Piece of Cake

By DS Roi

Iona Huffing is nobody’s fool. With her heels planted firmly in family values and expanding her business as the Executive Chef of Huffing Kitchen, she’s well on her way to the future she’s worked hard to build for herself. It hasn’t always been easy as a single mother, but the Huffing way is to move forward with love, dedication, and a solid work ethic. When the father of her son pop’s up out of nowhere after eight years, Iona is left to face the demons.
Bartholomew Montgomery-Tate promised to love his sweet Iona for the rest of their days. Dreams of marriage and children have danced around in his head ever since leaving the city of Weynor. After a life of mistakes, he only has one way to happiness. The determination to reconnect with Iona and establish a relationship with his son sends him back to Iona’s doorstep where promises and lies change his world forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D Storm Novels
• Release date: Feb 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780990872030

DS Roi

DS enjoys sweet romances of multicultural origin where love and lust smolder on the page. These romances are a part of the D Storm Novels S.P.I.C.E collection where slow and steady wins the heart.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iona set the plate in the window, wiping the rim to clear away any food spills.

Service.

The Milway wait staff appeared at the service window and grabbed the entrée for table forty-two. Iona shifted her focus to the next ticket.

Fifty-eight. Last table. One seafood plate. Petite filet mignon, medium. Cherry pie with vanilla whip cream requested with the entrée.

Mama Huffing called back the order. Iona cleaned the counter at the service window. She moved into the heart of the kitchen and started to mix the ingredients for the crab cakes. The garnish and side times were called out to make certain the entire meal hit the plates simultaneously.

Mama grabbed a pan and started the scallops. Iona put the sauce along the bottom of the plate. She topped each crab cake with sautéed spinach and perfectly grilled greens. She readied the filet on a smaller side plate and inspected both parts of the meal for her standard. Mama Huffing decorated a medium ramekin of Huffin’ Muffin cherry pie, topped with a fluffy roll of whipped cream.

The complete meal was set in the window. Service, she called out.

Delilah stepped to the window. One wisp of wavy orange hair had fallen out of her bun and into her face, drawing attention to her large blue eyes. Dinner’s done, she chimed, flashing a smile and taking the plate.

Great work tonight, Team. Everyone was smiling when Iona turned around. Congratulations on completing our final public service of the season.

The staff cheered and clapped. She flashed her mama and the three other chefs a big smile. Okay, so, let’s all take twenty. Afterward, we’ll start clean up and prep for the final event tomorrow.

They hooted and began to file out the side door into the cooler night air while she and Mama chose to stay behind in the kitchen. It seemed that the majority of staff in her business had the habit of smoking. She guessed cooks just couldn’t resist the temptation of fire.

As a single mother, she fretted far too much about being around for her boy to pick up any bad habits that would toy with her life. She’d passed it off as being a good role model, but in truth, the thought of anything happening to take her away from Jo was unbearable. If she could control exposure to bad things, she’d avoid them. Simple as that.

Iona sighed, yanking a stool from under the stainless-steel table to sit next to Mama, taking out her phone.

Good job, baby, Mama commended, patting her hand. Iona sighed, thankful to be off her feet, if only for a moment.

Thanks, Mama. Why don’t you go home and let us clean up and prep for our last day?

Mama shook her head. I need this here work tonight with the big day tomorrow. I won’t get a bit of sleep ‘less I work myself worn out.

Iona chuckled. Okay. I understand. She started texting her son’s sitter.

I’m sure Josiah’s sleeping by now, honey.

Oh, Mama, you know I gotta see about my boy. She waited a few minutes before getting a picture of Josiah’s sleeping face. His wild blond curls frizzed around his tawny complexion. Look. She tilted the phone. He’s sleeping like a baby.

Mama leaned over to view him, smiling. A day in the pool is all it takes.

Iona chuckled. The pictures are adorable.

Mama patted her shoulder. One last time before Texas does him good.

I wish I could have been with him.

We’ll all be together soon enough. Mama rolled her eyes in exasperation. I am not looking forward to that plane ride.

Iona giggled. Josiah will hold your hand.

Baby, if God meant for this old lady to fly, he’d given me wings.

He did, Mama. It’s called a seven-forty-seven.

It was Iona’s turn to pat Mama’s hand. The kitchen staff returned, ready to finish the cleanup. The space was organized and wiped clean. Iona had her team moving into prep when Delilah entered.

