Thanking the heavens for his luck, Hunter parked the car and stepped out into the sidewalk. The café was small by city standards, but it was open and that was all that mattered. He entered and was immediately assailed by the smell of freshly baked bread.
A girl was standing by the counter with her back towards him. Her arms were moving vigorously, as if she was doing a weird exercise. Then he realized that she was working on kneading some dough.
“Ahem, excuse me,” Hunter cleared his throat.
No response. Was she deaf?
Then suddenly, for some strange reason, she rolled her hips from side to side. Hunter was taken aback until he noticed the earbuds. She was dancing to some music that only she could hear. Then she giggled.
Hunter smiled to himself. He didn’t want to frighten her. Besides, it was pleasantly stimulating, almost erotic, the way she moved her body. He couldn’t see the rest of her face but he approved of the dark hair that cascaded to a wide shoulder and sloped down to a narrow waistline. And the sound of her soft laughter was melodious to hear.
***
Noelle swayed lightly to the music in her ears. Kenny G on saxophone never failed to brighten up her spirits. The stirring sound of the metal wind instrument came through the earbuds in clear melodic tones. If Noelle were to decide who in the world she could marry, Kenny G would definitely top the list. She could lose herself while listening to his music that always seemed to evoke sentimental memories of a time when loving came easily.
Noelle would be the first to admit that when it came to love, she sucked big time. Her first experience with love was not only traumatic but she also considered herself lucky to have come out of it physically unscathed. The only good thing that came out of that experience was her son, Nikko. However, the emotional scars that remained since then had always stopped her from having another relationship.
She kneaded the dough, working it between her fingers as Kenny G blasted away in her ears. In her mind, sax and baking made strange bedfellows that always seemed to work. She swayed her hips to the sound; her body moving sinuously while she giggled at the image in her head.
An hour more to go until opening and this dough was the last of its batch so Noelle was pleased. The rest of the batch was inside the oven and she knew, with relief, that she wouldn’t run out of bread today.
Satisfied that the dough was ready, she poured extra-virgin olive oil into a baking pan and spread it all over the bottom. She then transferred the dough mix into the pan, before sprinkling anise and nuts on top. Grabbing the pan, she turned around, intent on heading for the oven.
She froze in her tracks and stifled a scream. The earbuds popped out of her ears. A man was watching her, slouched by the counter, one side of his hips resting by the wall, elbow leaning casually against the counter. He broke into a grin upon seeing the look of shock on her face.
The synapses inside Noelle’s brain went into overdrive as it processed information about the stranger.
First, he didn’t mean her any harm. She was certain of that, even if his presence reduced her to a mute plastic dummy. And that smile. It was calculated to revive anyone in a coma. Or send one into suspended animation, exactly the state she was in now.
Second, the eyes were a darker shade of blue and almost cerulean, like the shallow part of the ocean. And right now, the look was sardonic, consistent with the smile that was almost mocking.
Third, the hair was a neutral hue of darker brown. It was styled in a comb over, long on top and shorter at the sides, hinting at a classic look or a version that would appeal to whatever job he was in. Noelle didn't really care. She knew that she just wanted to run a hand through those luscious locks.
Fourth, he was well built. The thin V-necked tee shirt wasn’t enough to hide the hint of a six-pack on that wide torso. A sprinkling of chest hair was visible from the V. Despite the fog in her brain, Noelle wondered if the chest hair followed a natural course and narrowed down to a “happy trail.”
Fifth, he had long lean legs clad in faded jeans that ended perfectly just below the ankle and continued on to white sneakers with knots tied in a hip street style.
He was perfect…
And gorgeous…
And was walking towards her.
“Hello, my name is Hunter and I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“How did you…” Noelle glanced at the door and realized it was open.
I must have left it open when I brought Miranda inside earlier.
She looked at him and realized that he had extended his hand in greeting. She rubbed the back of her palms on the seat of her pants and reached out to shake the proffered hand. He had a warm and firm clasp.
Noelle knew she had to take full control of her senses. She looked down on her baking pan and realized that her bread dough was starting to form air pockets.
"Uhm, I think you better pop that into the oven before it’s completely ruined," the man said in a honeyed voice, although Noelle recognized a hint of mockery in the words.
“Of-of course. Err, please take a seat. You can sit anywhere. It doesn’t matter. We’re not really opened yet. But since you’re here…”
Noelle hurried to the oven, grateful for the chance to regain her composure. She realized she was babbling. She felt like someone with an IQ of about 25 or lower. She was flustered and excited and shy all at the same time.
Noelle Mancini, get a grip. What did he say his name was? Hunter? Even his name was perfect. He could hunt me in my dreams and I wouldn’t mind...
Noelle stood in front of the oven brushing an imaginary stray hair away from her face. She was glad she hadn't bothered to put on the hairnet snood, the one that made her look like a granny sitting on the porch watching the day go by.
Then a thought struck her.
“OH GOD! What if he is from the Safety and Food Sanitation Bureau? He could report me for not following regulations on food preparation.” Noelle thought in horror.
