by C. J. Berry
He was so close to me that I could smell him. A mix of shampoo and kitchen spices. I bit the inside of my lip.
I didn’t know why I wasn’t resisting. Just minutes earlier my body had gone into anxiety mode when he tried his little “secret recipe” move on me. There was something annoying and wonderful about being this close to him. I could almost feel his body heat radiating against mine.
“Well,” Peyton said, “Do you want him to cook you up something different or did you want to say something else?” She was being my boss now, trying to move things along.
I cleared my throat.
“This is fine. There must have been some misunderstanding, I just wanted to know how much we would be paying for our meals.” It was the best I could do considering.
Angela tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing. She didn’t have to.
The chef stood, ironed out the front of his jacket with both hands revealing that he wasn’t only a good cook, but he was a fit cook as well.
“I am sorry that I hadn’t made that clear before. The meal is on the house. My guests are always free.” He rolled up a sleeve of his coat revealing that he, like Lizzy, was tattooed. His were of the geometric nature, not tribal, his were more interesting. He flexed his hand and the muscles in his arm made the little geometric shapes move like boats on the open ocean.
There was something sexy about seeing his arm ripple his tattoo like that. I suddenly felt very distinctly the four other people in the room. Their eyes felt like they were burning into my flesh. I felt suffocated. The anxiety returned. I couldn’t handle the heat, it was time for me to get out of the kitchen.
“You know what,” I said standing up, “I actually do think I am ready to go.”
“What?” Angela said.
“Yea, I think I may have had one too many glasses and I don’t feel too well. I should probably get going.” My hip brushed up against his body as I squeezed past the chef blocking my escape. It lasted less than a second but even in that short time I could feel the firmness that he was. I didn’t see the girls’ reactions, I was too busy trying to make my way out and too busy thinking about my hip brushing against his body.
I had almost made it all the way to the streetcar stop just a block away from the restaurant when I heard a voice calling my name.
“Sarah!” Came the shout.
“Oh shit.” I mumbled under my breath as I realized who it was. I turned around slowly, hoping I just didn’t recognize the voice correctly.
“I had to bring you your leftovers.” It was Mr. Chef Suave toting a white paper bag with what I guessed was the half eaten piece of heaven he had served me earlier.
“You had to?” I sure can be a bitch sometimes.
He frowned, scratched his head and said, “Well, no but I wanted to see you once more before you took off.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. The last thing on earth I wanted was to meet somebody in this town.
Portland was supposed to be my escape from men.
Still, there we were, standing on a random street corner in the heart of downtown Portland. The city lights casting shadows on our faces that made it very hard to be so defiant and sure of my decisions. The alcohol was really swooning in my stomach by now and the moment was getting away from me. Some part of me wanted him to just grab me and kiss me right there in the street to see what he really was all about.
“I would like to see you again,” He said.
My knees betrayed me and I nearly reached out to grab him for balance. Whatever magic he was performing was working. I gathered myself and willed my body to obey.
“Well, I don’t want to see you again.” I said and clasped the doggy bag from his hand. I cheered myself for somehow making the words come out.
I turned on a heel and walked down the street not entirely sure where I was going. I probably looked like a complete idiot walking east towards the waterfront when I should have been walking west to get back on the streetcar. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away. I just wanted to get back to my new house so I could curl up on my floor and forget.
Forget him. Forget tonight. Forget New York. Forget everything.
Chapter 5
Abandon your boss and coworkers on your first night out in town and refuse one of the hottest guys you have ever met in your life all within the first week of your new life? Check.
I woke up the next morning feeling like the whole of Portland had taken a nap on my head. My body ached worse than it did when I ran my first marathon and my mouth was so parched I could barely swallow. The alcohol had worn off now and my head was clear. Logical Sarah had returned from her overnight vacation.
The worst part about waking up that Saturday morning was the sudden feeling of regret that welled up in my chest as I realized the true ramifications of what had happened the night before.
Laid out before me like a red carpet reserved for the highest echelons of the celebrity rich was a man, ready and willing to woo me into submission. He cooked, he was handsome and dammit he was in to me, which was a breath of fresh air for someone like me. But I tossed it aside, and for what? So I could mope some more? God knows it had been a good long while since my sex life had been anything to be proud of.
Sure, he was a little forward and yes, I was incredibly embarrassed that he picked me out of the lot to cook his secret recipe, but had I just passed up a golden opportunity for rebound sex? Yes. Yes, I had. The realization depressed me.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
I had left my boss and the girls in the lurch while I ran off and had a minor anxiety meltdown. It was beyond embarrassing. It was mortifying, humiliating, terrible and probably the beginning of the end for me at Abraams and Snider.
What was it that Angela had said? “Don’t you vet these people anymore? How are we supposed to have any fun around here?”
Oh god.
I spent the morning trying to unpack my things. It was no use. I could only think about last night, about the chef, about the girls. Everything I tried to take out of boxes just ended up on a counter-top somewhere to deal with later. It was hopeless.
