Place Setting

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

More from Claudia Mayrant

About the Author

By Claudia Mayrant

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Copyright

Place Setting

By Claudia Mayrant

Cameron Dunlop has lived in the Lowcountry town of Summer Corners, South Carolina, his whole life. He loves his home, but his little town in the Deep South doesn’t offer much in the way of dating options.

Chef Gray Callahan has enjoyed success in the kitchen, but his last relationship sunk like a bad soufflé. When plans for his sister’s wedding go awry, it provides the perfect excuse to pack up and go home, where he can help out as he decides how to start his life over.

Gray’s path crosses Cameron’s, and he realizes together they might have all the ingredients to save the day—with maybe enough left over for something sweet just for the two of them.

States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.

To my beach house friends—

thanks for the love and laughter.

Chapter 1

Philadelphia

GRAY HAD the music blasting and his phone muted so he wouldn’t hear it in the unlikely event Matt tried to call and change his mind while Gray was packing. Even though he was determined not to answer, he’d been fantasizing about how the conversation could go:

Gray, I’m so sorry. I know things didn’t work out between us, but I can’t run the restaurant without you! Where can I find another chef who cooks like you? Please stay. Do whatever you want with the menu. We need more Southern fusion, not less, and I’m sorry for what I said about grits.

An apology from Matt was impossible for a thousand different reasons, but it struck Gray that since they’d broken up at New Year’s, Gray was way more upset about leaving Barigoule than he had been about leaving Matt. For one thing, it wasn’t the restaurant that had been caught with his hands down their liquor distributor’s pants. For another, having his own kitchen—his own successful restaurant kitchen—had defined him far more than being Matt’s boyfriend ever had. Being in the kitchen made a chef feel alive. Maybe that was a cliché, but it was true. Gray always knew exactly who he was in the kitchen, not like the rest of his life, where he felt he was being squeezed into some Matt-approved shape. In retrospect, that subconscious rebellion had probably been behind the menu tweaks Gray had been making, the smoky brine of salt pork in the mignonette, collards alongside the cassoulet. The customers had loved it, Matt less so.

They’d tried to make it work as business partners after that, because Matt was a weasel and Gray was overly committed to proving he wasn’t the type to slink off after being cheated on in his own damn restaurant. It hadn’t worked, though. Matt had been determined to bring his new guy around at every opportunity, asking for his opinion about everything from drinks to the new menu items to the fucking lighting in the dining room until Gray got snappish and Matt snapped back and more than one screaming match left Gray fuming before dinner service.

Gray finally had to face that it wasn’t going to work, and all their future plans were going down the drain too.

He turned the music up when an angry song came on. He sang along—yelled, really, because he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Besides, breakup songs sounded better that way. Gray was so into his own revenge flights of fancy, where he was a James Beard-winning, Michelin-starred celebrity chef and Matt was left running a Hardee’s by a truck stop, that he didn’t hear the banging on the door until the song was over.

Oops, he muttered and then yelled out, Sorry, didn’t know anyone else was home!

The next knock was nearly as emphatic, so Gray cut the music before he opened the door, a neighborly apology on his lips.

I’m so sorry, he started before he realized it wasn’t someone from the building but his pastry chef—or rather his former pastry chef, considering Gray was now unemployed.

My friend, you have looked better. That was hard to hear from someone who looked like Anthony Mackie in The Avengers and was almost as fit, even though he worked in a high-calorie profession. Devante shook his head at Gray’s sorry state. Lucky for you, I brought snacks. He held up a white paper bag that had telltale translucent grease spots at the bottom.

Gray inhaled, taking in the sweet scent of ginger and citrus. He reached for the bag. "Not sure how your tarts are gonna make me look better, but I’ll take them. Come on in and have a seat, uh. Gray looked around at the mess and shrugged. Have a seat on any pile of stuff you like. There’s water in the fridge or coffee pods—"

Devante sucked air through his teeth, an audible rebuke.

Do not judge me. The espresso maker’s at Matt’s, and he’ll be keeping it.

Devante pushed a duffel of winter clothes off the couch and used it to prop up his feet. Gray tossed the bag of pastries back to him before retrieving two bottles of water from the fridge. They were nearly the only things in there except for a bottle of prosecco, an ancient hunk of parm, and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce. It was kind of depressing. When he’d arrived in Philadelphia, he’d been so proud of his first real grown-up apartment in a nice building in the city but as it had turned out, he’d never spent all that much time here. His first job had kept him so exhausted that he’d never done anything but crawl into bed. Then he’d met Matt, who had a chic townhouse close to work, so Gray had spent most of his time there. Sorry, Gray mumbled, which was ridiculous, but he felt he should apologize to his apartment and to his younger self for getting involved with Matt.

Stop being philosophical at the fridge before I eat all the tarts! Devante yelled. Gray knew from experience that he meant it.

He flopped down on the couch next to Devante, kicking a cardboard box into place for his own makeshift ottoman. He grabbed a tart, took a big bite, and ignored the crumbs.

M’gwnna msh thse, Gray mumbled, mouth full.

FedEx is a thing; PayPal is a thing. I’m not above a little side hustle unless you’re gonna be an ass about me staying at the restaurant.

Gray nearly dropped the rest of his pastry. He finished chewing and swallowed before answering because he wanted to be perfectly clear. Of course not. Whatever I think of Matt, you’ve got a good gig, especially if he does the right thing and promotes Michelle. I don’t want to pull anyone into our personal life or the remains of it, and I swear if there had been any way to do it, I would have stayed.

Before things fell apart, the plan had been to keep Barigoule, with Michelle taking over as executive chef while Matt and Gray concentrated on opening a restaurant somewhere on the South Carolina coast. The two of them had even planned a trip to scout a few promising locations—they’d drive down for a couple weeks to combine business and pleasure.

"No way would that’ve been good for you. I’m sorry you’re leaving and sorry he’s a shithead, but you’re gonna be okay. Relax, chill, and forget about