Exquisite Sand: Ocean Sands Series, #4

By C.J. Miller

Every moment is precious...

The world renowned chef...

In Ocean Sands recovering after a battle with cancer, William Blackwell's under strict orders to rest and heal. But William goes rogue on his first meeting with Stacy Frederick, a newly trained chef, who reignites William's passions. With a new lease on life and hope for the future, William wants to make the most of every minute.

A young widow who needs a fresh start...

Stacy Frederick isn't looking to fall in love again anytime soon. She tries to ignore the attention of William Blackwell, but the handsome celebrity chef has a way of coming to her rescue and making her laugh. Despite William's best intentions, Stacy is determined never to be hurt again.

When William faces a life-threatening problem, will Stacy have the courage to stand by him and take another chance on love?

Exquisite Sand is the fourth full-length contemporary romance in The Ocean Sands series. The books can be read in any order. The others in the series are:

1. Starlit Sand (A Rockstar Romance)
2. Golden Sand (A Billionaire Romance)
3. Midnight Sand (A Billionaire and Baby Romance)
4. Exquisite Sand (A Beach Romance)

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.J. Miller
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386794356

C.J. Miller

***Start reading C.J. Miller's Ocean Sands Series today with Starlit Sand. You can also sign up for C.J.'s newsletter at cj-miller.com.*** C.J. Miller is the author of more than 15 contemporary romances, including the Ocean Sands Series.  She lives in Maryland with her husband and their three children. She can often be found with a book in her hand or writing one at her computer. Join C.J.’s mailing list on her website at cj-miller.com for news about her upcoming books. Follow her on Facebook at Facebook.com/cjmillerromance/ or on Twitter @cjmillerwrites . Contact C.J. at cj-miller.com

Book preview

1

After fifteen hours on her feet, Stacy longed to sneak out of the kitchen the minute she’d stacked the last dry pan. But a dirty dish towel caught her eye, and she’d gone back to grab it to put with the others. Now she’d pay the price for thoroughness. She’d been running the seafood station tonight, and with her white chef jacket smelling of fish, she was stuck participating in another cooking tutorial, this one inspired by her boss’s latest extravagant vacation to the south of France.

Don traveled once a month, and every time he did, he brought back food inspiration from his trip and the determination to incorporate a new dish into the restaurant’s menu. The result was an eclectic, rolling list of specials that hadn’t caught on with their regulars or the tourists. They’d been at this six months, and Stacy kept hoping he’d outgrow this phase.

Don thought the classes gave their restaurant an edge, but since they took place in the early morning when Stacy would rather be heading home, and none of the dishes had become permanent fixtures on their menu, she’d have preferred to be en route to a hot shower and her comfortable pajamas.

Stacy could’ve made an excuse, but if she’d ducked out right after service, she’d have missed William Blackwell strolling into the kitchen of Seashell Eats. Claire, Don’s sister and co-owner of the restaurant, followed close on his heels.

Were William and Claire lovers? Why else would a world-renowned chef be in this kitchen at two in the morning? Claire was private about her life, but Stacy had heard a rumor that she’d previously owned a successful restaurant in downtown Manhattan, but had been bought out by her ex-husband post-divorce. Now she was bent on proving she could be a successful restaurateur without her ex’s help.

In the closet that Claire used as an office, she had a picture of her and William together, but Stacy had assumed they’d only met in passing and the picture had been snapped to memorialize the moment. Guess she should’ve asked Claire and gotten the details. Seeing him, Stacy almost fan-girled William in the most unattractive way, running to him and asking if he’d sign her chef jacket or take a selfie with her. But that was crazy thinking in the wee hours of the morning when delirium outweighed professionalism.

Is that who I think it is? Bianca asked, pointing in the direction of William and Claire. Bianca, the daughter of one of Don’s friends, had been hired a few months ago. Though it was her first chef job, she’d taken to it easily.

William and Claire’s heads were bent together as they spoke in hushed tones.

Luis, the other sous chef, who seemed annoyed to be there at all, glanced over at William and Claire and back to Bianca and Stacy with a shrug. Luis typically worked the restaurant’s brunch and started around four, so getting called in for extra training irritated him too.

