“New Zealand sauvignon blancs are my favorite,” I tell him. It’s not his fault James gave him false information. “They smell like fresh grassy fields, which is kind of weird, but tastes so good.”
Nunzio nods. “I know, right? Everyone’s always likes to try this French shit, but New Zealand is where it’s at.”
James clears his throat. “Here’s a revised version of my original menu.”
Nunzio rubs his shaved head. “This man got here at the ass crack of dawn. He was like, hey boyo I need you here ASAP. The boss’s daughter—”
James reaches out and lightly backhands Nunzio in the gut.
I try to stare at the plates with a poker face. Only, Bradley tells me I should never play poker because my feelings are always on my face. The first plate is a mixture of all the great things in life—bacon, crisp and sizzling, wrapped tightly around a plump white baby scallop. It’s nestled in a brush of a creamy white sauce. I want to reach out and dip my finger in it. My tongue aches with hunger. I take one of the scallops and plop it right in my mouth.
“Dig right in,” James says dryly.
His sea-green eyes watch me carefully as I bite down on one of the best things I’ve ever had in my mouth. The first bite is heaven. It’s salt and sea and fatty spice melting on my tongue. Nunzio’s smile is like a big orange slice on his face.
Me? I’m about to climax on my favorite combination of surf and turf. The second bite is sweet. He caramelized the bacon, and the seared edges of the scallop take away that usually fishy taste. The last bite is a creamy finish full of herbs.
James’s beautiful cheekbones flush slightly as he awaits my critique. He flips his towel over his shoulder and makes a face. I say nothing. I take a sip of my wine.
“Well?” James says. His whole body is jittery. His broad shoulders tense under his chef’s jacket. A bead of sweat trickles down from his temple for a second before his hand wipes it away.
“It’s good,” I lie. It’s not good. It’s amazing. It’s five stars and a half. It’s worth its price tag. It’s—it’s making me want to lick his face. “Felicity, have the other.”
She looks stunned to be addressed. She looks to James. “Are you sure?”
His dimple lights sparklers in my chest. “Don’t worry about us, we’ve tasted all of it. This is for you guys.”
Felicity uses a knife and fork to cut the juicy scallop. She dips it in the cream sauce and takes a lady-like bite. Her eyebrows rise so high, I’m surprised they don’t come right off her face. “Oh, my god! This is amazing!”
James gives me a challenging look, like he’s daring me to tell him otherwise. He holds a silver spoon out to me and moves us on the next dish. The bowl is small enough that I can hold it in my palm. James walks around the bar and stands closer to me. My senses are going haywire from the creamy bisque in my hand, and James’s beach-day smell. All I need is a patio chair and a tall glass of wine, and I’m golden.
He leans closer to me, trying to engage my attention away from the soup and up to his eyes. I don’t know which is more delicious.
“Before you slurp it down, let me add the final touch.”
He wedges himself between Felicity and me. My thigh grazes his thigh and I think back to last night. His shirt bunched up on the floor, his delicious abs laid out for me like a rack of chicken wings. And I love me some chicken wings.
James takes a smaller spoon and scoops a healthy helping of crème fraîche. “This is a blue crab bisque with jalapeño corn bread croutons.”
“That’s my homemade crème fraîche he’s got there,” Nunzio smirks with arms crossed over his chest. Beneath the facial hair and the scar that slices his eyebrow, he’s a lot younger than he looks. He winks a brown eye at Felicity.
As James drops a scoop of crème in Felicity’s bowl, I can’t tell what’s more red, the bisque or her face.
I dip the spoon in and scoop up the steaming, creamy soup. I let a drop coat my tongue. My taste buds burst so much they nearly ache. It’s the right amount of cream and tomato, thick and filling and warm. A different kind of memory floods my minds: I see my dad in the kitchen stirring a pot of his tomato soup. The pan to the side, sizzling with grilled cheese sandwiches. My mom on the couch flipping through a magazine. And me, hanging at the edge of the kitchen as his taste tester.
