by Fifi Flowers
“Show me!” My voice didn’t sound like my own, it was higher than usual, excited to see what might be what I’d been looking for… besides Darla.
Leaving the Beauclaire property, we walked around a bend and there sat an old huge steel barn. I instantly loved its worn and rusted look, still exposed metal, not painted—I had expected it to be red and was pleasantly surprised that it was in a natural state. My heart beat faster the closer we got and I felt I was having a heart attack when Darla unlocked a side door and I got my first glimpse inside. It had great unfinished, wood plank floors all through and was wide open in the first portion. The last section I saw had two floors; the bottom was meant to be a wine tasting or bar area, housed restrooms, and had stairs that led up to an office. There were also living quarters that were from when Darla’s grandfather first arrived in America. The chefs that had originally been interested in taking on the project had told him that they liked the idea of being able to stay at the restaurant due to late nights and early morning. It was also good for them since they were relocating to the area—I liked that feature too since I was in the same boat and would need to sell my condo near downtown San Diego.
Back downstairs, Darla led me through the golden gates (swinging doors) to heaven, otherwise known as the kitchen. It was all ready to go and just sitting there waiting to be claimed. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath taking it all in and moving from prep counters to refrigeration to stoves, grills, ovens, storage—it was all so fucking awesome! Then I realized that the open part of the kitchen that looked out into the dining room was where the wood burning oven stood. I loved the fact that there were no counters or stools in front of the pizza making area, no distractions. Although, I had grown used to one light, full-bodied female and stopped running from her and accepted that where she was concerned I was definitely screwed… and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Hello… you in there? Should I call the paramedics? You look a bit strange.” She laughed as I hadn’t realized that she had been talking.
“What were you saying? I’m sorry but this is like living my dream… seeing my dream come to life.” I was still touching everything while Darla followed me around.
“Did you want to be a chef all along?”
“Yes and no. My parents were split on my idea to be a chef, my dad won out along with a cool teacher from high school who also coached. I thought I could do that and I would definitely be like him and not a stuffy, angry teacher who should pick a different profession.”
Looking back, I can’t believe what he let me get away with including sleeping in class and listening to music with my headphones on, but I was a pretty good kid and respectful. As a coach at my school he knew I had a tight schedule, practicing mornings and late afternoons into early evenings while attending classes in the middle of all that. When you’re a swimmer for a highly competitive school known for their water sports program you work your ass off. It was even worse when a swim meet was looming. The day got pretty long, waking up early in the morning to jump in a fucking swimming pool in nothing more than a damn speedo. The brutal conditions continued at the meets as well with warm-ups—often long before you had to do your event—sprinting to grab your towel. Swim season starting in the winter, freezing your ass off was a fucked up part of it, a fur fleece lined long parka kept me snug for the most part. We really messed with our bodies, not eating all day because our coach didn’t want us throwing up when we swam—chewing gum and drinking water was our only nourishment. It was amazing that we had the strength to be able to sweep every event—winning 50 and 100 meter freestyle events for me. I looked forward to eating tons after we crushed our opponents. The harsh training suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
“Being a coach as well, my teacher understood and I thought I could be like him. Then I went to college and started receiving praise for my cooking skills. It made each semester that I was studying things that truly didn’t interest me harder and harder as I realized working in a high school wasn’t for me.” I couldn’t imagine the thought of going down that path and not finding Darla—I left that part out of my answer to her question.
“Then you went to culinary school just like that?”
“Not exactly. A commercial during a cooking show captured my eye. I remember the exact moment, the exact show, and episode. It was about a guy who traveled to try unusual foods and they were eating balut; a baby chicken or duck still in the eggshell.”
“Oh my God! That is so gross! Please never put that on the menu here.”
I laughed at her outburst. “No worries, it’s a delicacy—not many people would welcome it…” Then her words finally reached my ears. “So, you think it’s a good idea… me making this place mine?” I glanced around with Darla by my side. “I could see myself here. How could a chef not love everything about this place?”
“You should talk to my grandfather. He’s been talking about bulldozing it or selling it and the land around it? It could be yours.”
“This is my dream. What I have been searching for… forever.”
“Me too.”
“Oh my God, I’m in love!”
“Me too.”
I turned to look at her biting her lip staring up at me. I knew that look, I’d seen it a million times when she had blurted something out about me or to me and waited for my reaction. “I have a feeling you are not talking about this abandoned barn and you are talking about us?” She nodded her head. I guess I had my answer; she wasn’t planning on rebelling against me or running from me.
Darla wanted me to take on the barn project.
Darla wanted me to be close to her.
Darla was in love with me?
It seemed like the right time to tell her how I felt… I chose to show her first by moving closer to her, cupping her face with my hands, and crushing my lips to her mouth. Her tongue was warm sliding perfectly with mine, inviting with a hint of lingering grapes from a handful she had plucked off a vine and nibbled on as we walked along. I devoured her until I, literally, could barely breathe and gasped for air. Then I looked deep into her eyes as they fluttered open and greeted me. “I love you, Darla.”
