When it's too hot in the kitchen, you risk a crash and burn.Tucker: Opening Two Fourteen was my dream. It's all I had after the war. My thank you to my hometown of Kissing Springs for welcoming me and boosting me when I had little more than my discharge papers and rucksack. Owning a date-night hot spot works in the Romance Capital of the South.Years later, my restaurant is the talk of the county. It's my family. Sometimes sixteen hours of my day. Except for my project at the VA, Two-Fourteen is my whole life.I should be happy. Except, lately, every snuggled-up couple we serve reminds me of the big void in my life. Add in a heaping dose of blue-balls from hiring a spunky, pink-haired pastry chef who tortures me day in and day out, and my quiet home is one step from a spank-bank prison cell.Too bad I can't go there. Dating is forbidden in my kitchen. Not to mention, the woman is pricklier than a cactus. I've got no time for that drama.Bree: Genius of sweets? Why, thank you. I do my thing, banking on creativity and finesse with a piping bag to land me my dream job at Two Fourteen. People leave me alone and I like it that way.So why can't I stop thinking about my boss's backside? Too many hours in the kitchen. That's what this is. Not his ridiculously handsome face and stupid big heart I can't seem to ignore.I've never been good at following rules, but how much of this push and pull can one woman take? Question is... which one of us will break first?