Chef Huffing?

Iona tossed the last of the dirty linens in the basket before pivoting to the polite voice of the server. Yes?

Our last guest of the evening insists on having a word with the head chef.

Iona glanced to Mama.

We’ve got this under control, baby. Go’on see about your customer.

She nodded and left Mama with their staff.

I’m sorry to pull you away from your work, Chef. The young waitress spoke as they entered the catwalk leading from the Milway mansion’s larger stable kitchen to the smaller kitchen of the main house. I tried to figure out if he was dissatisfied, but he’d eaten his entire meal.

Iona smiled. I’ll get to the bottom of the problem. If he shorts you on a tip, I’ll bump it up the standard twenty percent.

Thank you, Chef. He’s on table fifty-eight.

Right. Seafood plate, filet and cherry pie. Iona nodded.

Delilah smiled. Thank you, Chef.

Iona left the young woman at the doorway and entered the dining space of the Milway. The mansion home had been remodeled a few years ago after a fire devastated most of the property. The owner fashioned the building into an event center and restaurant.

To her left was an opened dining space with glossy wood floors. The staff was gathering the table lanterns, pulling the linens and wiping the chairs. The grand staircase off to the left of the space was flanked with long chandeliers which sparkled in lines of crystals. Iona absolutely loved this house and fought a knot forming in her throat at the thoughts of what tomorrow would bring.

Hey, Chef, the bartender called to her right, slowing her stride. The bar dominated the wall space just outside the kitchen entry. Its surface shined under the expert polish of the barkeep.

Hey, Mark. When you’re done cleaning up, check out the kitchen fridge. CeCe sent tiramisu for you and the family tonight.

Oh man. He raised his wiping cloth to the center of his chest, pressing it against his dark shirt. Just like mama used to make. An adoring smile crossed his handsome face. Please, send my regards to CeCe for taking the time.

I will. She continued her journey towards the double doors leading to the tables on the back patio of the mansion. The backyard of the Milway was lit up in the blackness of nightfall and busy with workers toiling through the night. A large canopy dominated the furthest end of the massive lawn. The stage took up most of the right of the canopy. A row of standing bleacher steps was on the left side.

Her heart lifted for moments, knowing she would be standing on the front rows of the canopy tomorrow, facing the beauty of the house.

Workers were setting rows of white chairs along the lawn. The busboy entering the space was kicking down the door stops. Cool dewy air seemed to float like a blanket into the dining hall. She crossed the threshold and drew a breath heavy with the scent of rose, gardenia and a familiar cologne. The smile on her lips failed. She pivoted to the table with a sudden base drum in her chest. The man seated there wasn’t facing her.

He didn’t have to.

The tension zipped her spine when she analyzed the dark blond haircut. The familiar line of his shoulders through his suit tempted her fingers to curl into her palms. She swallowed, remembering the last time she gripped that generous spread of hard flesh.

Bartholomew Montgomery-Tate, she said.

The rise to his feet seemed to pass in slow motion. He pivoted, making her look up to his towering height. The light streaming through the sheer white curtains of the dining room windows cast shadows against his features. His eyes met hers.

Grey-blue.

Devastating.

Good evening, Iona. Or, shall I say, Executive Chef?

The breeze skirting against the night air wasn’t enough to cool the heat of Bart’s skin. He thought he’d be able to face Iona, tell her all the words he’d rehearsed.

He never got this nervous in front of the toughest judges in his county. Seeing Iona nearly knocked the wind out of him. The moment he locked into her grey-gold eyes his stomach did a jitter, making speaking beyond his first words challenging.

He took the few beats of silence between them to run his gaze along the thin frame of a woman. Her honey-kissed chocolate waves were pulled back from her lightly tanned face into a slick bun. The executive chef uniform was pristine to the point it didn’t look like it was the end of her shift.

You look great, he said.

I know, but thank you. She entwined her fingers in the front of her uniform, lifting her chin and setting her jaw in the confident fashion he always found sexy. How may I help you?

I wanted to compliment you on serving one of the best meals I’ve had in many years.

Thank you, sir. The Milway seeks only to provide the highest standard of service. She gave her professional spiel.

