She took a sip of coffee and appeared to be absorbing what he’d said.
“I’d also help you make your application absolutely irresistible,” he said. “Of course, I can’t guarantee you funding, but I know what I’d look for in a candidate looking for funding.”
“And you’d do this for a woman you’ve known for all of twenty-four hours, because?”
“I need your help, too,” he said. “The suggestions for my cake were right on target. It took you two seconds to figure out the perfect tweak to a recipe I’d been working on for days.”
“But I’m no expert. I just love chocolate,” she excused.
“That’s enough for me. I just want you to taste what I have and tell me what you think.”
“Ordinarily, I’d jump at the chance, but…”
He nodded. “Your sister’s wedding.”
“I ordered my maid-of-honor dress earlier today. It’s already a tight fit, and if I help you I won’t fit into it at all.”
He nodded. “I understand how important this wedding is to you, but so is getting your business out of your spare bedroom,” he said. “You don’t have to make a decision tonight. All I ask is you take a few days to think it over.”
She nodded. “Okay, but I won’t change my mind.”
Chapter 6
It had taken two cups of black coffee to give Brandi the kick in the pants she needed to face Monday and her morning classes.
Although she hadn’t seen Adam since they’d returned from the coffee shop Saturday night, his presence lingered throughout Sunday with the aroma of chocolate continuing to seep into her place. Even worse, every movement she heard through their shared wall caused her to wonder what he was doing and to replay their kiss in her head.
Teenaged-girl giggles erupted from the back of her freshman drawing class, and Brandi corralled her wandering thoughts. Adam had commandeered her mind all weekend, and it was past time for her common sense to take back control.
She continued walking slowly around the room observing the emerging drawings on her students’ sketchpads. This morning they were starting a weeklong lesson on lines and shading, using kitchen utensils from home as models.
Brandi paused at the desk of a lanky freshman attempting to draw a slotted spoon. “Light pressure with your pencil, Brandon. Instead of pressing harder to make it darker, use light strokes and go over the area several times.”
The boy grunted his acknowledgment of her suggestion and yawned.
It was a week into the new year, but the kids she taught at Central High School were still recovering from the Christmas holidays and readjusting to the school routine. Students in her earlier classes had been just as lethargic.
“This looks like crap.”
Brandi looked up as Ashley Lowell flung her pencil, and she weaved through desks toward the teen attempting to sketch a balloon whisk.
“What’s going on?” Brandi surveyed the page in Ashley’s sketchpad, which featured more eraser marks than ones made with graphite pencil.
“I keep messing up.” Frustration laced Ashley’s tone.
Brandi knew the problem. The perfectionism the teen brought to her other classes didn’t serve her well in art. The honor roll student had to learn how to lighten up. Mistakes were part of the process.
“Try it again, but this time no erasing,” Brandi said.
Ashley drew the lines again. “See what I mean.” The teen reached for the eraser, but Brandi quickly covered it with her hand.
The bell chimed signaling the end of the period, and the familiar bustle of students gathering their things to move on to their next class or lunch ensued.
“We’ll pick this up again tomorrow, Ashley,” Brandi said. “Meanwhile, try to remember that you can’t draw it right until you’ve drawn it wrong.”
When the last student filed out the class, Brandi stifled another yawn. Tonight, she was going to get a good night’s sleep—even if she had to check into a hotel to do it.
“Ready to go nuke lunch?”
Brandi saw her friend and fellow teacher, Lynn Myers, standing in the open classroom doorway. She started to smile, and then caught the look on the computer science teacher’s face.
“What’s wrong?” Brandi asked.
“I guess you haven’t been to your box today.”
Brandi shook her head. “Not yet. What’s going on?”
“We all got letters from the superintendent of schools. Ten percent of Central’s staff is going to be laid off at the end of the school year,” Lynn said as they made their way down the hallway. They’d done lunchroom duty last week, so this week they were free to eat in the teachers’ lounge.
Brandi heaved a sigh. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been expecting it. Only back when the school board’s budget was initially slashed, Brandi had expected to be a married woman running her own boutique. “I’d better start working on my résumé.”
“We might be safe,” Lynn said. “After all, we’re both past the ten-year mark here.”
Brandi shrugged. They’d both started teaching at Central fresh out of college. Lynn, who was savvy in various areas of computer science and web design, could find a job elsewhere if necessary. “You’ll be fine, but I doubt my seniority will matter. I teach art, which isn’t considered essential.” She retrieved her frozen diet meal from the community fridge, peeled back the plastic and stuck it in the microwave. “I’ll be one of the first to go.”
“Maybe not.” Lynn sounded more hopeful than reassuring.
Brandi pulled her nuked lunch from the microwave after the chime and Lynn took her turn. A second chime later, they were both seated at a table with their meals and diet sodas.
“I’ve got Asian Delight,” Brandi said, “but I’m up for a trade if you’re willing.”
“Sure. It doesn’t matter to me. After a while, all of these low-cal meals taste like hot slop.”
