nate gave me a very faint smile. We both knew that wasn’t entirely true. “Thanks, babe, but I’m okay. I think we’ll place, but I don’t think we’ll win.”

  And who knew how Bobby would react to that.

  The door at the back of the room opened, and the judges filed in again. “Gotta go,” Nate murmured, hastening to his place at the front.

  I took a breath, squaring my shoulders. Nate could always be wrong. His pork chops could have blown Spence out of the water, which would be great for Nate and not so great for Spence. Focus, dammit. I was supposed to be sending positive vibes to Nate, not worrying about Spence’s future at High Country.

  The announcer stepped to the microphone, and my shoulders tensed. “First of all, we want to thank you all for attending our fifth annual Best in Shavano.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Get on with it.”

  “The judges have made their choices in all the other competitions. You’ll find ribbons at each booth and lists of all the winners are posted outside.”

  “Hey,” Susa said. “Want to go see if you won?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t. Not this year. I want to stay here and see how Nate did.”

  The announcer turned to the assembled chefs. They were all still in their chef’s coats, but some of them had pulled off their hats. Nate and Spence, though, were still wearing their full uniforms.

  “The judges have awarded prizes in three areas: entrées, sides, and desserts. We’ll only announce the first place winners here, but the others will be posted outside. So let’s get underway.” He opened an envelope, pulling out a sheet of paper. “And the winner for entrees is…” The announcer did a British Baking Show pause, grinning. I felt like strangling him.

  “Spencer Carroll and High Country Restaurant,” he said.

  Nate kept smiling. So did everybody else. I guessed all of them had probably figured rack of lamb would cancel out whatever they’d chosen to do. Spence stepped forward with a big grin, and the judges shook his hand, murmuring what looked like compliments as they did.

  “Okay. So rack of lamb wins. No biggie. Nate can take the sides.”

  Susa glanced at me, then kept her focus on the announcer.

  “Best sides. The winner is…”

  I decided the announcer deserved to die. Or at least have his tie stuffed down his throat.

  “Spencer Carroll and High Country Restaurant.”

  I sighed. Spence had done duchess potatoes and haricots verts. Again, high ticket items. Maybe the competition should introduce categories so the expensive restaurants would compete against each other and the places like Robicheaux’s would have a better shot.

  Nate’s smile seemed fixed now, and my heart ached for him. He’d put in so much time, worked so hard developing those recipes. And he’d gotten nothing.

  “Now the all-important dessert category. You know what they say—life is uncertain, eat dessert first.” The announcer looked around as if he’d come up with that quip on his own. I gritted my teeth.

  Nate raised his head, not really trying for a smile this time, but managing to look pleasant.

  “And the winner for desserts is…”

  Death. The man deserved death.

  “Nathan Robicheaux and Robicheaux’s Café.”

  Nate stared at him for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard what he’d heard. Tal Nguyen from Jade Garden pounded him on the shoulder and even Spence managed a smile. The announcer I’d been consigning to perdition just a couple of minutes ago handed Nate a trophy, and Nate finally let himself grin.

  It wasn’t the entrée, but it was still important. Maybe even more important, given that a lot of people went to Robicheaux’s for dessert and coffee. And my jam had been part of it. I’d helped. I grinned at Nate as we applauded, and he gave me a particular kind of grin in return.

  That was when I remembered: his dessert had also convinced me to go to bed with him the first time.

  A winner all around. Maybe our mojo had helped to put it over the line. It was worth a repeat performance. Maybe tonight.

  Chapter 27

  We headed to Dirty Pete’s for a celebratory beer after the competition was finished. The three of us were joined first by Madge and Coco, and then by Harry, who divided his time between the table and the bar where he was working. Uncle Mike slid into a seat beside Madge, whom he watched with hopeful eyes.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I liked Madge, but I loved Uncle Mike. If she broke his heart, I might get cross with her. Still, I thought Madge had a gleam in her eye when she glanced in Uncle Mike’s direction. It might work out after all. We’d have to wait and see.

  Spencer Carroll came in a few minutes later with his two awards. I tried to feel annoyed with him, but he was so happy it was hard to keep any resentment going. He had indeed nailed down his place at High Country, at least for the time being. And Nate seemed genuinely happy for him. If Nate could be magnanimous, so could the rest of us.

  Spence couldn’t stay long because he had to get dinner started at High Country. He high fived Nate over their awards, then ambled off across the street. After he’d left, I saw a vaguely familiar guy at the bar, taking a martini from Harry. The guy glanced at our table, then paused, frowning before he grabbed his martini and walked toward us.

  I was a little nervous about that frown, but so far as I knew I hadn’t done anything to piss anybody off recently. Not counting Evelyn Davidson, of course.

