The Complete Where Dreams

by M. L. Buchman

  His prep had always been immaculate.

  Then she’d spotted him making a quick lunch for himself and recognized the instinctual skill of his actions.

  She’d spent three years in Italy studying restaurants, eking out every penny she could to continue doing so. Every three months she went to a new restaurant and volunteered to shadow and assist the aboyeur in exchange for food and a place to sleep. Many times she’d ultimately been offered a permanent job, but there’d been so much to learn, so many regional varieties of food, so many different chefs to study that she’d always refused. She’d worked her way from Rome down to Puglia, into Sicily and back up the west coast to Tuscany, Liguria, and the Piedmont before the money ran out.

  She knew what a real chef looked like, even if Angelo and Manuel were too dense to notice what was in their midst.

  When Sam had been momentarily called away, she’d snuck a forkful of his lunch and been stunned. No prep cook should be able to cook like that. Especially not a tall handsome one with auburn hair and such agile hands; he looked Irish not Italian for crying out loud. Of course Manuel was Mexican, but so were most of the sous chefs and line cooks in high-end restaurants throughout the U.S.

  She’d stolen a second forkful, carried it over to Angelo, and fed it to him. His eyes had gone wide, then thoughtful when she pointed at Sam returning to his meal.

  Sam spent some time looking for his fork, never spotting that she’d stolen it. It had been awfully cute.

  But the fact that she’d been the one to discover him, meant that he had to perform even better than Manuel and Angelo did. If she had to hound him twice as hard to meet that standard, he’d just have to get used to it. And he had.

  Until she’d distracted him.

  She handed off the next order to one of Graziella’s waiters and then did her best not to laugh at the cascading disaster his lapse had caused.

  Luisa was used to men watching her. Hadn’t thought much of it except when she wanted to take a likely candidate home with her. At least not until everyone started calling her Graziella’s twin sister. When “evil twin sister” had slipped out of someone’s mouth, she could only sigh in acknowledgment of the sad truth.

  Grace and graciousness had never been in Luisa’s genetic makeup; her “good twin” was elegantly second-generation Italian and Luisa was third-generation shrew. But that anyone thought she was that beautiful was still a surprise. And that Sam had noticed so much that he’d lost the thread of the meal…

  “C’mon, Sam,” she called out to distract herself. “It’s your first dinner as Exec Chef. Don’t drop the ball on me now.”

  He didn’t snarl or glare at her. He didn’t even frown. He simply turned to assist the suddenly overwhelmed Marlys trying to simultaneously fire nine dishes in eight pans.

  Luisa moved down the line to chat with the patissier about a new dessert idea she’d had. She’d give Sam a little time to recover, but not too much.

  Chapter 3

  When the last two-plate order had slid across to Luisa, Sam was ready to collapse.

  Someone slapped him hard on the back and shoved a cold beer into his hand. A round of applause sounded down the line.

  And across the cook line from him, even the bane of his existence was applauding with those elegantly fine hands of hers. He tipped his bottle to her in silent salute; they both knew he couldn’t have done it without her help.

  “So,” Angelo and Manuel came in through the back door which had been left open to the warm September night, “Let’s see how you did.” He took up the two plates of the final order and handed one to Manuel. A test? Tonight had been a test?

  For what?

  The two chefs tasted, chewed, swallowed, and then tasted each other’s dishes.

  “He didn’t follow your recipe,” Manuel pointed at the smoked eggplant and shrimp ravioli.

  “No, he didn’t,” Angelo closed his eyes for a moment. “Walnut, no. Chestnut.” He opened one eye to glare at Sam. “How much?”

  “A single light grating over the eggplant before I smoked it.” He knew it was taking liberties, but it had seemed right. Now he was less sure.

  “Seems odd to me,” Manuel replied.

  Angelo harrumphed in agreement.

  Sam was starting to get really worried, he knew chefs who’d been fired for tinkering with the Head Chef’s recipes. Then he spotted Luisa’s expression. She winked at him. After all of the abuse she’d unloaded on him during the meal, she winked at him.

  Greatly encouraged, he winked back, then waited for Angelo and Manuel to get to the point.

  “Going to have to change the recipe now,” Angelo grumbled, but Sam could finally tell that he was pleased.

  Angelo waved him out from behind the cook line. When he reached them, Angelo shook his hand. Manuel gave one of his quiet nods that Sam had long since learned was his form of high praise. Graziella had joined them by that point and kissed him on both cheeks before tasting some of Manuel’s dinner and sighing happily. She slid an arm around her husband’s waist and he held the bowl so that she could take another mouthful.

  Sam felt himself wilting a little every time he saw them. Manuel and Graziella were so sweet together. When would he ever find something like they had? Based on results to date, never was his best guess.

  “Looks like you were right, Luisa,” Angelo looked at the aboyeur.

  “Told you,” was her pert reply.

  “Told him what?” Sam asked.

  But she just kept grinning at him.

  “Told you what?” he asked Angelo.

  “I think you two are ready to run this restaurant. Interested?”

  Sam looked at Luisa and saw the stunned look on her face, perfectly mirroring what he was feeling right at that moment. Well, something had finally put her in her place.