“Did you burn your tongue?” James asks, leaning in to my face.
I shake my head, blinking real quick. I put on my best smile. It’s not hard. This bisque is one of the best I’ve ever had. I take another spoonful, picking up flaky crabmeat and a hunk of crouton.
“Eh?” Nunzio says. “Eh? Tell me that’s not the best bisque this side of the city!”
Meanwhile James stares at me with a quiet calm.
I wish I had a room to myself to make all the yummy noises I want. I want to shut my eyes and savor every spoonful. The way the tomato gets richer as the crème melts into the soup. The way the croutons are perfectly crunchy with the right amount of heat.
James leans in to my ear, taking my bowl from me. “There’s more where that came from.”
“That was perfect,” I say.
A busboy comes from the kitchen and takes away some of the empty plates. He says something to James in Spanish, and James answers back. I failed French and Spanish in school, so I have no idea what they’re saying, but the busboy glances at me and then scurries away.
“Did I scare him off?” I ask.
Nunzio laughs, moving along the line of plates. “Nah, he just thinks you’re cute, that’s all.”
The three of them have a laugh at my expense.
“Come on, Lumière,” I say to Nunzio. “What’s next?”
“Ah, mon cherie,” he says, and I’m glad he gets my Beauty and the Beast reference. I decide I like Nunzio. He’s charming and friendly and by the way he keeps gesturing to himself, loves attention. He’s the complete opposite of James—who’s relaxed some, but still has that perpetual frown between his brows.
“Wait,” James says. “If he’s Lumière, then who does that make me?”
“Mrs. Potts,” I suggest and everyone laughs expect for him.
Nunzio slides over a square plate from our feast line up. A sculpted tower of crudo is surrounded by artfully cut avocado. Tiny white crystals of pink sea salt make the plate look too pretty to eat.
“Why the puss on your face?” Nunzio asks.
“I don’t like raw fish.”
James smirks. “Now’s not the time to be picky, princess.”
“I’m not picky,” I take my glass of sauvignon blanc and take a swallow. The grassy cold crispy wine goes well with everything so far. Nunzio really knows his stuff. “Honestly, it’s the one thing I don’t eat.”
James pouts. His full lips are so kissable that I have look away. He hooks his thumb in the waistband of his jeans and my mind flickers to the deep ripple of his lower abs.
“Try it.”
I frown. Giving me an order is the fastest way to get me not to do it. Call me contrary. Call me a brat. No one tells me what to do.
“I love sushi,” Felicity says, taking a white crispy chip that’s decoratively arranged to the side and scoops a healthy helping of tartar.
She shuts her eyes and makes yummy noises that make the construction workers on the other side of the restaurant blush.
“What kind of potato is this?” she asks. “It’s delicious.”
“Yucca,” James says, smug and happy at his cleverness.
James holds out his hands and Nunzio gives him a little bow.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
Nunzio sighs, like he lost a bet. “I didn’t think yucca chips would pair well with the crudo.”
“And that’s why it’s my kitchen.” James smirks, but doesn’t gloat, which is incredibly attractive.
That’s three excellent dishes, and there are even more to come. Still, something is troubling me. As tasty as everything is, I don’t understand where they belong. When my mom dec
ided to open The Star, I wonder what kind of food she envisioned serving. The food she makes on her show is catered to stay at home moms who drink a gallon of wine while the nanny watches their children in the next room.
“Lucky Girl?” Nunzio says. “Come on! I know James is a little boring, but stay tuned, there’s more.”
I can’t help but smile, really truly smile. James rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. I’d like to frame him. My fingers itch for my camera. How does he make a chef coat look like a uniform a girl just wants to rip off?
“Give it to me, baby,” I say to the sous-chef.
“Atta girl,” he says.
I’m surprised James is letting him run the show. Most of the head chefs I’ve come across have such huge heads, it’s amazing they don’t topple over from the weight.