Lynn had started her diet before the holidays, and Brandi could already see evidence of weight loss. Her friend’s round face was more angular, and her stomach was noticeably flatter.
“It’ll be worth it when you’re romping on a Hawaiian beach in a string bikini,” Brandi said.
Last year, Lynn had married her second husband, James, and when school let out for spring break she and her hunky, new firefighter hubby planned to go to Hawaii for their long-awaited honeymoon.
“At this point, I’m ready to trade that stupid bikini in for a cheeseburger and fries.”
Brandi took a bite of her swapped ravioli. “You’re right, this is hot slop.”
“So how did the dress shopping go?” Lynn poked around the Asian Delight with a plastic fork. “Your mother didn’t drive you to drink, did she?”
“Almost, but we did find a dress.” Brandi recapped how she’d sized down, while her mother had purchased the same dress for her two sizes larger.
“Sheesh, I know she’s your mom and all, but I don’t know how you put up with her,” Lynn said.
“Sometimes I don’t, either.” Brandi shrugged.
Inwardly, she knew the reasons. Before he died, her father had made her promise to look after her mother and sister. Secondly, her mother hadn’t always been so harsh. Brandi used to be the envy of the other kids for having the sweetest mother on their block.
Deep down, Brandi waited for that softer side of Jolene to resurface.
“You’re not going to give her the satisfaction of needing that bigger dress, are you?” Lynn asked.
“There’s no way I’m falling off the diet wagon,” Brandi said, then added, “again.”
“Again?” Lynn raised a brow. “You pawned off your chocolate stash on your students. Don’t tell me you went out and bought more.”
Brandi shook her head. “Would you believe I was accosted
and force-fed chocolate?”
Her friend threw her head back and laughed. “First, it was imaginary smells. Now you’re the victim of chocolate bullies? It’s only been a week, and this diet is already getting to you.”
Brandi popped the top on her can of diet soda and took a sip. “Turns out those smells were real, and my new neighbor is responsible for them as well as my temporary lapse.”
“Neighbor? I thought the condo next to yours was vacant.”
“Not anymore. It’s now the home of a guy prepping for, get this,” Brandi said, “the International Chocolate Pastry Competition.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Lynn said.
“If it’s a joke, it’s on me. I went over there to ask him to stop and ended up walking into a chocolate croissant and tart-filled landmine. One minute, I’m complaining about the smell, and the next I’m sampling the best chocolate hazelnut torte I’ve ever tasted.”
“Ooh, so what does he look like?”
Brandi stared down at her lunch as images of the dark-chocolate-dipped hunk and the kiss they’d shared played through her mind.
“He’s okay.” She speared a piece of ravioli with her plastic fork and stuck it in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed quickly before her taste buds could revolt.
“Just okay, huh?”
“All right, he’s drop-dead gorgeous.” Brandi blew out a breath. Her friend would draw it out of her eventually, so she might as well spill it. “And my diet wasn’t the only pledge I broke.”
Lynn dropped her fork and stared, mouth open.
“Did you two…?” She waggled her brows, while sticking the index finger of one hand into the rolled fist of the other.
Brandi giggled and smacked at her friend’s hands. “God, you’re as bad as the kids,” she said. “We only kissed.”
Her friend’s face broke out in a huge grin. “Well, it’s about time.”
“Actually, there’s more. He made me an offer I hadn’t planned on considering, but now I’m tempted to take him up on it.”
Lynn abandoned the pretense of trying to eat her lunch. She leaned forward in her chair, and Brandi filled her in on her last encounter with Adam.
“So are you going to do it?”
Brandi shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s no way I can eat chocolate and fit into my dress for Erin’s wedding.”
“Tough call,” Lynn said. “I know you want to show Wesley what he missed and shut your mom up, but you’re going to have to figure out if it’s worth passing up a chance to take Arm Candy to the next level.”
After her last class, Brandi ventured to her inbox in the school’s administration office where her copy of the letter awaited. Her eyes skimmed over the words. While it didn’t say so specifically, she knew her days of teaching at Central High were numbered.
She crammed the missive back into the envelope and stuck it in her tote. Still, worries of her financial future plagued her as she steered her car toward home.
Brandi had abandoned the habit of driving past the Green Hills storefront where she’d hoped to locate her store after it had been rented out. What was the point? The prime spot was now a children’s clothing store.
But after today’s letter she couldn’t help turning onto the familiar street for a peek at what could have been. What should have been.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
The bright red-and-white sign on the window caught her eye first, the words FOR LEASE. She braked abruptly, earning a horn honk from the car behind her. She pulled her car over to the curb and grabbed a pen from the glove compartment, her hand trembling as she scribbled down the leasing agent’s phone number.
Brandi couldn’t help envisioning the storefront windows of the terra-cotta brick building shaded by crisp black awnings adorned with the Arm Candy logo in white. Her brain fast-forwarded to showcasing her handbags in those very same windows.