Don’t be ridiculous. Those are thin, balding, old men wearing spectacles over hook-like noses. This one is a dreamboat.
Noelle took a deep breath and gathered her resolve. She stole a glance in his direction. He had taken a seat by the window and seemed intent on his cell phone. She sighed with relief. It was enough time. She strolled casually back to the counter and donned an apron, one that had a long strap that went all the way to the back and front again, then tied it into a ribbon. She used to think it cute. Now it just looked rather silly.
Grabbing her restaurant order form, she casually strolled back to where he sat, snatching a menu along the way.
“Would you like some time to study the menu?”
He took it from her hand, flashing another deadly smile. He glanced at it, placed it down on the table, and then said, “Why don’t you decide for me? I’ll have coffee. Anything that’s brewing will be fine.”
“I-I serve Italian Sausage Heroes with peppers and onions, Fig and Prosciutto, Honey bourbon chicken, turkey apple-butter and Arugula grilled cheese, but if you want something lighter, there’s tuna and….”
“Do you serve them on bread that you personally baked?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then any of those mentioned sounds great.”
He did something then that surprised her. He reached out and touched her face. Noelle’s skin tingled as his knuckle caressed her chin.
“Flour.” He announced simply.
Noelle was disappointed and embarrassed. Darn dough. She turned her back when he suddenly called out, “You know what would be even better?”
“A glass of juice?” she asked.
He smiled and replied, “No…if you tell me your name and join me while I eat.”
Then it struck her.
Hunter was flirting with her. The idea wasn't so bad. To tell the truth, it elated her, made her feel good inside. She hadn't been out on a date in God-knows-how-long. The café and Nikko consumed all her hours.
The fact that he seemed interested enough to
ask that she choose his food and chat with him while he ate bolstered her confidence. Her poise went up a notch as she went about preparing his order, making sure the salad greens were fresh. A slice of tomato and some cucumbers made the final touches. She poured some freshly brewed coffee into a tall mug and joined him again.
“You still haven’t told me your name.” He asked, putting his phone in his back pocket.
“It’s Noelle. Noelle Mancini.”
“Mancini? Portuguese? Italian?”
"My dad is Italian. I was born in Italy. My mom was Afro-American."
“Have you visited Italy since?”
“I-No. My mom brought me to America when I was 2 years old and I have not been back since.”
“That sucks,” he muttered.
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Noelle muttered back, remembering the dilemma regarding the working permit and her immigration status.
“You own this place?”
Noelle sighed deeply and answered, “Yes.”
“Married? Single?” Hunter asked curiously.
“I swore off on marriage years ago. But I do have a son, Nikko. So, yes. Single.”
Noelle realized his questions bordered on the personal but admittedly, she felt no qualms about sharing that aspect of her life.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“How can someone as beautiful as you elude marriage?”
He was staring at her candidly. She hoped there were no more flour smudges on her face. Then she realized he was waiting for a reply.
"Marriage is not all that it's hyped to be. First, you need to have a boyfriend. And if that boyfriend turns out to be an asshole, you just thank your lucky stars that you didn't make that walk down the aisle.”
“You’re a wise woman, Noelle Mancini.”
She looked at him and raised her brows, “So I assume you’re single, too?”
Hunter inhaled deeply and replied, “Yes, I am.”
Her heart wanted to burst out into a jubilant rendition of the “Hallelujah Song”…
“And I plan to stay that way.”
… and then plummeted down to the floor.
“ Why’s that?” asked Noelle.
“I have come to realize that my value as a person is in tandem with my bank account. I’ll need both my fingers and toes to count the number of times an attractive woman ‘ran into me by accident’, only to discover that she’s actually done extensive research where I normally hang out, what my favorite food is, who my friends are. You get the picture?”
“Not all women are the same, Hunter. You’ve just been unlucky,” Noelle added with an assuring smile. “Take your time. It’s not like women will go out of style anytime soon. You don’t have to rush into marriage.” Noelle advised innocently.
“Not if some people had their way," Hunter muttered darkly.
Noelle thought that was a strange remark, but decided not to question any further as she noticed Hunter looking away.
“You work around here?” Noelle veered the subject wisely
“Yes, I work over at the Blackwell Building on 5th Avenue,” Hunter replied.
Noelle was familiar with the address. It was an impressive sixty-storey structure of steel and glass with an iconic courtyard that housed some of the finest culinary dining experiences in the entire city. The inhabitants of that building were technocrats, bankers, engineers and accountants dressed in three-piece suits and expensive leather shoes. He wasn’t dressed that way at all.
Noelle’s curiosity stirred. Did he work in one of the restaurants and heard about her secret recipes? In her little world, Noelle was famous for substituting herb and spice with exotic seasonings that made her sandwiches unique. She had labored long and hard for those recipes. Next to her son Nikko, the recipes were her treasured possessions.
Noelle’s Mr. Brain had every intention of proving that he had dominance over her Mrs. Heart. Maybe this man was spying on her? That could explain the reason why he asked her to choose the food to serve him for his meal.
