Party of Three
Ally Cummings may be the only "normal" one in her family, but her love life is anything but. No sooner does she find a stable, secure, predictable guy than she wants out. She's through with romance until she can figure out what kind of man is right for her.Certainly not her new tenant, Ben Gillard, who is the exact opposite of everything Ally's looking for. Suits him just fine. He's sworn off a social life so he can be a full-time dad to his twelve-year-old-son, Danny. And he doesn't need any more women "organizing" his life, especially not the uptight and prim Ally.It's agreed–platonic friends is as far as this will go. Except it's not just his skill with a sauté pan that's creating the sizzle between them….
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Ally fell asleep quickly
She woke a few hours later, her mind churning, wondering alternately whether she and Ben would get along at all or whether they would get along too well. Had she leaped out of the frying pan and into the pressure cooker, so to speak?
Would that be so bad?
She let her imagination run rampant, and the mental images got her so hot she threw off the covers. But while the fantasy of making love with Ben held some appeal, she felt instinctively it would be a mistake to take up with him on the rebound. She needed to figure out where she kept going wrong with men before she embarked on another romance.
Engaging in sex without love would cloud her judgment and delay finding Mr. Right. She was too old to waste time on Mr. Right Now.
Dear Reader,
Just as food nourishes the body, so does love nourish the soul. In Party of Three, Chef Ben Gillard seduces Ally Cummings with food and nourishes her with love. Gradually she rediscovers her passion for life, and in doing so opens up a whole new life for Ben and his son, Danny.
I had a ball writing this book. I was given the opportunity to observe the inner workings of a restaurant kitchen, take part in an olive harvest and spend a romantic weekend in the country with my husband, all in the name of research.
Party of Three takes place in a resort town in my adopted country of Australia. It was a pure pleasure for me to use a local setting. So make yourself something good to eat, pull up a chair and have a few laughs with Ally and Ben.
I love to hear from readers. You can write to me at P.O. Box 234, Point Roberts, WA 98281-0234 or visit me online at www.joankilby.com.
Sincerely,
Joan Kilby
Iâd like to thank Chef James Redfern of Montalto Restaurant
for allowing me to observe his kitchen during lunch service and giving so generously of his time, experience and expertise. Thanks also to the rest of the staff of Montalto Restaurant and Winery for their help in answering my many questions.
Iâm very grateful to George Mistriotis and
his family for a warm welcome and a most enjoyable and informative day on his olive farm.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
EVERY MORNING at precisely seven forty-five Ally Cummings tapped the glass of the antique brass shipâs barometer that hung in her house high atop Wombat Hill. George, who was always trying to psychoanalyze her, claimed she was anal retentive with father issues, but she simply liked to know what lay ahead.
Tap, tap. The needle swung left; the barometric pressure dropped twenty millibars.
Change was coming.
Deep inside, a tiny voice insisted, About bloody time.
Then her eyebrows drew together in a frown and her lips pursed as she brushed that thought aside. She didnât care for surprises.
George walked past, flipping the wide end of his blue silk tie through the loop and pulling it tight. âAre you working late tonight?â
Every Friday like clockwork George asked her that same question. Every week she gave her standard answer. âI have to stay to close the office at eight. Will you be all right on your own until then?â
âIâll manage,â he said and headed for the kitchen.
Ally twisted the diamond engagement ring on her left hand. Ever since George had moved in sheâd had that horribly familiar sinking feeling their relationship was doomed. Surely it couldnât be happening again. George was perfect for herâpredictable, reliable, as wedded to routine as she was. Yet, inexplicably her feelings had cooled.
This wasnât the first time sheâd lost interest once she had the man in the bag, so to speak, but it was the first time sheâd gone so far as to get engaged before dumping the guy. What was wrong with her? She wasnât cruel or callous; she didnât want to hurt people.
She followed George out to the kitchen and put on a pan of water while he read the paper. She wasnât much of a cook but she always made breakfast because she liked her eggs done just so, the whites set and the yolk soft, but not too soft. A lot of people felt like that; it wasnât only her.
George usually fit easily into her routines but today he grumbled when she put his poached egg in front of him. âDonât feel like this. Iâll just have toast.â
âBut, George, Friday is Egg Day.â Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were Egg Days. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were Muesli Days. It was called having a balanced diet. Sundays she left open just to show George she could be spontaneous.
âEgg Day,â he admonished her from behind the business section of the newspaper, âis a construct of your id, an attempt to impose order on a chaotic universe.â
Ally suspected he made things like that up but she couldnât ever be one hundred percent sure. She hadnât spent seven years studying psychiatry, as he was all too fond of pointing out. His perfectly cooked eggs cooled on the plate while he spread boysenberry jam on a piece of wholewheat toast.