If you would like, there will be a website printed on your receipt along with a QR code for your convenience. You can leave comments there as well. Our management is diligent in reviewing them. Thank you for dining at Huffing Kitchen. Have a pleasant evening.

She spun on her heels, shoulders upright and spine rigid.

Chef, there is one more thing you can assist me with.

She paused.

I would like a chance to speak to you concerning a more private matter.

Oh? Iona shifted towards him at her leisure. I’m not certain I understand, Mr. Montgomery-Tate.

Please, Iona, Bart will do.

Mr. Montgomery-Tate, she insisted, speaking his name slower and taking a step forward. Please make this interaction as swift as possible. My staff is shutting down the kitchen and prepping for an important event. I would like to supervise the process, so the diners tomorrow have the same pleasant experience as you.

He should have known she wouldn’t make this easy. Easy was never Iona’s style. I want to see my son.

I’m sorry, sir, what did you say? She raised one brow, her glare hardened into a wall of impenetrable defenses.

My son. I want to see him.

Sir, you don’t have a son. She squared her stance. Bart could have sworn her spine couldn’t get any straighter, but he was wrong. The Huffing-attitude exuded from her stance. I have a son.

She pointed a perfectly shaped nail between her breasts. I have a wonderful little boy I’ve put all my love and effort into and you have nothing. She swiped the hand through the air, waving her palm his direction a moment before settling the hand on her hip. The same thing you had when you left Weynor.

Bart took a step forward unwilling to let her ice him down. I know leaving you the way I did was wrong, but I had to. There wasn’t an opportunity in Weynor for me. Not like there was for you. I had to go. I needed to focus on my career, complete my studies and land in a good law firm.

Iona sucked in a breath. Well, I’m glad everything worked out for you. She lifted the hip-hand, shifted her weight to the other leg and opened her palm skyward to gesture down the length of him. You seem to be doing well for yourself.

I am. He smoothed the front of his suit and peeked around. It seems you’ve done the same. I always knew you would. Is this your permanent place?

The Milway is a seasonal restaurant. I’m here during the warm months to provide for events.

If you’re here, who’s watching our son?

She shifted her stance. I’m surprised you would even know what sex my child is. You didn’t seem to want to stick around long enough to show any interest in what the future held for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a kitchen to run. She moved to the door.

Bart puffed out a breath of air. Iona, if you walk away from me now, I’ll follow you into that kitchen and we can continue to have this discussion in there, he knitted his brow, in front of everyone.

Her head snapped his direction. The anger shot at him like fiery knives as she ground her teeth. We have nothing to discuss.

He hardened his tone, We have a son, Iona.

We don’t have a son. You’re not his father.

I did a bit of research before I came. He crossed his arms over his shoulder and glared at her. I know you named him after my grandfather.

Her eye’s rounded. He knew that look: the fear of being caught in a lie.

Bart leveled his gaze to hers, certain to keep his law-school poker face. I know Josiah was born in Weynor Regional Hospital exactly thirty-eight weeks after I left Weynor. If you carried him the forty weeks it takes to go full term, then I know exactly where and when my boy was conceived.

Her stare turned to steel. He didn’t think her chin could get any higher in her defiance. Good, then I don’t have to tell you anything about my child you don’t already know, Mr. Montgomery-Tate.

He may have cut through her game, but he wasn’t going to break through her ice with a hammer. He took a breath to cool his frustration. I want to see Josiah, Iona. Can I see him?

She clenched her hands.

I’m not trying to pick a fight with you, Bart blurted.

He inwardly cursed her defenses and his idiocy. Her beauty slapped him in the face too hard to notice a ring initially. If Josiah really wasn’t his son, then he damn well wanted to know who the boy belonged to. He cast a gaze over her fists, seeing nothing. Then again, she probably wouldn’t wear a wedding ring when handling food.

Cherry, he called her by his pet name, why won’t you let me see him? Are you with someone else?

I have as much room in my life for men right now as you had for me when you left Weynor.

Sorry, I just thought… He trailed off.

What? She tilted her head to one side, all fire and spice. You thought I’d wait for you? You thought since I got knocked up, no one would want me?

Iona, don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t mean any of that. Bart rubbed at the back of his neck and spied the fan rotating at the ceiling a moment. Dammit, Cherry, I’m here now.

She narrowed her eyes. Good for you, but I don’t need you now. Have a nice night, sir.

