THE COMPETITION.

“You,” Chef François Beauvau, host of the popular television show The Making of a Chef, said as he pointed at Emma. "Step forward.”

Twenty-six-year-old Hugh Mancini’s heart was beating triple time. He’d been here for eight long grueling days. The competition had started with 22 contestants and, after today, only two would remain.

“And you," The middle-aged chef said, pointing at Hugh.

Hugh let out his breath.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow morning at nine a.m. sharp,” Beauvau said sternly. “Good luck, Chefs.”

Hugh's nerves were raw, his muscles tight. He started for the elevator when he felt someone touch his shoulder, stopped, and turned around.

“I can’t believe this,” Emma gushed, throwing her arms around Hugh’s neck.

God, he wished he’d met her under different circumstances. “I know. I feel like—”

“Like you're dreaming?” Emma finished. “Wanna hang out for a while?”

Say no, Hugh, the voice in his head told him, but instead answered, “Sure. I’ll meet you in front in twenty."

“Perfect."

Emma was Hugh's type: the girl next door with perfect skin, huge expressive eyes, and dark hair. And that slow southern drawl made him even more attracted.

He found her sitting on a step in front of the complex.

“I love Tulsa," Emma said when Hugh sat down beside her. “Don’t you?”

“I haven’t seen much yet.”

“Well, let’s take care of that," she said as she bounced up from the step.

God, she was pretty with a dynamic bubbly personality. Dressed in a light pink sundress, her shiny hair ended halfway down her back.

“I’ve never seen your hair,” Hugh commented.

“You thought I was bald?”

“I mean you...what I meant is it's always," Hugh stumbled over his words, "pulled back or up...or—"

“I was kidding.” Her thick accent made every word sound musical.

“This girl has a sense of humor," Hugh said, making Emma laugh.

As they made their way around a heavily wooded path they chatted about where they lived, to when they knew they wanted to be a chef, to the burning desire to win this competition.

Emma nodded down the street. “I know of a little bistro where we could sit on the patio and watch the world go by.”

“I’m game.”

After they were escorted to a table shaded by a soaring sycamore tree their waiter asked, “What can I get you two?”

“I don’t know about you,” Emma said to Hugh, “but I’d love a glass of wine."

“I could handle that. You have a house merlot?" Hugh asked and quickly added, "wait.” He looked to Emma. “Is red okay? Or do you prefer white?”

“Merlot sounds good."

“Two merlot’s it is,” Hugh ordered. After a few seconds of silence, Hugh said, “Emma. This might sound a bit but…” he stopped.

She leaned over the table toward him. “I hate buts.”

“I’m...it's just that...I'm extremely attracted to you.” Embarrassed by his confession, Hugh felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Whew!" She slapped a hand over her chest. "And here I thought you'd probably be a no-show after I threw myself at you today."

“Are you saying—"

This time, Emma blushed. "I'm kinda fond of you, too. However—”

"I hate howevers."

"However," Emma repeated, "We need to stay..."

"Focused," they said at the same time.

They spent the next hour-and-a-half getting to know each other, sharing stories about some of the strange things that had happened in the past week.

"I couldn't believe the guy from Tennessee," Hugh said.

"I know. The guards carried him out screaming and kicking when he was eliminated." She lowered her voice an octave, "Better watch your back, Beauvau!" God! He was nuts.

Emma looked around as if she was about to tell Hugh a top-secret. She leaned over the table toward him. "You think that's bad, two of the girls in my dorm got into a catfight. One jumped on the other one's back and started pulling her hair."

"You're kidding, right?"

"The girl she jumped on started prancing around the dorm trying to buck her off but the one on her back kept slapping her butt shouting Giddy-up, fat ass."

Laughing, Hugh asked, "So what did you do?"

"I taped it," she said flatly.

"You just sat there and videotaped it?"

"No, I didn't just sit there," Emma said seriously. "I followed them with my cell."

Hugh covered his face with his hands, trying to stop laughing.

When the sun started to set, and Hugh noticed Emma’s wine glass was empty, he said, “We need to get back. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.”

“Good idea. I can only handle two glasses of wine anyway.”

“What happens after two?”

“Maybe I’ll find out when this competition is over.”

“What floor you on?” Hugh asked when they reached the complex.

“Second,” Emma answered. “You?”

“Fourth.”

When the elevator doors parted, and Emma started to step out, Hugh caught her by the arm. “I really want to kiss you.”

“And I really want you to.”

Hugh leaned into her and kissed her briefly.

“More please," Emma said, parting her soft lips.

This time the kiss was intense as the passion had built over the past week. “Emma, if I don’t stop, I—“

“I know.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

If he had Emma's cell number he wouldn’t have the strength not to call and ask her to come up to his dorm. But if they were caught on tape, and they would be because there were cameras everywhere, they’d both be eliminated.

A little past nine Hugh heard a knock. Thinking it was someone from the cleaning service, he opened the door. Seeing Emma, his mouth dropped open. "What are you—"

“Shhh.” She grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the hallway. “There's no cameras out here."