All of a sudden, her decision about Adam’s offer didn’t seem complicated at all.
* * *
Adam whisked eggs, sugar and vanilla into the melted chocolate mixture and poured the filling into a warm walnut crust. His phone rang just as he slid the tart pan into the oven.
Frowning at the distraction, he snatched the phone off the counter intending to shut it off. He saw his grandmother’s photo flash across the small screen and any irritation vanished.
“Bonsoir, Mémé,” he said, taking the seven-hour time difference between Nashville and Paris into account.
The two touched based with each other by email daily, especially since Adam had given the widowed octogenarian a tablet computer for Christmas. So when they spoke on the phone or via Skype they got right to the point, not wasting time with small talk.
Immediately, his grand-mère inquired about his preparations for the competition.
“Ah, comme ci comme ça,” he replied. So far, his day in the kitchen had been hit and miss. He’d nearly perfected his take on chocolate soufflé cake. However, his dark chocolate mille-feuille, layers of puff pastry and filling widely referred to as a Napoleon, hadn’t come close to his grandfather’s rendition.
“Your grandfather would be proud of you,” Catherine Rousseau said softly in French, as if she’d known what he was thinking. “And he’ll be smiling down on you from heaven when there’s once again a chocolate pastry champion in our family.”
“I’ll do my best, but it’s just the amateur division. It’s not like Grandpa winning the master pastry chef prize,” Adam said.
“You underestimate yourself and all you learned from him,” she said. “I still remember how you used to trail him around the bakery when you visited.”
His grandparents had lived above the bakery they owned, and Adam could still remember being awakened every morning by the sweet scents of sugar and butter.
Adam told her he had a tarte au chocolat in the oven, and then set the timer so he wouldn’t get caught up in conversation and forget it. His grandmother was updating him on the dinner party she’d attended earlier that evening, when he heard a knock at his door.
He smiled at the sight of Brandi and beckoned her inside. She wore her green wool coat and a tartan-plaid tote was slung over her shoulder. He felt the outdoor chill emanating from her and figured she must have come straight from work without stopping off at her place first.
Adam continued to talk to his grandmother, while Brandi dropped her tote on the kitchen island and seated herself on one of the chairs facing it. Not that there was much choice of seating. He really was going to have to do something about his lack of furniture.
“Ah Mémé, vous êtes une belle femme,” Adam told his grandmother, after she mentioned a gentleman in his seventies who’d flirted shamelessly with her throughout the party.
“Get out of here,” Catherine replied in English laced with a Southern lilt that gave away her American roots.
A few minutes later, his grandmother, who he’d already heard yawn twice, bid him good-night.
“Bonne nuit, Mémé.”
Adam switched off the mobile and placed it in a kitchen drawer. He wanted to give his visitor his full attention. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he said.
Brandi had shed her coat, and his eyes traveled from her formfitting pencil skirt down to shapely legs encased in black tights and crossed at the knee. He imagined those legs wrapped around his waist and felt his groin tighten.
“You speak French?” Brandi asked.
Adam reluctantly tore his gaze from her legs. He held up his thumb and forefinger leaving an inch separating the digits. “Un peu, et vous?”
“If you’re asking if I do, then the answer is no. I took a year of it in high school, but don’t remember much,” she said. “But you sounded as if you know more than just a little.”
“That was my grandm
other on the phone. She lives in Paris, and I picked up a bit of the language as a kid when I visited her and my grandfather over school breaks,” he said.
“Your grandparents are French?” Brandi asked.
“Actually, my mother’s father was a Frenchman. Her mother was born and raised right here in Nashville. While on a semester abroad from Fisk, she met and married my grandfather,” he said. “She’s lived in Paris for over sixty years now, so she tends to forget English is her first language.”
“How romantic.” Brandi sighed dreamily. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris. Is it really as beautiful as everyone says?”
“I’m probably biased because I have so many wonderful memories of being there with my grandparents, but it truly is the most magnificent city in the world.”
“And are your parents here?”
“They were, but they’re both dead now. My mother passed when I was young, and my father died of a massive coronary a few months ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “What about you? Your parents live nearby?”
“My mother does. My dad died when I was in high school.”
“Any siblings besides your engaged sister?”
“No, that’s it. What about you?”
“A younger brother.”
“Is he who you were playing basketball with in the park?”
Adam laughed. “I was trying to play. Thanks to you, he beat the pants off me.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You distracted me.” He caught her gaze and held it. “I couldn’t stop gawking at you.”
The oven timer sounded, and Adam pulled the tart from the oven. It smelled good, and if he thought so after smelling chocolate all day long, he hoped it had the desired effect on his pretty neighbor.
“So have you thought any more about what we discussed Saturday night?” He placed the tart on the wire rack to cool.
“Yes, in fact that’s why I’m here. I’ve decided to take you up on your offer to help me secure alternative financing for my business.”
Taste for Temptation (Kimani Hotties) Page 6