A clang of a pot against the stainless-steel counter sounded, Don’s indelicate method of getting their attention. Stacy hated that man’s abruptness. Despite being the executive chef for three restaurants in Ocean Sands, this being his latest, his personality bordered on demanding and rude, and Stacy wondered how he had achieved so much success while being so unlikeable. He’d pitted the chefs against each other from day one, dangling the head chef job over them. When he moved on to open the next restaurant, he would need someone to run the day-to-day operations of this one. She and Bianca both wanted to be his pick. Luis hadn’t weighed in either way. Stacy doubted he wanted the extra responsibility.

Are you paying attention? Don’s voice cut through Stacy’s ponderings.

The noise had also caught William’s attention, and he was looking straight at Stacy. Her cheeks grew hot, and lightheadedness swept over her. His expression was unreadable, but he must think she was a total ditz the way Don was speaking to her. Their eyes connected, and she read sharpness and intelligence in those green eyes. William had a reputation in the industry for being tough but brilliant in the kitchen. Nothing got by William Blackwell, and if he knew Claire and Don at all, he had to know that Don sucked at being diplomatic.

Maybe William was here to replace Don as executive chef.

That was almost laughable. This place was too small-time for a world-class chef like William, and Don wouldn’t hand over the reins to someone bigger-time than him and lose control that way.

Don continued his demonstration on how to cook pastries, but after five hours of prep, a seven-hour dinner service, and two hours of cleanup, Stacy’s brain couldn’t hold any more information. Baking and pastry making had been a struggle in culinary school, and this brought back memories of burnt edges and drooping tartlets.

William and Claire exited the kitchen, walking into the dining room, and Stacy could again focus on Don’s droning voice.

Stacy tried to follow Don’s instructions, but pastry making seemed more like art and magic than baking. She had her dough correct—maybe—and she slid it into the pan, hoping she had the oil and temperature right. If she flopped at this, it would be like Don to switch her to breakfast service, forcing her to make pastries and tarts for hours. That might help her master it, but it would leave customers mighty unsatisfied in the process.

Then William entered the kitchen again, alone, and instead of walking to Claire’s office, he strolled down the line of chefs. He peered over Luis’s shoulder first, nodding in approval, which made sense. Luis dominated in the kitchen for breakfast foods. If he’d wanted to work dinner shift and if he liked paperwork instead of avoiding it completely, he’d be a top contender for head chef.

William made a few encouraging comments to Bianca, who preened and batted her eyelashes at him. Luis’s and Bianca’s pastries glowed a light, golden brown. Bianca glanced at Stacy’s with disdain. Hers looked scorched, clumpy, and thick. Oily too, somehow, as if the butter had bubbled up and spilled over the top.

William stood behind her, and electric currents moved through her body, waking her up, vaporizing any tiredness that had been dragging on her. Her heart pounded relentlessly hard, and though she knew the impossibility, she prayed her next pastry didn’t flop. Through the light burning scent from her pan, he smelled like spices and salt, an utterly delicious combination. Though she wasn’t looking at him directly, he seemed to dwarf her; he was taller than he seemed on television and in his cookbooks. He towered over her by at least eight inches, and she was no shorty at five feet seven.

Sweetheart, you’re on fire. His Southern accent rolled over her, and she shivered.

He felt it too? She’d captivated him? This totally exhausting night had morphed into something from out of a dream!

William took her arm and pulled her back abruptly, and she realized her skillet was on fire, flames shooting out wildly. In a few seconds, he had the fire out, but her pastry was charred black and stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Don waddled over and glared at her. Pay attention! This is the breakfast special next week. How hard is it to get it right?

Humiliation burned through her. She’d botched this, but this was not her forte. Did Don have to yell at her in front of William as if everything she did counted as a screwup? She’d worked hard to be a good chef, and she hated being cut into.

Bianca snorted and rolled her eyes in Stacy’s direction. A criticism of her or Don? With Bianca, it was hard to tell.

Don waved his hand dismissively. We’ll practice again tomorrow. He shuffled away and complimented Bianca on a perfect pastry color. Stacy couldn’t bear to meet anyone else’s eyes. She’d cry if she did. She’d looked like an utter idiot in front of William Blackwell.

Bianca tossed her a smug smile. The biggest factor holding Bianca back from being a shoo-in for head chef was her occasional uppity attitude and general inexperience.

The damage had been done. William would think she was an incompetent moron in the kitchen.

William ducked into her vision, his green eyes piercing her, his brows drawn together. Are you all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was afraid the fire would burn you. I just reacted.

