Culinary Conflicts

By Robin Reid

Ava Harrison's restaurant was supposed to be her refuge—her dream, her legacy. But when notorious food critic Marcus Lyle steps in and shreds her menu, everything she's worked for feels like it's crumbling beneath her. Determined to prove him wrong, Ava pours every ounce of passion and creativity into reinventing her dishes, hoping to turn her scathing review into a distant memory. The problem? Marcus isn't just any critic—he's arrogant, infuriatingly attractive, and more than a little hard to ignore. As Ava and Marcus clash over every bite, sparks fly in the kitchen, and their tension simmers hotter than a searing pan. Ava finds herself navigating not just a culinary challenge but a fiery attraction that could ruin—or save—everything. Will their conflicting tastes lead to a recipe for disaster, or is there something irresistible brewing between them? With heart, humor, and enough heat to make you swoon, Culinary Conflicts serves up a deliciously unexpected love story you won't want to miss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin Reid
• Release date: Sep 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227869265

Book preview

Chapter 1:

We walked through the kitchen, the clamor of pots and pans a comforting reminder of the daily rhythms that had once brought me solace. The kitchen staff was busy with their tasks, their chatter a backdrop to the silence that had settled over me. I managed a weak smile for the few who looked up, but my mind was far from the friendly faces and bustling activity.

Outside, the evening air was cooler than I’d anticipated. The city was bathed in the golden hues of sunset, the sky a canvas of soft pinks and oranges. Eli and I found a quiet spot on a nearby park bench, away from the restaurant’s immediate chaos. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the breeze ruffle my hair and cool the heat that had built up inside me.

Eli sat beside me, his presence grounding. You’ve put everything you have into this place, he said softly, breaking the silence. Your love, your creativity, your passion. That’s what matters. Not what one critic thinks.

I wanted to argue, to refute his words, but the truth was, deep down, I knew he was right. My heart had been poured into every dish, every detail of the restaurant. I had crafted each menu item with care, hoping to create something that wasn’t just a meal but an experience—a piece of my heart for anyone who walked through the doors.

You don’t understand, I said, my voice breaking. It’s not just about the review. It’s about feeling like everything I’ve worked for is falling apart. I wanted this to be more than just a restaurant. I wanted it to be a legacy, something that made my parents proud.

Eli’s hand found mine, his grip warm and reassuring. Your parents would be proud of you regardless of what any critic says. They’d see how hard you’ve worked, how much love you’ve put into this place. They’d see you.

I turned my head to look at him, his sincerity evident in the gentle lines of his face. Eli had been my rock through so many ups and downs, his unwavering support a constant source of strength. I wondered if I would have made it this far without him.

I don’t know if I can just shake this off, I admitted, squeezing his hand in return. The review felt like a punch to the gut. It’s hard to see past that.

It’s okay to feel this way, Eli said. It’s okay to be hurt and frustrated. But don’t let it define you. Let it fuel you. Use it to push forward, to prove that you’re more than what one person says. You’ve built something beautiful, and that’s not something a single review can take away.

His words were a balm to my wounded spirit, a reminder that while the critique stung, it didn’t erase everything I had accomplished. I took a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill my lungs, and tried to focus on the glimmer of hope Eli offered.

What if I’m just not cut out for this? I asked quietly, more to myself than to him. What if this is a sign that I’m not meant to be a chef, that maybe I should have stuck to something safer?

No, Eli said firmly. Don’t even entertain that thought. You are a chef, and you’re incredibly talented. One review doesn’t change that. You’ve already accomplished so much, and this is just a bump in the road. Keep moving forward.

I wanted to believe him, to hold on to the belief that this was merely a setback, not a sign of defeat. But the shadow of self-doubt lingered, a constant whisper in the back of my mind. I looked out at the park, the world seeming to spin with a clarity I hadn’t felt in hours.

Thank you, Eli, I said, my voice soft but sincere. For being here, for listening.

He gave my hand a final reassuring squeeze before letting go. Anytime. Remember, I’m here for you. We’re in this together.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the park, I felt a small spark of resolve ignite within me. It wasn’t a solution, nor was it a complete fix, but it was a start. For now, I would take Eli’s words to heart and allow myself to process the pain. I would find a way to move past this review and use it as motivation to push forward, to strive for something even greater. The road ahead might be challenging, but it was one I was determined to travel, with the support of those who believed in me.

I don’t know if I can just shake this off, I admitted, squeezing his hand in return. It feels like every part of me is tangled up in this place. How do I move past something that feels so... personal?

Eli’s gaze was steady, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the setting sun. You don’t have to move past it, Ava. You just need to find a way through it. Maybe this review, awful as it is, is a chance to reassess and grow. It doesn’t mean the end, just a different path.

I took a deep breath, trying to let his words sink in. The pain of the review was still sharp, a sting that seemed to cut deeper with every passing minute. But Eli’s presence was a balm, soothing the edges of my turmoil, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this fight.

