Recipe for Romance

by Snyder, J. M.

Even though Preston had no idea what the salmon entree at Libbie Mill tasted like, he could cook the fish in his sleep, and he was confident he could replicate the dish without a problem. It might not taste exactly like the restaurant’s, but it would be succulent and delicious, nonetheless.

  Cam followed him into the kitchen. “Need some help?”

  Before Preston could reply, Greg came up behind them and said, “Not so fast, loverboy. This is a solo effort, not a team event.”

  “Every chef needs a sous,” Cam pointed out. Turning to Preston, he asked, “Did I say that right?”

  “It’s actually sous chef.” Preston leaned into the fridge, selecting items he’d need for the evening’s meal. “Sous by itself means under.”

  Suddenly Cam’s arms wrapped around his waist, and Preston felt himself pulled up against his date, his butt flush against Cam’s crotch. “Then yeah, that’s definitely something you and I need to explore further.”

  “Hey, hey!” Greg laughed. “Not in my kitchen.”

  “I only want to help out.” Cam raised his voice and called out, “Mel! Come settle this!”

  His sister strolled into the kitchen, glass of wine in hand. She’d poured it from the bottle she opened earlier to soak the cedar planks. “What’s going on in here? Stop futzing around. Some of us are hungry already.”

  Cam folded his arms and pouted in such an eerie imitation of the same look Abby had tried to pull off earlier, Preston had to smirk. “Greg won’t let me stay and help out,” he groused, glaring at his brother-in-law.

  Mel rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze. You in the kitchen is more hindrance than help. Sit in here, I don’t care. As long as we eat sometime before midnight.”

  “I am not that bad in the kitchen,” Cam assured Preston.

  Taking Greg’s arm, Mel steered her husband back out into the dining room. As they left, she muttered under her breath, “You’re not that good, either.”

  * * * *

  Preston didn’t really need Cam’s help, but he enjoyed the company while he whipped up dinner. The glaze took the longest to get right—he had to let the tea bags steep, then play around with the amount of sugar he used before he was satisfied it tasted perfect. Cam agreed, giving it his own seal of approval. Then he cooled it down fast, using ice cubes and putting it in the freezer for a half hour while he marinated the shrimp in Old Bay and butter. Then he prepared the grits. Once they were cooking, he boiled the tea down to a glaze and coated the salmon with it, then placed the fish on the wine-soaked planks. Mel had a state-of-the-art kitchen, or at least, a nicer one than Preston had at home, and her gas range came complete with a built-in grill between the burners. It fired up almost immediately—Preston set the planks on it, heard them sizzle, smelled the charring wood, and fell in love.

  “I need to get me one of these,” he announced as he began skewering the shrimp.

  Cam sat on a stool nearby, stirring the grits so they wouldn’t stick to the bottom of the pot. “Get this job and you can afford to upgrade anything you want. Larger kitchen, bigger house, better car. You’ve already got a hot new boyfriend, so you won’t need anything in that department.”

  Preston blew him a quick kiss. “Is that what we’re calling us then? Boyfriends?”

  With a shrug, Cam said, “If that’s okay with you.”

  “I like it. Works for me.”

  Cam winked. “We can upgrade that, too, you know. I’ve told you how.” When Preston raised an eyebrow, Cam prompted. “French book, naked, my bedroom or yours, either one. A box of condoms and some lube. How to go from boyfriends to lovers in fifteen minutes or less.”

  Laughing, Preston said, “God, I hope it takes a little longer than that to tremper le biscuit.”

  “Do what?” Now Cam laughed, too.

  “It’s an expression that means, well…” Preston felt his cheeks heat up. “Literally it means to dip the cookie. So you can see where—”

  “Hey, girls,” Cam said suddenly.

  Preston whirled around, face on fire, as Abby and Jocelyn pranced into the kitchen. Cam’s amused grin lit up his golden eyes. Abby made a beeline for her father and wrapped her arms around his waist, careful not to touch the stove or anything on it. When she saw the salmon on the planks, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ew! Do we have to eat that?”