  Angelo’s Tuscan Hearth was top-rated as was the Piedmont Hearth which Manuel now ran across town. And not just top in the foodie Pacific Northwest, but nationally.

  “We…two?” Luisa managed a bare whisper.

  Her gaze slid to Angelo then back to him, her dark eyes gone wide.

  Not to do this for a single night, but every night?

  He tipped his head in the slightest question to her. Angelo was right, he couldn’t have done it alone. But to run such a restaurant had been his goal since forever.

  “You game?” he managed, his own whisper no louder than hers had been.

  The astonishment shifted through a hundred stages on her beautiful face through consideration, weighing factors, acceptance, and finally a blinding smile that stunned him right back on his heels. He’d known she could smile…but not like that.

  “Heck yeah!” was her verdict.

  They traded high fives and a quick hug as the rest of the crew cheered for them.

  Chapter 4

  As far as Luisa knew, she and Sam had never actually touched, always separated by the width of the cook line. But his brief hug was warm and sincere. His big hands had wrapped briefly around her waist and she could still feel the impression of their easy strength. He’d smelled of the cook line; flavor and spice.

  If she’d been seeing anyone, it might have had less impact on her thoughts. But she hadn’t been. Not for several months even before she’d stolen that taste of Sam’s lunch. Then Angelo had assigned her to lay out his training because he was too busy with his plans for the next restaurant, and that had preoccupied her thoughts.

  So, she’d made sure that “Angelo’s” official schedule rotated Sam through every position until he could do each as well as the station chef normally posted there.

  And it had worked. Worked beyond her wildest imaginings actually.

  “Run the restaurant?” she whispered to herself, but it couldn’t be real.

  She cleaned and prepped her station for the next day, tossed out the sauces and garnish that wouldn’t survive overnight, stowed everything else where it belonged. The other chefs were tending to their own stations. She’d demanded end-to-
end ownership, if you needed more pans or towels or a sharper knife in mid-shift and didn’t have it, it was your own fault. Angelo himself had been the slowest to adopt the change, but now agreed it was the best way.

  “Run the restaurant?” She’d been aboyeur for a year, the longest she’d ever stayed anywhere, but that was a long way from running a restaurant.

  She was staring at her immaculate station when a hand landed against the small of her back—she knew it was Sam’s by the feel alone—and swept her from the kitchen and out into the main room. It was dark, the last of the diners were gone. The shadowed room was spotless. The tables already set with the lunch service cloths and tableware.

  Only one table remained candlelit, the one closest to the hearth that was the centerpiece of Angelo’s. The fireplace was a simple affair of stone and brass that anchored the room and gave it a lush ambience.

  The table contained a chef’s meal: a cutting board of crackers and several varieties of cheese, and a bottle of wine uncorked to breathe. Two glasses.

  “You trying to woo me, Sam Walsh?” she asked as he held out her chair for her.

  “No!” He startled as if she’d just whacked him with a wooden spoon. “Trying to be nice; sort of to say thanks for getting me this chance and maybe try to figure out what’s next. Is nice too foreign for you, Luisa Valenti?”

  He teased her. He’d actually teased her, which was quite a step for Sam Walsh. She considered several acerbic replies as he settled into the chair opposite and began pouring the wine.

  “Way too foreign,” she sighed. “I don’t think that nice runs very deep in my bones.”

  He snorted out a laugh, “Might have noticed. Pity. However, they’re such very nice bones.”

  She squinted at him over her wine glass, he’d chosen an Oregon Pinot Noir—her favorite Northwest wine. Luisa was starting to realize that Sam missed very little.

  A part of her was offended by his easy agreement that she wasn’t nice, even if most of her sadly agreed. But the compliment she hadn’t been ready for.

  “Now you’re teasing me? Because I know that Sam Walsh never flirted with anyone.” Which had stumped her at first. It was a standard part of her repertoire when trying to make male chefs behave. She’d had to find different buttons to push with Sam. And he was such a decent guy, she often fell back on simple cajoling. She didn’t have a lot of experience with decent guys.

  He slumped in his chair and rubbed at his face, “I’m so strung out that I must not know what I’m doing. Flirting with you doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Why is that? Aren’t I flirtable?”

  Chapter 5

  Sam looked at the Mona Lisa beautiful woman across the table from him; right down to the enigmatic smile. The candlelight played across her dusky skin made it far too easy to imagine how all of her skin might look in such light.

  He always felt oversized and awkward around her. And now? She was waiting for his explanation of…

  He sipped at the wine. He’d noticed early on that when multiple American wines were circulating, this was the one Luisa always chose. He’d become partial to it himself. It had a fruity body and a low acidity that…had him thinking again about the sleek body and high acidity tongue that sat across the table from him.

  “Well? Why haven’t you flirted with me?” She did her best to sound offended, but she was also too busy looking pleased with their sudden change of circumstances to really pull it off.

  And he was just tired enough to actually answer her question.

  “I don’t because I can remember every single thing about you since you walked in through that door.”

  “You what?”