“I love you too,” she said, reaching up to pull me back down for another kiss. “Make me yours, I trust you.” Her lips whispered against mine. I had heard those same words before but they meant something else this time as her hands moved down to the top of my jeans. “I’m safe.”
Those were the last words I recognized coming from our lips as I raised her skirt to her waist and lifted her up onto the prep station. In a hurry that time to feel her all over my dick, I moved her panties to the side and thrusted deep into her. I would definitely need to sanitize that countertop before any food was ever prepared on it, and I would never look at it without a big-ass-shit-eating grin on my face. Remembering the look on her face as she leaned back, unbuttoning her blouse and playing with her nipples. Holy shit! She had no inhibitions and I loved her boldness. How fucking lucky had I gotten when she found me? When she decided she wanted me? When she parked her hot ass on a stool at my open kitchen. I surely needed to thank her for the rest of my life. She gave me herself. She brought me to my dream. I wanted her and I wanted it all. It was in reach. It was below me, in front of me, moaning my name, pulling me deeper and deeper, I completely surrendered, falling over her body.
Once I regained consciousness… composure, an almost naked Darla in my arms cooed in my ear, “now that we’ve christened this place yours, time to make it official,” and reality struck. There was so much to do, but first, I had to speak with the gruff man who seemed to always be leery of me, Claude Beauclaire. If he didn’t approve of me, my dream was dead.
Chapter Eight…
The big talk wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. Wanting to meet with him fully prepared, I did research and spoke to Deacon about getting financial backers. I didn’t want to just walk up to him and say, “Hey, I want to buy your restaurant.” I needed to know what the going rate was to purc
hase a restaurant. I needed real estate comps for land in that area. I wanted to go into the meeting with him prepared and to be able to gain his respect, if that was possible. I was also hoping that if he knew I wasn’t taking Darla away from the vineyard that might make him happy. Maybe telling him that I loved her and wanted a future with her might really seal the deal. However, if he really didn’t like or approve of me, things could’ve really gone completely wrong. It turned out that I had nothing to worry about meeting up with Darla’s grandfather.
Regardless, I felt better with knowledge behind me when I told him I was interested in taking over the restaurant and not under his management. I wanted to purchase the land and everything on it and that I had financial backers, savings, and was planning on selling my condo. Once I finished with my speech, I nearly fell over when Claude Beauclaire actually smiled and embraced me.
Before moving forward, I also needed to speak with Pansie and make sure that my newest sous chef wanted to take over and was right for the café. If not, I had to look for my replacement. I could not and would not leave her hanging. I had planned to stay until things were going smoothly at the café while still having improvements made to my restaurant and lining everything up to open up in a timely matter. With backers, they wanted to see a return on their investment too, and soon.
My biggest problem with Cafélicious was I had lost so many interns in the last year. I was constantly having to assure the culinary school that I was not firing them, but they were being poached. It took me a while to figure out that it was one of our regular customers that worked as a headhunter for the restaurant industry. He had been watching me with my guys, waiting until they appeared to be primed, and then swooped in offering up jobs in prime hotels, restaurants, and even foreign destinations. When I approached him, I explained to him that I would’ve been okay if we had been working as a team training and shipping these line cooks and sous chefs out. But by him sneaking around it caused me to constantly be looking for a replacement—not cool. So with the recruiter out of the way, I had lucked out with my newest sous chef and it seemed that he appealed to the female population of the café.
Taking a break after our lunch rush, leaving my newest intern and line cook to continue prepping for the dinner hours, I grabbed a coffee from Saylor and took a load off at a café table. I was really going to miss the place, but it was time to move on and start my own bistro.
“What’s up with the new help? It’s like a revolving door.” Pansie joined me with her own cup of java.
“This one’s staying.”
“How can you be sure?” Because he is going to be your new chef, I almost said before another voice blurted out an opinion that had me shaking my head. And besides, I really needed to speak with Pansie in private, without the growing crowd of gawkers.
“What the hell is that? My libido can’t take any more stimuli or I’m going to kill poor Avery.” Marzi was never one to mince words, always up front. “Anyone else need an orgasm cookie, I’m grabbing a tray for the show.” Her infamous cookies were too good to pass up and I raised my hand.
“So I noticed a French accent on this one. Any communication problems? I know Felipe spoke no English… but you speak Spanish…” Pansie was quickly cut off.
“I’m giving him a nickname, Hot-as-Fuck!” Saylor and her nicknames.
“His name is to remain Milo Sabine. Don’t scare him off. He’s a hell of a chef and very important to me.” Get used to him, he’s the new me, I wanted to say. But not before telling Pansie.
“Oh my God, Saylor, don’t objectify him. He’s a human being.” Evie is probably the sweetest person I have ever met and perfect for razzing.
“If I’m not mistaken you were mooning over a guy with tats and grabbed him and kissed him without even knowing his name.” I laughed, raising an eyebrow, folding my arms across my chest, waiting for her response.