  “You’re having fish sticks,” Preston assured her. With a twist of his hips, he bumped her away. He didn’t like her so close to the grill, where the tea glaze spattered and the shrimp popped. Also, all Cam’s flirtatious talk had him more than a little aroused, and he didn’t need anyone getting too close to him at the moment. “Back up, hon. I don’t want you getting burned.”

  “I won’t. Yay! Fish sticks!” She jumped up and down, dangerously close to the stove. “What else?”

  Jocelyn flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Fish sticks means tater tots, duh.”

  “Girls, please,” Preston said, waving a spatula in the air.

  One person in the kitchen was something he could handle, and in a busy restaurant, he could deal with a whole squadron of cooks and chefs and wait staff bustling about. But kids got underfoot, demanded attention, wanted to be listened to and coddled and heard. He had all the time in the world for Abby beyond the kitchen door, but in here, he had a meal to cook, food to put on the table, people to feed.

  Cam got the point. “Come on, ladies,” he said, slipping off the stool. “Let’s go out in the dining room and make sure the table’s set.”

  On his way by, he patted Preston’s butt. “I think the grits are done. The water’s gone and they’re pretty thick.”

  Preston glanced at the pot—they looked perfect. “Great, thanks.” He gave Cam a quick kiss.

  “That isn’t going to cut it.” Cam leaned in for another, this one lingering, with a hint of tongue. “There we go. That’s more like it. So I’ll tell them what, dinner’s almost done?”

  “Ready in ten,” Preston assured him, his lips tingling long after Cam left.

  * * * *

  It’d been a long time since Preston had to plate six dishes perfectly. Well, four really, since the salmon dishes needed to be displayed at five-star restaurant quality, and while he was at it, he might as well plate up the two fish stick dishes to look stunning, as well. When he first started working at the River City, he had tried to plate the food in the same manner he used to at New York eateries, but Roger soon disabused him of the notion. “Just get the crap on the dish,” his boss had told him. “No one cares what it looks like, as long as it’s what they ordered.” Apparently Roger had never heard the old adage, one eats with the eyes first.

  He decided to serve the salmon on the cedar planks, with the shrimp and grits in bowls on one side, a simple but delicious salad with a freshly-made lemon poppy seed dressing on the other. The fish sticks were plated on a bed of shredded cabbage and served with tater tots; a trio of stainless steel dipping finger bowls in the center of each dish gave the girls their own ketchup, cocktail, and tartar sauces. Fresh lemon slices garnished both platters.

  Carefully he carried the planks into the dining room, balancing two on each arm. Everyone was already seated, waiting to be served. As he set the first plank down in front of Greg at the head of the table, Preston shot Cam an amused look. “I thought you were my sous chef,” he joked. “What, too good to help serve the diners?”

  “Oops! Sorry!” Scooting away from the table, Cam hurried into the kitchen. “What should I bring in?”

  Preston set the next plank down in front of Mel and flashed her a winning grin. “How about the other two entrees? There are two little ladies out here who’d like to eat with us, too, you know.”

  On cue, Abby and Jocelyn began jumping up and down in their seats. “Yes!” Abby cried out. “We’re starving!”

  Jocelyn joined in, banging her fork and spoon on the table. “Feed us, feed us!”

  “Alright, stop,” Mel chided. “You’ll eat with the rest of us or no dessert.”

  The gir
ls’ eyes went wide and they grinned at each other. “Ice cream,” Jocelyn whispered.

  Abby shivered with delight. “Yay!”

  Cam returned from the kitchen carrying two bowls of grits. Preston nodded at the end of the table where Greg sat. “Thank you, kindly,” he said, depositing the last two cedar planks at the empty spots where he and Cam were sitting. They were together, across from Abby and Jocelyn, with Mel and Greg at either end of the table.

  Once all the fish was served, Preston hurried back for the rest of the side dishes. With Cam’s help, he got the shrimp and grits and salads out, then poured himself a glass of wine before finally taking a seat. Cam rubbed his back as he relaxed into the chair. “I don’t know how spot on this is to the original,” he said by way of apology before they began eating, “but I hope you guys like it. I have to admit, the flavors were a bit odd at first, but overall I think it works. Thank you again for having Abby and me over.”

