to do the same. Hey, it was a start for their blood-dripping menus. Andit had been a huge start for me when Iâd needed to rebuild my name as a chef. I also couldnât forget the time Zach had dropped everythingâbefore we were even datingâto drive me three hours to the hospital to see my dad, whoâd been admitted with complications from Stage III cancer. How Zach had calmed me down on the long drive there. How heâd been there for me in every possible way all these months of our relationship. The guy was true-blue and red-hot.
I dropped down on the padded bench lining the foyer wall. I knew that Zach and I were serious, that he loved me, but I had no idea he was thinking about forever now .
I loved Zach. I did want to marry Zach. Later, though.
I knew what happened to brides-to-be. Even my sister had got all freaked out because she couldnât find a wedding dress she liked , let alone loved. Everything was too bridal, too white or ivory, too traditional, too gowny. In the end, corporate lawyer Elizabeth, the one who wouldnât normally give a flying ratâs butt about a dress, drew a pencil sketch of what she envisioned, brought it into every boutique and department store in LA and asked the salesclerks if the shop had something like it. Sheâd finally found the ecru, kimono-style dress of her dreams off the rack in Nordstrom for two hundred bucks. Sheâd lost three days of her honeymoon time to her crazed dress shopping.
Then there was my friend Jules, who without warning six months ago went from being a normal, twenty-eight-year-old small-accessories buyer to the biggest, baddest bridezilla youâd never want to meet. No detail was too small, including thepush-up bras for the bridal party, which had to be special-ordered for $212 so that we would all have the same-shaped boobs in the $400 pale peach silk dresses sheâd made us shill out good money for. No one had seen this crazy Jules coming. I forgave her after the honeymoon, but I did not forget.
Not that there was a chance in hell Iâd become some lunatic bridezilla. I knew that. But a big, honking diamond ring on my finger would be a huge distraction.
Was he going to propose at his sisterâs wedding? Or maybe later tonight?
See, I was already distracted by the ring. I had a dog to walk. A cake to bake for 260 guests, many of whom Iâd soon be related to by marriage.
Holy shiitake.
I needed Sara. Now. My heart beating like crazy, I ran into the living room to grab my cell phone from the coffee table and was about to text her, but this time I did manage to stop myself. Right now the proposal was supposed to be Zachâs secret, unless heâd shared it with anyone. It would be wrong to go blabbing it, even to my best friend.
And guess what was coiled in a basket on the far side of the coffee table, on top of the stack of Vegan Life magazines I was always leaving around for Zach never to read. Charlieâs leash. I clipped it on him, put a note on the fridge that I was taking Charlie for a walk on the beach, then left in freaked-out wonder.
3
T he first time I saw Zach Jeffries I hated his guts. Well, I thought he was gorgeousâtall, lean, muscular, with all that thick, dark, glossy hair and deep blue eyes, impossibly long lashes, and a slight cleft in his chin. But I still hated him. Seven months ago, Iâd been in the middle of teaching my first cooking class, in the kitchen of my dumpy little apartment on Montana Avenue, when a loud, booming noise interrupted my scintillating lecture on the wonders of tofu. Iâd gone to the living room window to find a giant 3-D sign being erected over the beautiful space where Iâd dreamed of one day opening my own vegan restaurant.
What did that sign say? The Silver Steerâcomplete with a 3-D silver steerâs head staring with its dead eyes right into my living room window. Iâd marched right into that space anddemanded to talk to