She started for the door to reenter the house.

If you don’t want me around, that’s fine. But, I have a right to see my son. Bart’s tone didn’t slow her stride. Ms. Huffing, I have a legal right to see my son.

She placed her hands on her hips and faced him. I think I’ve made it perfectly clear, you are not the father of my boy. She made a shooing motion. Go back to your rich-brat lifestyle. For all I care, you can die in the hole you crawled out of.

Iona, you can’t keep him away from me. He’s mine and I want to see him.

Her eyes narrowed into daggers of contempt. Then you should have signed his birth certificate.

The words socked him in the gut, leaving him speechless as she marched out of view.

Chapter 2

Iona spent the entire night tossing in her bed. She gave up on sleeping and readied herself for the day’s event. The sun was finally peeking in through the window of the bedroom she’d known since she was a child. As much as she loved Mama’s house, she’d worked hard and saved every bit of cash she could. Now, she was proud to own a home for herself and Jo.

She could hear Mama shuffling about the hallway. It didn’t take long before she peeked into the opened bathroom door with rollers in her hair.

Baby girl, are you okay? Mama Huffing asked from the bathroom door. You’re up awful early.

Oh, Mama, don’t worry. Iona let the comb settle on the sink while she braided her curls into one long cord to prevent tangling before the stylist showed. It’s a big day for all of us.

Did you sleep well?

She smiled. Not a bit. I don’t quite know how to go about things today.

Mama chuckled. Well, be grateful you only got one sister.

Iona laughed. Yeah.

I see that little rascal found his way into your room last night.

The memory of Josiah sneaking into her bed left her smiling. It’s okay. He’s just as excited about today as the rest of us.

Well, all right now. I’m gonna get him cleaned up. The movers will be here soon to take care of his room.

Thanks, Mama.

Mama Huffing left the doorway.

Iona sighed. Of all the days for Bart to stumble back into her life, he’d pick the night she needed sleep the most.

The memory of seeing him haunted her rest. The moment he’d faced her, her belly filled with heat and jitters. She’d turned him down several times in his pursuit to date her as teenagers. He was irresistibly handsome and hadn’t changed a bit.

She’d forgotten how the blue in Josiah’s eyes was a near match to Bart’s. His wispy blond curls were a darker honey compared to the large blond waves of Bart’s hair. She knew her little boy was beautiful and perfect, but he’d gotten so much of it from his father. Bart’s GQ looks might have reminded her that she had a libido, but his words froze her heart. My son. I want to see him.

His son? His! What in hell had he done to deserve to be in Jo’s life? He’d left eight years ago without so much as a phone call. It wasn’t like Mama had changed their number. I wasn’t like he couldn’t Google her name and see all the press she’d earned over the years striving to the position of head chef. All while mothering her son.

And where was he?

That bastard.

Mama calling out to Jo broke the angry haze she was falling into. Iona sighed. She hadn’t slept a wink, but today wasn’t a day to be angry. It was a happy day. An exciting one. Negative emotions would have to wait.

A quick scan of the room confirmed the space empty of any supplies she’d need once they reached their second home.

It didn’t matter Bart was in Weynor. After today, she and Josiah wouldn’t be.

The sun blaring through the window felt like hell. Bart blinked rapidly against the rays until his focus settled on an opened bottle of scotch and an empty glass. Balls of tissues were spread over the table.

He cursed.

He never was able to withstand much alcohol and was a lousy emotional drunk. Somehow he’d worked his way into the sun-room. He must have been chasing visions of Iona around the house, visiting every place he had a chance to indulge in her passion.

His head was pounding. It took far too much effort to sit up and the room wasn’t spinning. Thankfully, he hadn’t hammered himself too severely. He managed to reach the kitchen, gobble a few pain pills and shove himself into a decent shower. He reveled in the water, raising his head to swallow a few swigs every now and then.

What have I been doing for the past eight years? He could have sworn he’d convinced himself it was the right thing. But, it didn’t feel right. Not last night in front of Iona, certainly not today. I gotta see her.

He cleaned himself up with a shave. His tailored suit and a pair of dark shades would be enough cover-up to avoid suspicion of his post drunken state. Most people didn’t get beyond what they saw, and he looked well put together. He slid behind the seat of his Mercedes and headed for the Milway Mansion House.

He expected to be able