  “Anytime,” Mel said.

  As Abby speared a fish stick with her fork, Preston prompted, “Abby?”

  She looked up guiltily. “Hmm? Oh, thanks! I love fish sticks!”

  Everyone laughed.

  Pleased to be the center of attention, Abby continued the conversation by asking, “Did you guys see the fairy photo book Joss and I did?”

  Luckily that was as far as she managed to get, because before Preston could scold her or anyone else answered, Mel tasted the salmon and moaned with pleasure. “Oh my God, this is divine!” she gasped, her eyes rolled back in delight as she savored her fish. “I don’t know if this is exactly what they’re serving down at the Mill or not but, Lord, it’s something else. Cam, this one’s a keeper.”

  “Oh, I knew that already,” Cam said, smiling at Preston. He leaned over until their shoulders touched and whispered, “I think this is my favorite dish of yours yet.”

  Abby frowned at them, not wanting to be left out. “My fish sticks are really good, too, Daddy.”

  With a laugh, Preston blew a kiss to his daughter across the table. “Thanks, honey.”

  Mel moaned again when she tasted the shrimp and grits. “Greg, tell me this isn’t the best thing you’ve had in years. Seriously.”

  At the other end of the table, her husband grunted noncommittally.

  Mel shook her head. “Don’t even play that way. If we had the money, I’d hire you myself, let you cook for me every day. This is delish.”

  Confused, Jocelyn looked from her mother to her father, then frowned at Abby. “The fish sticks are really good,” she said, as if she thought it was expected of her. “I like the tater tots, too.”

  Cam snorted, trying not to laugh. “Yeah,” he teased, “the tater tots are the bomb.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Jocelyn demanded, “How would you know, Uncle Cam? You don’t have any.”

  “I tried one in the kitchen,” Cam told her.

  That only presented another problem. “One of mine or one of hers?” Jocelyn wanted to know.

  Mel interrupted before things went too far. “Girls, eat your food. Hon, well? What do you think?”

  This last was directed at her husband, who hadn’t commented yet on Preston’s dinner. He didn’t have to—his salmon was almost entirely eaten, the shrimp and grits were gone, and the salad bowl empty. In another few minutes, he’d be finished.

  Abby took one look at Greg’s rapidly diminishing portions and crowed, “Looks like someone gets ice cream for eating everything on his plate!”

  Around his next mouthful of food, Greg agreed. “Darn tootin’.”

  * * * *

  After dinner, Mel served the girls ice cream and was greeted with cheers when she brought it out from the freezer. She asked Preston if he wanted any, but he politely declined. At that, Greg pushed back from the table and said, “Then how about joining me in the study instead?”

  As Preston rose, Cam followed suit. “I’ll come, too.”

  Mel set a bowl of ice cream in front of her brother. “You stay here,” she told him.

  “But…”

  Mel silenced him with a stern look. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you hoping your sous chef skills tonight would land you a job? Because if so, I have some bad news for you. Now sit.”

  Preston gave Cam an amused grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

  “You better.” Raising his voice, Cam called out after his brother-in-law, “Hands off, Greg! This one’s mine!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mel said, her voice trailing after Preston as he followed Greg out of the dining room and down the hall. “Like he wants your sloppy seconds.”

  The study was a converted den with wood paneled walls, plush carpeting, and a large fireplace, above which hung a huge, sixty-inch, flat screen television. A long, low, black leather sofa faced the fireplace, and off to one side sat a heavy oaken desk. The desk looked out over the room at a sliding glass door with a view of the home’s lush backyard. A nearby bar was stocked with faceted carafes and glasses of amber liquid that looked like brandies and whiskeys to Preston.

  It had to be the largest man cave he’d ever been in. He gave an impressed whistle as Greg closed the door behind them, shutting out the girls’ laughter drifting in from the dining room. “This is nice.”

  Greg laughed. “Isn’t it? In a house full of women, I need a place of my own to get away to sometimes. Come on, have a seat.”

  He motioned to a plain guest chair in front of the desk, then took the captain’s chair on the other side. When he sat, Preston did, too. On the desk between them rested his CV, the edges folded and well-worn, notes scribbled in the margins. Preston tried not to read the writing but concentrated on meeting Greg’s gaze instead.