“What exactly do you do over there?” she asked suspiciously.
Hunter looked at her and shook his head.
“I don’t wanna say. We’re getting along so well.”
“So I was right. You’re here to spy on me then.” Noelle raised her voice and pushed her chair back.
“Wha-what?” Confusion was written all over his face.
“You work in one of those restaurants and heard that I have a technique for making sauces. That’s the reason you’re sharing all these stories about your sorry life… to get on my good side, anticipating that I’ll share my secrets with you.” Noelle accused.
Hunter stared at Noelle like she had gone full-on crazy. Then he doubled over and hooted with laughter. His shoulders shook with unrepressed hilarity as he reached for a glass of water.
“I’m sorry…” he said, then rolled with laughter for the second time.
“I’m glad I amuse you.” Noelle declared coldly.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter tried again, drawing deep breaths and struggling for control. “I can’t believe you mistook me for a cook. I couldn’t boil water even if my life depended on it,” he admitted somberly.
“Oh!” Noelle mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish.
“I should hire you as my therapist. I’ve never laughed so hard in my entire life,” Hunter declared.
“Sure. But you’re still paying for that sandwich,” she retorted. “You haven’t answered my question though. What do you do there?” She insisted.
Hunter smiled and replied, “My full name is Hunter Blackwell. I own the Blackwell Building as well as the companies that are situated inside.”
"You must work really hard to have a building named after you," Noelle answered.
“Not really, the building was part of the inheritance from my father. I don’t associate myself with much of what goes inside that building. It’s just a job, I guess you can say. But it’s not my passion,” Hunter replied.
“What’s your passion then?” Noelle asked curiously.
Hunter leaned back into his chair, pulled one leg across his knee and fixed his eyes on Noelle.
“Education! That’s my true passion. I want to change the educational system of America. The institution is stuck in the 1800s.”
Noelle’s eyes widened.
“Continue, please.” She urged him.
“You sure you want to hear this?” Hunter asked.
Noelle nodded enthusiastically.
“The classroom set-up hasn’t changed much since the 1850s. Students are seated in grids, as if we’re mentally conditioning these young people to work in factories. We manipulate them to think like they’re goldfish inside a glass bowl. That’s their whole world. What if we tell them that fish can fly? Can you imagine the potential? That’s what I want to accomplish – provide young minds with enough sense and positive conditioning wherein they realize the limitless potential that they possess. That’s my dream.”
Profound silence followed.
“Wow!” Noelle mouthed, truly impressed this time. “You should run for Mayor,” she declared.
“It’s a bit loftier than that, I’m afraid. I am running for the senate, or at least I want to, IF I get a ticket. But it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Some people think that I am unfit for higher office because of my reputation.”
“That’s unfair,” Noelle contradicted. “I believed everything you said. You’ll get my vote.”
“I should not only hire you as my therapist but also as my spokesperson. You can talk some sense into those snotty skeletons who think they can run my life.” He muttered indistinctly.
“Sure!” Noelle retorted, not hearing clearly as she glanced at the wall clock.“Look at the time! I’ve been yakking my head off and I’m opening in a few minutes,” she announced in near panic.
Hunter looked disappointed. He grabbed his wallet and pulled out some bills.
"Will this cover it?" He asked, handing her three twenty-dolla
r bills.
Noelle removed one bill and returned the rest to him. A wretched feeling suddenly bloomed inside her as she was sorry to see him go. But she had responsibilities to take care of, even if the thought made her unhappy at the moment.
“Noelle?” Hunter called out.
“Yes?” She replied, sacrificing a few more seconds of her time.
“I really loved talking to you. Would you mind if I dropped by again? Even if you did think I was here to steal your sauce recipe.”
“Sure,” Noelle answered, her eyes shining with pleasure, “I may share it with you now that I know you can’t even boil water,” she replied impishly.
Sexy laughter preceded his exit. And Noelle admitted to herself that she liked the sound very much.
Chapter 3
“…must have asked you that question three times already.” The lady with hair in screaming shades of green and orange announced, concern appearing in the bright eyes.
"Huh?" Hunter grunted, coming back to the present. He was so engrossed that he hardly noticed Lisa standing by his desk. "What question?" he replied, embarrassed at being caught.
"What do you intend to do about this?" Miss Lisa repeated, laying the thick linen envelope with his name embossed in gold, on the table.
It was an invitation to the Governor’s Ball, a yearly fund-raising event. At $2,500 a plate, it was one of the most prestigious events held in New York City. Every “who’s who” in the city scrambled for an invite.
Hunter grimaced. Another boring event that was sure to hog the headlines of every newspaper the next day. He glanced at the envelope and replied, “Write a check, I suppose.”
“You don’t have it in mind to go?” Lisa asked. At sixty years of age, her wits were still sharp as a whip and she could easily read the mind of one of the richest men in America.
Lisa had known Hunter all his life, having worked with the Blackwell family since she was fifteen. When Hunter took over the reins of the Blackwell Empire, she was his only choice as his personal assistant and private secretary.
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