I had to call someone to try and make amends. The only person from last night who I had in my phone was Peyton, and it was her office number. I decided after very little deliberation or thinking through all the way, that I would leave a brief, semi-professional voice-mail apology. That might tie me over until Monday when I could grovel at her feet and apologize in person.
I picked up the phone, found her number and dialed.
“Hello?” Said the voice on the other line.
Oh shit. It must have redirected to her cell. Caught off guard again.
“Hi Peyton.” I said trying to stall so I could think of something to say.
“Omigod Sarah where the hell did you go last night?” Peyton’s voice was hard to read. I assumed the worst.
“I am so sorry, please can you guys forgive me? I promise I am never normally-”
“Don’t you dare say another word,” Peyton sounded like she was giggling, “That was the most fun I have had in a long time. You should have seen the chef’s face when you stormed out of there last night. It was priceless.”
A sense of relief passed over me. Thoughts of a semi-normal working life re-entered my mind. Phew, at least they have a sense of humor.
“I do aim to please.” I said.
Peyton burst out laughing. I heard her repeat what I just said to someone near her. There was laughing.
“I am glad to hear it,” Peyton said, “because you are coming out again with us tonight - and after you ditched us last night you don’t get to say no. You owe us, even if it was hilarious.”
I didn’t feel like going out but the fact that they would even invite me somewhere again made me jump at the chance.
“Sounds great. Where am I going to make a fool of myself tonight?” I asked.
“Oh you’ll find out. I will be by to pick you up tonigh
t around six.”
And with that I put my fate in the hands of my boss and her friends once more.
Not knowing what the event was that I should be dressing for I decided on my go-to casual piece. A teal, knee length with a v-cut neck line that shied towards “Gee mister, that is a mighty fine tuxedo you got there” without making me look 12. I did a once over in the mirror, pulled my hair back and grabbed my clutch just as Peyton and the girls started banging on the door.
And boy were they banging.
Approaching the door I could hear the laughter of three grown professional women who sounded as giddy as middle schoolers before the big end of the school year dance. The laughing made me hesitate to open the door. Something was up. I could feel it on my skin.
“We know you are in there. Come out with your hands up.” Yelled Angela.
“Yea, we are the police and we are here to arrest you, you sexy bitch.” That one was Lizzy.
“C’mon Sarah, we really do need to get going.” That was my boss.
I opened the door. I was under-dressed.
“Oh great.” I said out-loud as I scanned the three women in front of me. They were dressed to the nines. All black, high heels, amazing hair. I spun around on my heels and started back for my bedroom.
“I don’t think so.” Peyton said as she grabbed me by the shoulder.
Lizzy ran in front of me and started to push as Angela shut my door behind us. That was it. Where ever we were going I was going to stick out like a sore thumb.
I was surprised when the car stopped.
“Is this it?” I asked.
The girls still hadn’t told me anything about their plans and when we stopped in front of what I could only assume was the Governor's house atop Nob Hill I was struggling to figure it all out.
“Yep, this is the place.” Lizzy said getting out of the car first.
I strained my neck to look up the driveway that led to the house. It looked like a slightly smaller version of the White House placed square center in a large grass plot. Across the lawn were strung tea candle lights from end to end. Underneath the largest of the several oak trees was a large white tent. Through the partial tent flap opening all I could see was decadence. My stomach turned into a lead ball. I suddenly didn’t care if the girls hated me or not, I wanted to turn and run. There was no way I was going inside that tent.
Lizzy must have sensed my anticipation because she grabbed my elbow and said, “Steady on girl.”
When we made it to the entrance of the white tent we were asked for our names. When I told the hostess my name her eyes lit up.
“Oh yes, we have been expecting you miss Kinsley. This way please.” She ushered me away from the tent.
“What about my friends?” I said.
“Oh, yes please bring them along.” The hostess said and then began to walk off towards a gravel path leading up to the house.
We arrived at the front door and were greeted by another host of sorts. A young man, sharply dressed in a three piece black suit greeted us, let us in through a large oak doorway and proceeded to remove our coats for us.
“This way.” He said gracefully ushering us through the front room of the house.
The house was immaculate. Handmade furniture seemed to be the house standard and there was certainly no shortage of it. Great big crystal chandeliers hung from nearly every room. The house looked too clean and too posh to actually be lived in.
We made our way through a narrow hallway. In it I heard the familiar banging of pots and pans. Where were we going?
Peyton and the girls were clearly having a good time. They hadn’t stopped whispering, nudging each other and looking about wide eyed since we had been ushered into the place. When they too heard the banging of pots and pans they began the usual moans of appreciation that one makes when they expect big things to come their way in terms of culinary delights.
I still had no idea where we were, whose house this was and why we were here so you can understand my slight apprehension as to walking into a stranger’s kitchen with any expectation other than complete and total embarrassment and anxiety.