Stacy collected herself. Her throat grew tighter, but bursting into tears would make her look out of control. She had to handle herself and her emotions, as challenging as that had been over the last five years. You didn’t hurt me. I was distracted. By you and your innate handsomeness and larger-than-life presence. When a kitchen god strolled into her midst, how was she supposed to react? Granted, she would’ve fouled up the pastries either way, but it bothered her about a thousand times more under William’s watchful eyes.

William looked at the pan. Making pastry was always the worst for me. One degree off and the whole thing is a disaster.

He made everything on his cooking shows look easy, and learning he wasn’t an expert at every recipe was salve on her ego.

Despite the first impression she’d made, she was a capable chef. Don’s been teaching us new things. I don’t always get it on the first try. If William was friends with Claire, and by extension Don, she didn’t want him to think her inexperience in this specific area pervaded every aspect of her cooking. All she needed was for word to spread of her incompetence, and her fledgling career would be permanently grounded.

William folded his arms. Claire’s asked me to help around the kitchen, so if I see you tomorrow, I’ll teach you some tricks I’ve learned. You’ll get there with the batter. Don’t worry. You’ve got to get the feel of the dough, the look of it. Then it’s easy. But it’ll take at least a dozen tries. It did for me, anyway.

He winked at her, and her heart overreacted. She’d expected him to saunter away in disgust, but he was consoling her. Thank you. I appreciate that. That’s really nice. I’m sure you have a lot to do, though. For Claire. Claire and Don hadn’t mentioned anything about having a celebrity chef around the kitchen. Why not mention it? Hey, team, great news, we’ve got a secret weapon to help pull this place out of its slump!

William shrugged. I’ll be around for about a month to help. I’m hoping to get to know all the chefs. It’s much easier to work together when we understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

She arched a brow at him. You have weaknesses in the kitchen?

I do. You’ll have to find them out for yourself.

Claire entered the kitchen, and William gave Stacy’s elbow a light squeeze. I’ll see you soon.

He strode off to meet Claire, and Stacy touched the spot on her arm where his hand had been. Despite her exhaustion, she felt alight with energy. She had the opportunity to learn from William Blackwell. This utterly difficult job with the low pay and the long hours had just gotten better.

William had returned to Ocean Sands with the strictest orders from his doctor to relax. With his entire life blowing up around him, some of it his fault, he needed the simplicity of the small oceanside town. While he wasn’t the type to hang out on the beach sipping mai tais, he’d slowed down considerably. His health left him no choice in the matter.

He’d put his remaining personal real estate properties for sale, and he was toying with the idea of selling the restaurants. His financial advisor told him it’d be a financial mistake to bail when they were doing well, but William had to change his life. It was a matter of life or death.

The decision to sell the vacation properties had been easy. He didn’t want to think about Maeve and being in those places with her. She’d put her stamp everywhere. Plus, he rarely used them, and they’d gotten to be a headache, more decisions to make, more problems to handle.

Ditching his restaurants, those were a more difficult choice. He could liquidate everything and live out his life in luxury, but what would he do with his time? Sit around and wait for the cancer to come back or for his heart to give out completely?

In his late thirties, he had a long way to go before that happened. At least, he hoped. He’d put his medical scare behind him, and he’d do everything he needed to heal: no screwing around and no playing fast and loose with the rules; more exercise, less red meat, less sugar, less fat, and less stress.

His old friend Claire had asked him to come to her new restaurant and give her some advice. Seashell Eats had been open for almost half a year, but during the busy summer season, the restaurant should flourish. That hadn’t been the case at the restaurant yet and it was mid-June. William didn’t know if Claire had reached out for his business acumen or if she’d heard about the cancer and wanted him to take a step back and slow down. Maybe both, but he’d agreed to come only if he could help around the kitchen.

He hadn’t considered that he’d connect immediately and personally with one of the chefs. It rarely happened to him, but when it did, it affected him as quickly and sharply as a lightning strike.

The chef with the dark hair, she’d known who he was, he’d seen that in her expression and her nervousness, but that visceral and immediate impact had been more than one-sided. Her attraction hadn’t entirely been because of his chef persona. What he’d felt in that kitchen had been powerful and personal.

William’s impulse was to tell Claire to fire the brunette with the fiery eyes. She’d burned the hell out of her pastry, but she had energy and passion. He’d learned to recognize it in up-and-coming chefs, and it’d been a few years since he’d been able to pinpoint it clearly in one. William would prefer Stacy come work for him at one of his restaurants, if he still had any by the end of the year. With a little more experience and guidance, she’d be dynamite, and he could only imagine how interesting her ideas were and how deep they went.