James slides a long rectangular plate with grilled lamb pops over. I can smell the sear on the meat. Beside it is a strange sort of green mousse. I lean in and get a whiff. “Mint and…”
I can’t make out the other herb so I dip my finger in it. I let it sit on my tongue for a few seconds before I swallow. “Parsley?”
“Cilantro,” James corrects me.
I take a lamb pop and bite down on the juicy tender meat. Normally, I don’t like lamb because it can taste a little gamey, but this—this is perfection. The meat is on the rare side, which makes it melt on my tongue like butter. Rosemary and thyme, and maybe tarragon, do a tango in my mouth.
“Oh my god,” Felicity says. “I can’t even put this into words.”
I set the clean bone back on the plate. “At least my mom didn’t just hire you to have a pretty face in the kitchen.”
I regret it after I say it. I blame it on the food. Bad, bad, food!
James looks at me curiously. “You think I have a pretty face?”
James Hughes has the kind of stare that melts the cockles of my frozen heart. What do you know? It still works. Just then my phone rings. Bradley’s face pops up on the screen. Everyone watches it go off and off.
James clears his throat. “Go ahead, boss. We’ll wait.”
I feel like I’m answering the phone in the middle of the movie. I hit decline. “I’ll just call him later.”
Nunzio takes a long sip of his wine, basking in the awkward silence. “Do you want more lamb chops, Lucky? I’ll go get some.”
“I want her to try—” James starts, but Bradley calls again. James grumbles and hits the green button. “Lucky Pierce’s phone.”
I lunge over the table knocking over my glass. Nunzio reaches for it and saves it before there is any more broken glass.
“Give me that,” I hiss. “Bradley? What? I’m working.”
“Aw, come on Luck,” he says. “I miss you when you’re working.”
“Just making lemonade,” I remind him.
Felicity eats more bisque. James keeps his eyes trained on me, his arms cross over his chest, a fat vein throbbing on his neck. I’m sure he hates getting interrupted, but I’m not the one who answered the phone, he is. Nunzio drinks the wine he saved. I think he’s having the most fun out of all of us.
“Come out tonight. There’s three-for-one at the Roasting Pig.”
“I can’t, I’m working. We can go out tomorrow, though.”
“Alright, fine. Go back to being responsible.”
I smile. He wants me to stay and work for my mother, but when I’m not paying attention to him, he turns into a big baby. “See you.”
“Who was that who picked up?” Bradley asks.
I look at James, who hasn’t stopped staring at me. “Oh, that was just my secretary.”
Before Bradley can ask any more questions, I hang up and flick the silent switch.
“Sorry about that,” I say to the dishes. I can’t meet James’s eye.
“Oh, you’re fine,” Nunzio says. “Let’s keep eating.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t say no to more of these bad boys,” I hop off my barstool. I need to put some distance between James and me. I head towards the kitchen.
James and Nunzio trade glances that fail so hard at being surreptitious.
“Come on, did you eat them all?”
“Why don’t you try the mousse?” James says, blocking my path to the kitchen. “I want you to give the greens a try.”
Felicity sits back and gnaws on the juicy lamb bone.
“Because it isn’t food, it’s foam. If I want to eat foam, I’ll take a bubble bath and keep my mouth open.”
James’s green eyes turn stormy, just like they did at the coffee shop the first time we met. He opens his mouth, but his retort is lodged in his throat. Frustration lines his forehead, and for a moment I feel shitty that I’m the one that put it there.
A loud crash turns my attention to the kitchen area. James and Nunzio exchange that not-so-secretive glance again.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” Nunzio says. Or I should say lies. “Just a little hiccup in the work. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
James sighs loudly. “You shouldn’t have said that to her.”
I bite down on my lip because he’s right. That’s a sure way to get me pissed off. “First of all, it’s my job to worry. Secondly, what the hell is going on? Third…why am I waiting on Tweedledee and Tweedledum for answers?”
I duck under James’s arm and make a break for the kitchen.
“Lucky, wait!”