“We can’t do this.”

“I’ll go after one kiss," Emma said, adamantly.

Hugh gently guided her back against the wall. He kissed her neck, her forehead, and the palms of her hands.

As he ran a hand down her thigh, he stopped abruptly. “Please, Emma. If you don't go, I won't be able to stop.”

After Emma left, Hugh couldn't sleep. He paced, went out on the lanai, and turned on the television but nothing worked. Not only was he a finalist in the competition of a lifetime but was falling for his number one competitor.

The next morning, Emma and Hugh were at their stations well before nine.

They would prepare three courses today. The first would be their choice for the main course, the next would be a salad to pair with their entrée, and the last would be a dessert they’d make using two pears.

In the first round, Hugh was the winner with his Coq Au Vin against Emma’s grilled lamb chops with ammoglio sauce.

Hugh followed Emma back to their stations. “Sorry, Emma," he said quietly so no one else would hear.

Emma whipped around, her eyes staring daggers through him. “About what? You honestly think you’re going to win?”

Her words hit him like a bolt of lightning, leaving Hugh tongue-tied.

The thought crossed his mind that maybe Emma had baited him. Maybe she sensed he was attracted and tried to take him off his game.

This next round Emma’s roasted sweet potato and kale salad sprinkled with sweet and spicy pistachios won.

It was one-to-one going into the final round of the competition.

Should Hugh do everything in his power to win or give Emma the chance of a lifetime? No matter what he did he’d pay a price. He blew out an anxious breath.

“Chefs,” Hugh heard and his stomach balled into knots. “It’s time.”

Emma went first with her red wine poached pears.

The judges raved about Emma's dish, commenting that the pears were perfectly poached and the sauce rich, yet delicate.

Hugh’s heart pounded as he handed over his chocolate crémeux with poached pears and pecans.

“Both desserts were superb,” Beauvau finally announced. “Unfortunately, there can only be one winner." When he paused, it seemed as if the world stood still.

"Chef Hugh Mancini," Beauvau shouted boisterously. "Congratulations. You're this season's winner of The Making of a Chef. ”

“Emma,” he called out when he saw her run up the aisle. Hugh started after her when Beauvau shouted, “Hugh,” I need to see you in my office immediately.”

Torn between what he wanted to do and what he should do, Hugh followed Beauvau.

Twenty minutes later, Hugh stood. He was a mess. “Thank you, sir. This is an unbelievable offer. Can I get back to you later today?"

“No problem.” Beauvau came around to the front of his desk. “Don’t take too long to decide, son. This is a helluva opportunity.”

As soon as Hugh left Beauvau’s office, he took off running. When the elevator took too long, he threw open the door to the stairs, taking two at a time to the second floor. Running down the hallway he called out Emma’s name, not having a clue which room was hers.

“Sir?" Hugh heard and stopped at an open door. “Can I help you?"

“Emma?” Hugh asked breathless. “Do you know a girl named Emma?”

“Emma left a bit ago.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Just said she needed to go for a walk,” she answered.

Jack flew down the stairs, and raced out the front door, praying he’d find her in the park.

“Emma,” he called as he jogged the trail. “Emma!”

When he spotted her sitting on a bench, Hugh sat down next to her. "I was worried about you.”

Emma’s eyes red and swollen, she shook her head slowly back and forth. “I’m so ashamed.”

Hugh cupped her face in his hands. “Emma, I’m crazy in love with you.”

“How can you love someone so self cent—”

“So loveable? So beautiful? So caring?” Jack put his arms around her and pulled her close. “What man wouldn’t fall in love with you?”

“I thought maybe this...we...were temporary. Like when you meet someone on vacation and never see them again.”

“I don’t do flings.” Hugh pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Oh, God, Hugh. I thought I’d ruined everyth—"

"Stop." He stood. “Come on." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. "We need to have another chat over a Merlot.”

“I tried to lose,” Hugh said as they headed for the bistro.

Emma slapped him playfully on the arm. “You did not.”

“I thought about it.”

Their laughter echoed through the park.

“I’ve been offered a job,” Hugh said.

“Where?”

“Here. In Tulsa.”

“Good offer?” she asked.

“Great offer. I can hire who I want ‘cuz I’m the boss.”

“That right?”

“I was thinking—“

“Don't say it as it's not going to happen," Emma interrupted. "You and I working together is a recipe for disaster.”

"How about we live together?"

"Slow down, cowboy."

“But think of the dinner parties we'd have," Hugh teased. "People would beg to be our friends."

Emma giggled. "Ya think?"

"I wish we could celebrate over a bottle of Shafer or Pahlmeyer but it hurts my feelings when my card is rejected.'

"This boy knows his Merlot."

"Any chance you might have that third glass of wine?" Hugh asked sitting at the same table shaded by the sycamore tree. "You know, like you said, just to find out what you might do?”

“Nah. I know exactly what I'm going to be doing tonight."