William arrived at Seashell Eats around ten that morning. Day two for him, and he hadn’t gotten around to telling Claire he hated the name of her restaurant. It made him think of eating sand, which left a decidedly negative taste in his mouth. Before criticizing every little detail, he wanted to see what else was going on and maybe slip the sand-mouth impression into his final report.

The attractive brunette, Stacy, arrived a few minutes after him. She’d braided her hair and pinned it up, leaving her graceful neck bare. Burning the pastry had stressed her out, but even William didn’t expect his chefs to master every aspect of working in a kitchen. Every cuisine and every dish had aspects that had to be learned, and no chef alive mastered them all. He wouldn’t question the method. Maybe this was Don’s way of testing the chefs, seeing if they’d rise to the challenge or quit. Claire had mentioned that Stacy worked the dinner shift, and while seeing her lit a fire under him, he wondered if Don’s expectations forced the chefs to keep too long hours.

It’d bothered William that Stacy had looked like she’d wanted to cry on the heels of Don’s sharp words. Her love of her work and her pride in it combined with Don’s expectations formed a combustible mix. William had been frustrated with his kitchen staff before too, but he tried not to demoralize them by yelling or making cutting remarks, especially when they’d just finished a dinner service. All the chefs had looked tired, which wasn’t the best time to teach a tedious new skill like pastry making.

But Don was back at it at eleven in the morning. Looking considerably well rested, three chefs were running brunch service and the crew from last night was making pastries again.

Trying not to be obvious, William stood next to one of the chefs, Bianca. She kept the pastry from burning and the color was good, but her dough was thick and bloated. The chef next to Bianca, a man about forty named Luis, had found a rhythm and seemed to almost instinctively know how to move the dough.

Then William sidled up next to Stacy, who’d burned another pastry into a crisp brown circle the color of cardboard. She glanced over at him. At least it’s not on fire yet. Her mouth quirked into a wry smile.

The mud brown was a new color. He turned the fire down and switched out her pan. Try that.

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she began again. Before she could test the results, Don toddled into the kitchen. There’s a delivery. Get out there. Hurry up. I don’t want the food going bad in this heat. He took a towel from his apron and wiped his forehead.

Stacy and the other two chefs shut off their stoves, slid their pans off the burners, and headed to the back door like well-trained soldiers. William was impressed with how tightly controlled Don kept the kitchen, but he wondered where he left room for creativity. The best line chefs experimented and pushed boundaries, sometimes coming up with an amazing dish in the process.

When William had started out as a sous chef in a small upscale restaurant, he’d had a boss who’d understood that prep work and chopping all day rapidly became endlessly boring and tedious. He’d allowed his sous chefs to try out new recipes and present them to him. If he liked them, they’d likely become the night’s special. As he’d gotten more experience, William had created a number of great dishes, adding to the restaurant’s reputation of being cutting edge and fresh.

William followed the chefs out to the delivery truck. Claire stopped him in the hallway.

Don’t unload that truck, she said, the warning clear in her voice.

William inclined his head. Though he was still rebuilding his strength, he wouldn’t sit on the sidelines as if incapable. Don’t make me out to be weak.

Not weak. But you’ve got to take it easy. Hauling crates of food is not taking it easy.

His scars hadn’t fully healed, and he wouldn’t risk tearing them open, even if standing around and letting the others work made him look lazy. He could unpack the boxes, though, making sure the delivered food met his standards. I’ll go light. I promise.

Claire squeezed his arm. Be careful, William. Don’t overdo it.

At his nod, Claire released him, and he headed out to the delivery bay.

Stacy stood at the edge of the truck, clipboard in her hand, calling out ingredients. The other two counted and opened boxes, confirming the contents. William watched, wondering what motivated them: loyalty to Don, passion for the job, or just utter commitment to getting ahead at this restaurant?

William didn’t know Don that well. Claire’s younger brother seemed like a good guy, and he managed his kitchen well, but the staff who worked for him didn’t seem overly happy. Not that he expected unbound joy, but a couple of the staff looked bored and tired, which would lead to burnout and employee turnover. At least Don’s chefs appeared motivated and passionate about their work, although William caught something in Stacy’s expression, a deep sadness that he guessed wasn’t directly related to the job. No one took their job that hard, and he’d sacrificed most of his twenties and thirties to work.

Perhaps William recognized her despair