We finally made our way into the kitchen. It was gorgeous. A large granite island set in the middle, the cupboards were dark oak and all the appliances were stainless steel. Don't get me wrong, I love my house but this kitchen made me a little jealous. I took notes for further remodel projects down the road. I was anxious, not dead.
Lizzy turned to me and whispered in my ear, "now that's a kitchen."
I nodded my head in agreement and she took my arm and we marched behind the host who led us to a small dining table where we all sat down.
In the kitchen were a few cooks. One of them I recognized from the restaurant that Peyton and the girls had taken me to the night before. My stomach sank as I realized where we were. I turned to Angela and asked, "whose house is this?"
"Oh sweetie, you'll see."
A few minutes passed, the girls and I made small talk, every once in a while one of the cooks would shoot us a polite but distant smile. I felt like a peacock in the zoo being watched, observed, and judged. I imagined they were keeping an eye on me for their own perceived safety. After witnessing my little outburst last night I wouldn’t have trusted me around sharp objects either.
Eventually, the same host who had taken us on the short tour through the house came back with glasses and a bottle of fancy Red whose name I can no longer remember. He poured us each a liberal glass and we drank. The cooks began to serve us tasting plates of what they had prepared. Each plate brought with it a completely new culinary experience.
The first dish was a palette cleansing lemon sorbet. The second it touched my tongue I felt my entire mouth electrified by its tartness. Its coldness slid down my tongue easily and smoothly. Peyton could barely keep her eyes open it was so tart.
The next sample that they provided were thin strips of deeply smoked ham. It was so thin and fragile that it nearly fell apart in between my fork as I tried to poke it and put it into my mouth. The deep, earthy smokiness of the ham filled the entire base of my tongue with a hearty flavor that left me deeply satisfied.
This was followed by a tray of cheese. They explained the varieties that lay spread before me but I forgot their names almost as soon as the cooks mentioned them. I picked out one that was particularly soft. It tasted deep and rich. I couldn’t help but spread it around my mouth with my tongue. I chased it was a sip of Red and a new flavor emerged from the marriage of ingredients in my mouth. I almost started laughing out loud it took me by such pleasant surprise.
As uncomfortable as I felt socially, feeling like I was in a zoo being watched, the sensations happening in my mouth made me momentarily forget where I was, who I was with and the fact that I still didn't know what we were doing there.
As we were being served Pomme Frites, I heard a deeply smooth voice growing louder as it spoke entering the room. My heart stopped, tried to start itself again, failed, hit the reboot button and finally started again. It was him. It was the chef.
The last time I had seen him he was wearing a gray well fitted chef’s coat, had his hair up in a bun and was cooking and serving me secret dishes. Now, here he was dressed more casually looking like he lived here instead of worked here. He wore dark blue jeans that hugged his thighs which I had a hard time looking away from. He had a blue and white checkered button up polo that fit him like a glove. His hair was down, he looked clean and he had a light afternoon shadow peppered on his face. He looked oddly casual in such a formal setting. The cooks who had been serving us our meal ran to him as soon as he entered the room to give their reports, he nodded at what they were saying but then looked directly at me. Even from across the room his pale blue eyes stood out. They were like two small blue diamonds sparkling, calling to me.
I stopped chewing. I set my fork down. I looked to the girls. I looked to Peyton. She was smiling from ear to ear like a little child that just did something naughty and was about to reveal her s
ecrets.
"What the hell are we doing here." I said as sternly as I could looking in Peyton's direction while trying to keep my eyes off the chef.
"You didn't think that I was about to let this guy get away from you did you? Listen Sarah, if you are gonna work with me you got understand that I'm the boss and I take care of my people. Even if it means I have to help them get laid." She smiled even larger than before.
I tried to give my best impression of an angry scowl, but I was greeted only with giggles from all three of the girls.
The chef made his way smoothly over to the table where we were sitting. He was even more masculine than I had remembered. He moved gracefully and powerfully. He leaned onto the table, putting his hands on the table and leaning forward said,
"I'm so glad that you ladies were able to make it this evening."
He was looking at me directly. I felt embarrassment well up inside of me. Damn him and his smooth ass ways. I tried to ignore his stare but he lingered. I felt his eyes wander over my body. He was trying to break my will.
It was working.
Chapter 6
The dinner proceeded a lot more smoothly than my anxious self had anticipated. The chef, just like the night before, was in and out busy attending to other guests as well as overseeing the preparation of our food.
By the time he sat down for a bite to eat himself he looked exhausted.
“Kissing ass wears me out.” He said as he tucked into a plate full of the same food we had been eating for the past half hour.
“Chef, you don’t have to kiss our asses.” Angela said. He laughed a little then almost choked on his food.
“As enticing as that visual image is,” he said smirking, “I wasn’t referring to you fine ladies.”
“Oh?” Peyton asked.
“The tent outside, I am sure you all saw it,” he motioned towards the front door, “That was the annual ass kissing dinner I hold every year. It was a tradition of my father and I simply carry it on.”