He was the kind of annoying that got under your skin and made you want to scream. It was like being in the mood for guacamole only to discover that someone had taken all your deliciously ripe avocados. Or, worse, taken them and made their guacamole out of those avocados and now people were saying it was better than yours. That was how annoying Greg Clary was. Ana Raquel stared at the sign hanging from the rustic building at the Condor Valley Winery in the fall afternoon. The hand-carved square of wood said only Café. So simple, so right. While she’d been off studying the art of cooking, Greg had been working his way up the kitchen ranks right here in Fool’s Gold. Six months ago he’d opened Café in his uncle’s winery and the restaurant was getting rave reviews. Everyone was talking about it. And Greg. After graduating from culinary school, she, too, had worked in restaurants, but hers had been in San Francisco. After a couple of years, she’d discovered that while she loved making delicious food for people, she didn’t love working in a restaurant.