  “You’re Nate Robicheaux, aren’t you?” he asked when he reached tableside.

  Nate turned to him, then put down his beer. Apparently, he recognized the guy. “That’s right.”

  The guy placed his martini carefully on the table, then extended his hand. “I wanted to let you know those were superlative pork chops.” I finally placed him: the chef from Aspen who’d been one of the judges.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Nate smiled a little tentatively. Harry bent forward on the bar so he could hear better.

  “I voted for you on all three dishes,” the chef continued. “You almost won on the entrée. But I couldn’t convince the others in the end.” He shrugged, his mouth twisting in a sour grin. “Some people will always go with what’s expensive instead of what’s tasty.”

  “This is Roxy Constantine.” Nate nodded at me quickly. “I used her apricot jam on the chops.”

  The chef glanced at me without much interest, then returned to Nate, pulling his card from his wallet. “If you’re ever interested in moving to a bigger market, let me know. I can always use a talented chef.”

  Madge’s smile faded as she regarded the chef with something like loathing. If she’d been Medusa, the Aspen chef would have been stone.

  “Thanks again. I’ll keep it in mind.” Nate tucked the card into his pocket as the chef took his martini toward the back of the room.

  Madge took a swallow of her beer, very deliberately not looking at her son.

  “Don’t worry, Ma. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “At the moment,” Coco muttered.

  I decided to ignore both of them. Maybe they had a right to be worried, but this was Nate’s day, and I wanted him to enjoy it. I picked up my beer. “Here’s to you, Nate. You nailed it, just like we knew you would. Congrats.”

  Everybody else raised their bottles, too. “To Nate.” Susa grinned. “I can’t wait to taste those pork chops myself.”

  Nate gave her a slightly rueful grin back. “I may have to come by your house to fix you one. They aren’t on the menu at the café.”

  “Yes, they are. They will be. They’ll be a special sometime this month.” Madge gave Nate a fierce look.

  “With Roxy’s apricot jam? The apricot jam made the dish.”

  “Of course. If you’ve got any apricot jam for us to buy, Roxy?”

  “Sure. As much as you want.”

  “Good. That’s settled. Come on, Coco, I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Coco looked as if she might have preferred to stay, but she shrugged. “Okay.” She moved over to Nate, kissing his cheek. “You did good, bro. Congrats and thanks.”

  I frowned as I watched them go. “Thanks for what?”

  “For taking on Bobby and winning. Although I may not have won all the way yet. The market specials we’ve been doing have sold well, but Bobby’s still not convinced anything at the café needs to change. Still, we get to tweak the menu a little more, and that’s a definite plus.”

  “Good for you, then. And good for the café—it’s going to appeal to a new bunch of customers, without losing the old ones.”

  “And we’re buying your jam.” He grinned at me. “Did I tell you what the judges said about the crepes?”

  “What?”

  “They said the combination of flavors was like nothing they’d ever tasted before. The guy from Denver said it was like eating a bouquet. In a good way.”

  Uncle Mike swallowed the last of his beer. “Better be getting home myself.” He looked out the window where Madge and Coco were climbing into Madge’s car. “Got stuff to do.”

  I tried to read his expression but I couldn’t entirely. Longing was involved, though. “Okay. I’ll be home later.”

  “Take your time.” He smiled at Nate. “Celebrate.”

  “We will. I’ll make sure she gets home okay.”

  I noticed he didn’t specify which home he was referring to.

  “Well, I’m not leaving,” Susa said. “I want another beer.”

  Harry set up more beers for all of us, then sat down at our table again as the door behind us swung open.

  Chief Fowler walked in.

  It might have been my imagination, but the room seemed to go quiet for a moment. Harry stiffened, and I wondered if he was worried about possible liquor law violations.

  “I’m off duty.” Fowler gave us one of his half smiles. “You all can relax.”

  “Good to know,” Susa said. “Join us.”

  I gave her a wide-eyed stare, but she ignored me. Fowler dropped into the chair beside her, removing his Stetson. “Competition over?”

  I nodded toward the trophy. “Yep. Nate won for dessert.”

  “Congratulations. You serving the winning dessert at the café?”

  Nate shook his head. “One of a kind. I used Roxy’s rose petal jam, and there’s none left. I’ll buy up all she makes next fall, though. Exclusive production.” He gave Fowler an intense look.

  I had a weird feeling there was some kind of silent dialogue going on between them. Then I decided it was probably my imagination. “How’s the police business?”

  He shrugged. “Same old. Normal.”

  Normal meaning no murders, which struck me as desirable. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  He gave me another half-smile. “That’s good.”

  One of the customers at the bar leaned over Susa’s shoulder. “Roxy Constantine, right?”