  “Impressive,” Greg told him, picking up the CV. “I didn’t call the River City because I’m not sure if you wanted your current employer to know you’re currently seeking employment elsewhere—”

  “Um, no,” Preston admitted. “Thank you. I forgot to mention that.”

  With a nod, Greg said, “Mel told me as much. But your references in New York speak highly of you. Even after all this time—what, ten years?”

  Preston nodded. “About that, yes.”

  “In any industry, there’s turnover,” Greg told him. “People come and go, and the only ones who make a lasting impression are those who are so good at their jobs, you wish they’d never left, or those who suck so badly, you can’t ever get them out of your mind. I’m happy to say every single person I talked to this week remembered you as an amazing chef with a bright culinary future ahead.”

  Preston felt something loosen in his chest, and he had to take a deep breath. Every name on his CV had called up fond memories as he’d typed it; to hear that those people still remembered him, too, and still thought well of him, touched him more than he thought it would.

  “Thank you, sir,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Tonight’s meal was fantastic,” Greg continued. “You know it, and you heard everyone else say it, but none of them ever had the original dish. Not even you. How you managed to duplicate it without even knowing what it tastes like blows my mind. You’re exactly what we’re looking for at Libbie Mill, Mr. Pruitt. I don’t know what Mel told you about the positions available for the restaurant—”

  “Nothing much,” Preston admitted.

  “Well,” Greg said, “I haven’t hired any kitchen staff yet. Based on your schooling and years of experience, though, I don’t see putting you in a sous chef position. How does executive chef sound to you?”

  Preston’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Executive chef? It sounds wonderful!”

  “Great! Can you start in four weeks?” Greg wanted to know.

  If Preston had been Abby’s age, he would’ve bounced in the chair, he was that happy. As it was, it took everything he had not to shout out or text Cam, I got the job! Instead, he somehow managed to rein in his delight and tamp down his excitement. With a laugh, he asked, “Are you kidding? I can start tonight!”

&nbs
p; Greg grinned. “We have to finish building first. Unless you want to take Mel up on her offer of being her personal chef.”

  “I’m sure she was kidding,” Preston said. “Dinner wasn’t that good.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t kid about food.”

  Chapter 15

  While Preston finalized the details of his employment with Greg, Mel cleared the table and filled the dishwasher, then sent the girls to Jocelyn’s bedroom to play. She and Cam stayed at the table, finishing the bottle of wine they’d opened. When Preston and Greg returned, Cam gave them a quizzical look. “Well?”

  With a dip of his head, Preston nodded at the kitchen. Cam almost fell over his chair as he hurried to stand. “Careful there, stud,” Mel said with a laugh.

  In the kitchen, Cam caught Preston in his arms and asked again, “Well? Tell me already. What’d you guys talk about?”

  “Well,” Preston drawled, enjoying Cam’s anxiety, “he liked the salmon.”

  Cam laughed. “No shit. He ate the whole thing. What’d he say about your CV?”

  “He looked it over…” Preston knew he was being deliberately obtuse, but the frown clouding Cam’s features was so damn cute, he didn’t want to share his news yet.

  Cam sighed, exasperated. “Preston!”

  A slow smile spread across Preston’s face. “What would you say if I told you that you’re dating the new executive chef of—”

  That was as far as he got. With a fierce cheer, Cam scooped Preston into a tight embrace and swung him around. “Hell yes!” he cried, squeezing Preston as hard as he could. “What’d I tell you? What’d I say?”

  Caught up in Cam’s enthusiasm, Preston laughed. “You were right, okay? Now put me down. Come on, put me down.”

  But Cam spun him a second time, and would’ve gone a third, as well, but he bumped into the counter and almost spilled both of them onto the still warm stovetop. So Cam finally set Preston’s feet on the floor, and instead caught his face in both hands to pull him close. With their foreheads pressed together, his golden eyes glistened with happiness as he stared at Preston.

  “I knew you’d get it,” he murmured, his breath warm on Preston’s skin. “No one deserves it more.”