  “I was coming out of the cooler with a salmon almost as big around as you are. You breezed in looking like you already knew more about the restaurant than the guys running it. Turned out you did. Gorgeous, opinionated, and feisty as anything. Want me to tell you what you were wearing that day?”

  She was looking at him with as much surprise as she’d shown at Angelo’s announcement that the two of them were taking over the restaurant’s operations.

  “Forget it. Never mind. Let’s talk about the restaurant,” he took a large swallow of the wine. Should have kept his dumb mouth shut.

  Luisa was continuing to eye him carefully. “No,” she said it slowly, “let’s talk about this.”

  Sam refreshed his glass, then set it aside because after everything else tonight, the alcohol was only going to make him even stupider.

  “Talk to me, Sam.” Luisa’s voice sounded soft, uncertain—something he didn’t even know she was capable of feeling until Angelo had blind-sided her with the offer.

  Sam would rather—nothing came to mind. Climb the highest alligator? Wrestle the fiercest mountain? He was really exhausted.

  “Sam,” a flat, insistent tone.

  “There’s that tone,” he acknowledged. “The utter surety of it. Woman who knows what she wants. Never thought you’d notice some lame prep cook.”

  “Of course I noticed you.”

  “Not really. I was just a lowly minion; not a chance that you’d actually see me. This was only supposed to be a dumb temp job anyway.”

  “I—Wait!—What?”

  “I was just back in Seattle for a few months. Spent a couple years in San Francisco at Acquerello. Then a year cooking for Batali in New York. Graziella got me the prep spot here while I figured out what I wanted to do next.” Sam tried to think of some way to derail the story, but couldn’t come up with a way now that it was rolling. In the toilet now, boy! was all he could think.

  “But if you could do that, why did you stay here as a prep cook?”

  “Yeah, good question. I eventually learned just how remarkable Angelo was and realized this is where I was supposed to be. Watching that man build a sauce is a serious education; way beyond even my coursework at ICI in Calabria.”

  “You graduated from ICI?”

  “Top of class,” why was he bragging to her? Impressing Luisa wasn’t something a guy was dumb enough to even try; she always knew what she wanted and just went for it.

  “Eventually,” she drew the word out, “you were impressed with Angelo. But not at first?”

  He shouldn’t have said that either. He just shook his head and decided that the glass of wine would do more good inside him that it would sitting on the table.

  “Because at first…” she was working it out.

  Even shutting up wasn’t going to do him any good. Luisa was too smart. He’d said too much. The moment he’d opened his mouth, he’d said too much.

  “At first…” tasting it like a fine wine, half-lidded eyes, pursed lips. The way he’d always imagined she’d look in that half breath before a kiss.

  “You sure it’s not too late to talk about the restaurant instead?” But he knew it was.

  Then he saw it click. Those stunning dark eyes zeroed in on him.

  He shrugged, “Got me.”

  “You stayed because of me.”

  He nodded.

  “Oh...really. I really need a glass of wine.”

  “In your hand, Luisa.”

  She looked down at it in surprise, then knocked back a large swallow before returning her attention to him.

  “It’s not helping,” she said as if it was his fault; which was probably true.

  “Noticed that myself.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Chapter 6

  Luisa was trying desperately to make head or tails of what Sam was saying. But it wasn’t working.

  “I saw the kind of men who waited for you after work. Slick, urban,” Sam waved a hand at himself. He wore jeans, leather shoes battered and stained with too many hours in the kitchen, and a casual flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves that had replaced his chef’s jacket.

  He was right; he didn’t fit with what she’d always reached for. Looking the way she did, it was always easy to take almost any man she wanted off the
shelf. She came from desperate poverty and kept picking some Mr. Rich-and-Successful. But they never seemed to fit when she tried them on.

  “Did what I could to get over it. Then Angelo hooked me with his food,” and again one of those easy shrugs of his powerful shoulders.

  “And you told me tonight because you’re—”

  “Too exhausted to think before I speak.” Then he glared at his half-empty wine glass. “I thought I was ready. Could handle whatever you…”

  He cut himself off and looked up at her. She could see that the wine had nothing to do with what Sam was telling her.

  “I wasn’t ready for one thing,” he continued.

  “What was that?” She tried to guess. The hug had been nice, even promising. But if he was one of those guys who’d built a whole fantasy on such a brief contact, then he was in for a rude awakening. Life wasn’t that easy.

  “I’ve been cooking since I was six. Never wanted to do anything else. But I wasn’t ready to find out that you believed in me. I still amazed that you’re the one who saw…” he waved helplessly toward the kitchen.

  Luisa knew she was in so much trouble. It wasn’t the easy answer at all. Of course with Sam Walsh it couldn’t be, could it? And once she’d seen him, and began tasting his food regularly…

  “So I have a question,” his voice was little more than a low rumble.

  Was she ready for this? She wasn’t going to just jump into bed with him because he’d…touched her with his answer. Of course, it hurt that he was right, she’d have brushed off a mere prep cook. But the way he’d cooked tonight? That man, she couldn’t help but notice.

  For once not trusting her voice, she nodded for him to continue.

  “Now that I’ve been dumb enough to drop that fat in the fryer, are you still okay running this restaurant with me, executive chef and aboyeur?”