“Leave Evie alone. At least she found a good one. I have struck out twice. I’m batting zero and not sure if I’ll ever find a relief pitcher worth a damn.” Poor Vixen was having trouble with her ex-husband wanting to take her son from her to give to his new barren wife—even without the kid being his to take.
“So did anyone taste the mac and cheese this week?” I knew it was a favorite of everyone perched around my once table-for-one.
Pansie spoke up first. “It had a creamier… more cheesy thingy going… and a spice, kick, or something to it… it was delicioso.” I loved the way she described food so non-textbook and with true feeling.
“Milo created that with some French cheese he bought at a local shop down the way and added some Herbes de Provence… Provence herbs.” He was going to bring a little something special to his way of cooking comfort food I assured Pansie who had a skeptical look on her face.
“Ooh la la, I could sign that up on our site. The ladies would go fucking crazy when he showed up at their door,” Vivienne announced in her usual fashion. Everyone was quick to correct her with his name, instead of that. “What happened to Felipe? I thought he was a keeper.”
“He got plucked up for a cruise ship by the recruiter I recently busted. I knew it had to be someone who was regularly in our midst, tasting and taking.”
“I’m lucky he didn’t take you from me too soon.” Pansie looked as if she knew what was coming from my lips and I was correct. “I knew that you wouldn’t stay forever. It’s my fault for having those wine dinners.” She laughed. “Seriously, you should have your own restaurant… and you better invite me to the grand opening. Not that you could keep me away.”
I was so happy that Pansie had waited until the girls had walked off to grab coffee or left or went back to work. I wanted it to be something we spoke about alone. I didn’t think she would be truly upset, but I respected and loved her so much. “How did you know? Was I obvious? Did you catch on when I reprimanded the girls about Milo?”
She didn’t answer any of my questions and came up with one of her own that I imagined was her way of getting info on my private life too. “I’m guessing that I’m losing Darla as my wine rep?” I could see sparkles dancing in her eyes. Those girls were all about finding love and romance in the café. I think Pansie loved that people often called her Cafélicious the hookup café.
“I’m sure that she will find you someone to take over. Maybe the woman that she took over for will want to return. I know she will totally take care of that. And you’re not getting away from me completely.”
“You’re the one leaving,” Pansie said, patting my hand.
“What I mean is that I want to use your coffee connection and I want deliveries from Marzi. I could not even attempt to substitute her baking. I will be visiting too. Hell, I’m going to miss you and everyone. I can’t thank you enough for taking me on.” I felt a lump in my throat forming as I watched tears slide down Pansie’s cheeks.
“Okay, time to stop.” Pansie put her hands up and called out to Marzi for pastry—of course, she was right there with the infamous orgasm cookies. I think I was going to miss those on a daily basis the most… besides the girls.
I had another girl… woman that I was even more interested in seeing day in and day out, from morning to night. Darla might have been the best part of the deal. A restaurant could never do to me what she did to me. It couldn’t love me the way she did. I needed her by my side on a permanent basis and that was why I had been talking to Deacon. In between discussing the addition of skylights above the dining room that we planned to dress up with wooden beams and dramatic lighting in the ceiling, he heard all about Darla and I heard all about Saylor. His charming ways had me shaking my head as we had very different opinions about courting women. I did like his ideas about adding a rustic charm to the overall feel of the place and it had me wanting that same feeling in a home with Darla. Her condo was out of the question for a long term living arrangement for us and living over the restaurant was only good for a temporary solution. I had the land and the girl, I needed to lay a foundation for a dream ho
use to complete the perfect situation… the perfect life… as close to perfect as possible.
Time to make the move, time to start our new life together, I finished up my two weeks at Cafélicious, begging the girls not to make a big deal with my departure, and they thankfully made it bearable with minimal tears. I wanted to welcome them all to my new place rather than say goodbye to my first restaurant gig—my start. The bistro as I plan to use in its name was my chance to pull all of my knowledge together to equal the success Pansie had achieved.
It brought back a lot of memories of the early days and how the café had transformed from a coffee, pastry, and limited food only shop into a full service comfort food restaurant. Deacon’s crew arrived and it was a nonstop whirlwind of drilling, hammering as we opened up a side of the barn and built a covered wooden plank patio deck beyond the opening to bring the inside out. Two large wooden sliding barn doors closed up the opening when we were closed. For cold or raining weather, Deacon came up with another set of glass doors inside that could be slid into place to allow a view.
A view to what was the big question. I wanted customers to see more than dirt, roads, and distant vines. My beautiful Darla came up with the right answer knowing that I had been looking into local products to be prepared and cooked. Fresh and local was important to me, I always liked to support my community in hopes that they would do the same for me when the bistro doors opened. With that in mind, “grow your own produce,” rolled off Darla’s lip as she was toying with me. “Zucchini,” she licked up my hard as fuck length. “Cucumbers, eggplants, carrots…”