Do you really think people will come back after something like this? I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The fear of a dwindling clientele, of seeing my dream crumble under the weight of one critical voice, was overwhelming.

Eli’s expression softened into a smile, one filled with the kind of warmth that only comes from a deep understanding. I’ve seen your food, Ava. I know what you’re capable of. One review doesn’t define your entire career. The people who love what you do will still come back. They’ll remember why they fell in love with your place in the first place.

The thought was both comforting and daunting. It was hard to reconcile the confidence Eli had in me with the stark reality of the review. But the idea of letting the review dictate my next steps, of letting it stand as a monument to my failure, was more daunting. I needed to find a way to prove that this was more than just a moment of defeat.

Eli stood up and stretched, a playful glint in his eye. How about we grab a drink and brainstorm? Sometimes the best ideas come when you’re not staring at a problem.

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope in the midst of my despair. That sounds good. I think I need a little distraction.

We walked to a nearby café, a favorite spot of ours that had seen countless conversations, laughs, and late-night confessions. The familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods was a welcome comfort. As we settled into a booth, I could feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease.

Eli ordered two coffees and a selection of pastries, his usual way of ensuring that we had enough fuel for whatever brainstorming session lay ahead. When he returned, he set the steaming cups in front of us and slid a plate of pastries my way, his expression full of encouragement.

Okay, he said, taking a sip of his coffee. Let’s start with what we know. The review was harsh, but it doesn’t mean the end of your story. What can we do to turn this around?

I took a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth spread through me. Maybe we can rethink the menu. I’ve been so focused on maintaining what we’ve built, maybe I’ve been too afraid to experiment.

Eli nodded enthusiastically. Exactly. Sometimes a fresh perspective can reignite that spark. And you’ve got a whole team ready to back you up. Maybe it’s time to shake things up a bit.

The idea began to take shape in my mind. The thought of reinventing parts of the menu, of daring to be different, started to feel less like an insurmountable obstacle and more like an exciting challenge. The initial sting of Marcus Lyle’s review was still there, but it was slowly being overshadowed by a growing sense of determination.

Eli’s enthusiasm was infectious, and as we continued to discuss new ideas and potential changes, I found myself beginning to see the review not as a death knell but as a push towards innovation. It was a hard lesson, one that would take time to fully absorb, but maybe it was also an opportunity to prove just how resilient I could be.

As the café filled with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes, I glanced at Eli, grateful for his unwavering support. Thank you, I said, my voice sincere. For being here, for helping me see beyond the review.

Eli grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Anytime, Ava. That’s what friends are for. And besides, I’m looking forward to seeing how you’re going to turn this around. I have a feeling it’s going to be something amazing.

The evening wore on, and as we left the café, the weight of the review seemed lighter. The path forward was still uncertain, but for the first time since I’d read the review, I felt a glimmer of hope. The journey ahead would be challenging, but with Eli by my side and a renewed sense of purpose, I was ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter 2:

The silence that followed was charged, a palpable tension that seemed to hang in the air between us. Marcus continued to peruse the menu with an air of detached curiosity, as if my presence were a mere inconvenience rather than a crucial part of this encounter. I watched him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face remained an impenetrable mask of cool professionalism. It was maddening, how effortlessly he seemed to dismiss my presence while simultaneously commanding every ounce of my attention.

I forced myself to retreat to the kitchen, where the familiar clatter of pots and the hum of conversation provided a small comfort. But even there, the thought of Marcus loomed large. Every dish I prepared, every ingredient I measured felt overshadowed by the critical eye of the man in the dining room. It was as though his mere presence had the power to alter the very essence of my cooking, turning it into something I feared would never be enough.

Everything alright? Eli’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. He appeared beside me, his brow furrowed in concern. The kitchen’s chaos seemed a world apart from the drama of the dining room, and I clung to it as a lifeline.

I nodded, forcing a smile. Just trying to focus. Marcus Lyle is sitting at table five, and I can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to say.

Eli’s eyes narrowed slightly. I know you’re anxious, but remember why you started this place. You’ve got something special here. Just keep doing what you do best.

His encouragement was like a balm to my frazzled nerves, but it did little to quell the anxiety gnawing at me. I returned to my tasks with a renewed sense of purpose, trying to push away the specter of Marcus’s critique from my mind.

Time seemed to stretch interminably as the dinner service progressed. Each moment felt like an eternity, every interaction with the staff and each dish served a small victory against the gnawing anxiety. I found myself stealing glances at Marcus’s table, trying to discern any hint of his thoughts or reactions. He ate with a deliberate slowness that seemed almost theatrical, as if he were savoring not just the food but the tension he was creating.

When he finally finished, he stood and signaled for the bill. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief mingled with dread. The end of the meal meant the end of this uncomfortable chapter, but it also meant the inevitable return to his harsh judgment.