  “Right.” It took me a minute to recognize him. Man bun. Vintage T-shirt. Oh, yeah, the guy who’d wanted to have a conversation. “You were at the booth earlier.”

  “Yeah. When I came back, you weren’t there.”

  “We closed down a little early today. Because of the competition.”

  “Oh, right. The competition. Congratulations.”

  I narrowed my eyes. He hadn’t said anything to Nate so far or even looked at him. “Congratulations?”

  “On winning. The pepper peach. I actually wanted to buy a couple more jars of that if I could.”

  “She won?” Susa stared up at him. “Roxy won the jam contest?”

  “Yeah.” He gave me an incredulous look. “You didn’t know?”

  “I forgot to check.” My cheeks flushed because what kind of idiot forgets that she’s entered in a big contest?

  “Rox, that’s great!” Nate put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick hug. “Is it too late to pick up your ribbon?”

  “Probably. I’ll do it tomorrow.” I turned to the man bun guy. “You want some pepper peach? I can go get you a couple of jars.” I figured he deserved something for giving me the news. I might never have found out otherwise.

  “Actually, I needed to talk to you.” The guy pulled out one of the empty chairs and slid up to our table.

  Both Nate and Fowler stiffened slightly, but I figured he had a right to join us. “What’s up?”

  “I’m Toby Hartshorne. From Gold Plate productions.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. Nate gave it a narrow-eyed glance as I dropped it into my purse. “We do a show on Food Network called Sweet Thing, and we’re going to be filming here next month.”

  My pulse promptly began to thunder in my ears. “Yeah, I’d heard that.”

  “Usually we do restaurants and ice cream parlors, but I’d like to include your jam. Maybe shoot at the farmers market. Assuming the market’s okay with it.”

  “I think I can guarantee the market would be fine with it.”

  “Well, good. Would you be interested?”

  “Definitely. I’m definitely interested. I’ll talk to the market management and set it up.” I dug around in my purse until I found one of the business cards I give out once in a blue moon. “That’s my cell. Just give me a call next week.”

  “Great. I’ll get the wheels in motion and then we can discuss how to go about this.” He gave me another smile. “About that pepper peach.”

  “I’ve got a couple of jars in my truck. I’ll get them for you.” I pushed to my feet.

  Hartshorne stood up, too. “I’ll walk there with you. Maybe you can suggest a good place for dinner. With a dessert, of course.”

  “I’ll help,” Nate said quickly. “I’m good with restaurant recommendations.” He moved beside me, taking my hand.

  Hartshorne shrugged. “Fine.”

  I glanced at Susa, a little concerned about stranding her with Fowler. She gave me a small, curving grin. If anyone could handle the chief, it was Susa. Assuming, of course, he wanted to be handled.

  We hiked to my truck where I got Hartshorne his pepper peach. Nate directed him to Moretti’s, which really did have a good tiramisu and decent cannoli. Then he put his arm around my shoulders again. “You want to go out for dinner? Or I can make cacio e pepe at my place.”

  “Your place. We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

  “We do at that.” He grinned. “You’re going to be on TV.”

  I grinned back. “A famous chef offered you a job. Sort of.”

  Nate shook his head. “I wouldn’t take it. I’m not ready to enter the rat race again.”

  That left open the question of what he’d do when he was ready, but I ignored it for now. “Still, it’s good to know the one pro on the panel thought your stuff was the best.”

  “It is. And it’s great to know that your pepper peach ruled. We should have checked it before we left.”

  “I didn’t want to. I figured I lost. Good to know I didn’t.” I glanced up as we rounded a corner. “Where are we going?”

  “To the café. I need to pick up some pecorino romano. I’ve got everything else I need to fix dinner.”

  I followed him into the kitchen, then paused. Bobby stood near the prep table, putting some containers into the refrigerator. Probably prep for tomorrow’s brunch. Nate stepped up beside him, reaching for a large container of cheese.

  “What do you need?” Bobby asked.

  “Romano. Just a cup or so.” Nate put the container on the prep table, then reached for a storage bag.

  Bobby propped his hip against the table, watching Nate spoon cheese into the bag. “Heard you won that contest.”

  “Dessert.” Nate shrugged. “High Country took it for entrées and sides.”

  Bobby nodded slowly. “Mom said one of the judges came over to tell you he liked your chops.”

  Nate blew out a breath. “Yeah, he did. It was cool.”

  Bobby looked squarely at his brother. “You did good today. High Country’s a big time, upscale restaurant. We’re comfort food, one step up from a diner. You nipped at their heels. Good for you. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” Nate looked a little stunned.

  “I’m still gonna fight you on the menu.” Bobby turned to the refrigerator.

  “Yep.” Nate picked up his cheese. “I figured you would. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.”

  I glanced at Nate as we turned toward my truck again. “Progress?”