“Hang on a minute!”
I push through the kitchen doors. At first, I’m affronted by the delicious smells of the food I just ate. Then…
Oh my god…
The next step I take has me ankle deep in water. Two of Carlos’s workers freeze as they sweep water out the back door, and another one struggles with a broken pipe that still spurts out a steady stream.
James stands behind me, holding me still. I didn’t realize I was tilting sideways.
“We’re getting it fixed,” he tells me, rubbing his hands along my arms as if to keep me calm. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Why not?” I look up at him and the full stare of his eyes gives me that dizzy feeling once again.
But before he can say anything, Felicity’s shriek interrupts us. “Should I call Stella?”
“No!” James and I bark at the same time.
Calling Stella isn’t even an option. She leaves me with the restaurant for one day and it’s already flooding. I press my fingers on my temples. This is a test, isn’t it? Or a punishment…
“One of the pipes burst. It’s rusted. They never changed it from the previous owners. It doesn’t help that the floor drain is lodged with shit from the harbor,” James explains. “There was nothing to do except let it stop. It’s draining, but super slowly.”
I breathe. I shut my eyes and let it all sink in. Of course, since the restaurant is in my hands, everything that can go wrong will go wrong.
“Lucky?” James says my name carefully, like I’m made of glass and might shatter.
But I’m not. I don’t know what I’m made of, but it isn’t glass. I don’t know what else we can do, except get the water out of the kitchen.
I grab a mop and start ushering the water out the door. When James, Nunzio, and Felicity just stand at the door I snap. “Are you guys just going to stand there, or are you going to make yourselves useful?”
Chapter 15
It takes an hour to get rid of all the water and clean the kitchen.
“Do we have petty cash here yet?” I whisper to Felicity.
Both of us are drenched from our toes to our calves. The worst thing we got on us was some seaweed. If this was New York, the pollution from the Hudson would have melted my jeans off.
Felicity nods.
“Can you give them a bonus? This isn’t part of their job.”
Felicity runs off to the office, leaving the wet imprint of her shoes all the way. Nunzio is out back smoking.
Which leaves James and me in the kitchen by ourselves. Wh
y does realizing that make every muscle in my body tighten?
He drops the mop into the yellow plastic bucket. “I’m really impressed with the way you handled this.”
I give him my resting bitch face. “Because why?”
He leans back on the line casually. “Stop, it has nothing to do with you being a girl. It’s just that everything has been going wrong lately. Stella handles it by turning into this screaming monster. Don’t tell her I said that. You’re exactly the opposite.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I head over to the slop sink and wash my hands.
“Aren’t you glad you came home for this?” I can still feel his eyes on me.
I take a relatively clean rag and dry my hands. “This isn’t my home.”
James makes a face. “If you say so.”
“How did you guys manage to make all that food while getting flooded? That’s got to be a health hazard.”
He flashes that radiant smile. He scratches the scruff on his neck and I wonder if it would tickle my lips to kiss him there.
“The water didn’t start coming in ‘til we were plating.”
“No wonder you guys are wearing flip-flops. What, do you guys go tanning on some cold New England beach in the morning?”
“Yeah, I’ll get a nice crispy tan with all the overcast.” He nudges my shoulder. “Nah, we go to the gym before work. You have to wear sandals in those showers. God knows what kind of shit is growing on those tiles.”
“Wow, my appetite just returned.” I rub my stomach, and eye the kitchen for more food. I open the lid to a covered plate and find more lamb pops. “Why are you making that face?”
“Lucky,” he says.
“James?” My insides get all knotted up in apprehension of his sigh.
“About last night…”
I want to put my fingers in my ears and go la-la-la-la. “Stop. I don’t know what you’re going to say, but—”
“Then let me talk.” He takes my hand by my wrist gently, sliding up my arm along the goosebumps on my skin. “I was totally over the line. We went from truce to drunk to my place.”
“Because you drink like a girl.”
Luck on the Line Page 8