As I watched him prepare to leave, a sudden resolve took hold of me. If this was going to be my chance to make things right, then I was going to seize it. I approached his table once more, my heart pounding in my chest.

Mr. Lyle, I said, my voice steadier than I felt. I hope you found something to enjoy tonight. I’d appreciate any feedback you might have.

He looked up, his expression inscrutable. For a moment, I thought he might dismiss me again, but then he gave a slow nod. Your determination is commendable, he said, his tone almost begrudgingly admiring. You’ve made some improvements, but there’s still much to be done.

His words were both a balm and a burden. At least he hadn’t been entirely dismissive, but his critique left a sting, a reminder that the road ahead was still long and fraught with challenges.

Thank you for your honesty, I said, forcing a polite smile. I’ll take your feedback to heart.

As he turned and walked out of the restaurant, I stood there, feeling a complex mix of emotions. The confrontation had been brief, but it had left its mark. The taste of his words lingered, mingling with the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to turn his critique into something constructive.

Eli appeared beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the aftermath of the encounter. How’d it go?

I shrugged, trying to muster a sense of optimism despite the lingering sting. It’s a start. I guess we’ll see what happens next.

Eli gave me a reassuring pat on the back. We’ll make it through this, one step at a time.

As the restaurant began to wind down for the night, I found myself lost in thought, grappling with the lingering effect of Marcus Lyle’s visit. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a while, I felt a flicker of determination. If nothing else, I had the chance to prove that this restaurant was more than just a collection of dishes—it was a reflection of my heart, and I wasn’t ready to give up on it just yet.

When he finally finished, he stood and signaled for the check, the subtle motion of his hand drawing a collective sigh of relief from my staff. I watched as he moved with deliberate grace towards the exit, his demeanor unchanged, as if he were simply stepping out of one of his many meetings rather than leaving the scene of his latest critique.

The minute he was gone, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. The frenetic energy that had fueled the evening suddenly seemed to drain from my body, leaving me hollow and drained. Eli was at my side in an instant, his expression a mixture of empathy and concern.

Is it over? he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

I nodded, though my mind was still racing. Yes, he’s gone.

Eli guided me to a quiet corner of the kitchen, away from the busy clamor. Why don’t you take a minute to catch your breath? I’ll handle things out here.

I appreciated his offer more than I could say. Sitting down, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. The tension of the evening had left me feeling raw, exposed. I replayed the encounter in my mind, trying to dissect every detail, searching for any misstep or error. What if I had been too cold? What if my attitude had been the reason for his dismissive behavior?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. I looked up to see Marcus Lyle standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the dining area. He paused for a moment, and I could see the faintest hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

I must say, he began, his tone surprisingly soft, you handle criticism with quite the flair. I appreciate your dedication.

His words were an unexpected twist, and I found myself momentarily at a loss. His demeanor had shifted from the aloof critic to something almost... human. I wanted to believe it was genuine, but the skepticism remained. Thank you, I replied, my voice cautious. I hope my efforts reflect that dedication.

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. Your efforts are clear, and while my previous review may have been harsh, it wasn’t without merit. Sometimes it takes a second look to appreciate the full picture.

I wanted to argue, to defend every dish and every choice I had made. But instead, I found myself searching his face for sincerity. And what’s your take after tonight?

Marcus’s eyes met mine with an intensity that was both unsettling and intriguing. Tonight’s meal was a step in the right direction. Improvement is evident, but there’s still room to grow. The passion you put into your cooking is palpable, and that’s something worth noting.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this unexpected turn. The criticism was still there, but it was laced with a strange form of respect. I appreciate the feedback, I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. I’ll take it into consideration.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning to leave. As he stepped out, I felt a curious mix of relief and disappointment. There was something about his departure that left me feeling unsettled, as though the real challenge was just beginning.

Eli returned, his face a mask of concern. What did he want?

I shook my head, trying to process the encounter. He was... surprisingly fair, I guess. He acknowledged the improvement but still sees room for more.

Eli clapped me on the back, a reassuring gesture. That’s actually good news. It means you’ve got room to grow, but you’re not starting from scratch. Take this as a chance to push yourself even further.

I managed a weak smile, feeling a small spark of optimism amidst the swirling doubts. Yeah, you’re right. Maybe this is exactly what I needed—someone to push me, even if it’s not always in the nicest way.

As the night wore on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marcus Lyle’s visit had marked a turning point, not just for my restaurant, but for me personally. The path ahead was still uncertain, but I knew one thing for sure: I was determined to prove that the passion and dedication I poured into my work were more than just words on a page. And somehow, despite everything, I was looking forward to the challenge.

Chapter 3:

The silence of the dining room felt heavier with every passing moment as I stood by the kitchen door, watching Marcus Lyle. His every movement was measured, deliberate, but the cool detachment in his demeanor was what frustrated me the most. The tension was almost unbearable, the wait for