“That looks fantastic.”
“It tastes even better,” Lou said with confidence, “especially with the mojo.”
“I’d like to formally offer my services as taster.” Al reached toward the roast, going for a juicy dangling bit of meat. Lou slapped his hand.
“You’ll have to wait. It needs to rest an hour.”
“You’re such a pork tease.”
“That’s why there’re plantains and mojitos. You’ll live.”
Lou lifted the roast onto a cutting board, covered it with foil, and carried it to the kitchen. Al trailed after, opening the door for her. In the kitchen, he noticed the lilies in a place of honor. He smiled. He could see Harley and Sue on the patio. Such a unique pair: Harley with all his tattoos and grumbly voice, and Sue with her sailor’s vocabulary and rough edges. Al turned to face Lou.
“How did the three of you meet?”
Lou picked up a washcloth and started wiping the counters and putting dirty dishes in the washer. She smiled.
“It’s been so long, I almost can’t remember.” She paused in her cleaning to give the memory her full attention. “I met Sue in school. We found Harley at our first job. We were so young. Harley didn’t have a beard then. Sue and I would go drinking after work and Harley would follow, but never sit by us, just keep an eye on us. On Sue, really.”
Al tilted his head toward the window.
“They’ve been simmering that long?”
“You have no idea. But I finally think they’re about to boil over.”
“Nice one.” Al laughed.
“I’m all about the food humor.” Lou set down her washcloth and headed back out, waving her hand at Al to join her.
• • • • •
An hour later, the four sat at the patio table laden with the sliced pork, mojo sauce, black beans, cilantro lime rice, and grilled peppers and onions.
“Dig in,” Lou said.
“About bloody time,” Al mumbled, reaching for the end piece before anyone else could grab it and sliding it onto Lou’s plate. He then proceeded to load his own plate with a bit of everything on the table. He looked up to see Lou smiling at him. He smiled back, then focused on his plate for the next fifteen minutes. It was some of the best food he had eaten in years; and yes, he included The Good Land in his comparison. Lou’s food was that good. Talk focused on silly topics ranging from comic book heroes to politics. Paranoid, Al had steered the conversation anytime it seemed to veer toward work, which wasn’t often. No one rushed to eat. They lingered before dessert, picking at stray pieces of pork, tucking them into every available space in their stomachs. Conversation and wine flowed. He looked around the table at the open, relaxed faces. Al had found more friends, more reasons to love his new home.
• • • • •
After coffee and dessert, Lou shooed Sue and Harley out. Al didn’t want to leave, but Lou clearly wanted to get the cleaning started. She pulled out her purple rubber gloves and started filling the sink with steaming water. Al brought in some of the empty wineglasses from the patio.
“That was fantastic. I adore your friends, and the food . . . the food. Fantastic.” Al placed his hands on his chest and leaned onto the fridge in faux swoon. “You are a goddess in the kitchen.”
Lou blushed. “Thanks.”
She went to get more dishes, causing an envelope to flutter and drift to the floor in her wake. Al picked it up, noticing Devlin Pontellier’s return address on the snow-white paper, postmarked this week. He turned it over to see a thick card and tickets poking out. More than anything, he wanted to know what was on that note card. Why was Devlin sending her tickets? Were they going together? His stomach clenched, worried he had missed his opportunity with Lou.
She walked back into the kitchen, and a line creased her forehead as she saw Al holding Devlin’s envelope. He struggled to wipe the disappointment from his face. After all, he had no claim on Lou.
“It dropped when you walked by,” Al explained, and set the offending envelope back where it fell from.
She nodded and started setting the dishes on the counter.
“You’re seeing him again?” Al asked. Lou looked at the envelope as water dripped off her gloves onto her bare feet.
“What? . . . Um . . . no?” The words came out slowly, as if she had to search for them. Her eyes darted into the hall. Did she want him to go? But Al had to know more.
“Are you considering going back to him?”
Lou looked at Al, the line deepening. This was none of his business. He shouldn’t even be asking. He should accept the friendship she was offering.
“I’m trying to do what’s best for me.”
She licked her lips.
Al opened his mouth, but before he could respond Lou took a step toward him.
“What do you think?”
Al wanted to shout “Not him.” But someone like Devlin could always take care of Lou. Al’s job depended on the fickleness of newspaper readers. He had to go where the work was. The clock bonged the hour.
“Wow, it’s late. I should go.” He left the kitchen, picked his light coat off a hook, and opened the door. Lou followed.
“So, Al, you don’t have an opinion on what would be best?” she asked.
Al froze in the doorway and turned. Lou was close by, inches away, leaning on the partially opened door. He could feel his coat brushing her arm. Al looked into the warm brown eyes, swallowed, lips pressed together.
“It’s not my opinion that matters. Is it?” Al’s blue eyes scanned Lou’s face, wishing that he could say what he really thought without risking their friendship.
Lou’s shoulders sagged a little, and a sigh escaped her lips.
“I should finish my cleaning. Good night, Al.” Lou quickly leaned in and kissed Al on the cheek. Lou slowly pulled back, their faces close together, breath mingling. Lou moistened her lips. Al watched her closely, then closed his eyes and backed away. “Good night, Lou.” He turned away and walked quickly down the steps. He wanted to haul her into his arms, but he wasn’t the best choice for her, was he? He stopped, turned, and looked back up the stairs. He remembered Devlin at Irish Fest. Arrogant, talking of their plan. He didn’t want a wife; he wanted a personal chef he could sleep with. Lou deserved adoration, not servitude.
He took the steps back up two at a time.
• • • • •
Lou had closed the door slowly, then leaned against it, eyes shut, and nibbled the inside of her cheek. Damn. She sighed deeply and opened her eyes to look at her newly empty apartment. She could hear cars on the street, doors closing, and the TV on in a neighboring apartment. Her apartment was still, but her heart pounded. She had been so close to telling him how she felt, showing him. She pushed herself off the door and headed to the kitchen to finish cleaning.
Before she reached the kitchen, a soft knock broke the silence. Lou peeked out the hole to see it was Al, cheeks flushed from running back up the steps. Lou opened the door, brow furrowed, wondering what he forgot.
A saucy grin spread across his face. Lou beamed, eyes wide. Al stepped toward her and Lou took a surprised step back. Without taking his hungry eyes off Lou, Al closed the door and dropped his coat to the floor. He grabbed Lou and pulled her tight with one arm, the other hand buried deep into her hair. His blue eyes reminded her of when fire burned too hot.
“I’m best for you, Lou.”
Al touched his lips to hers, pulling her even closer. Lou responded with her entire body, kissing back. She wrapped one leg around his legs, tightening to pull him even closer.
Al turned her back to the door and pressed her into it. She groaned as he rubbed himself firmly against her. He kissed her neck, then pulled back so she could yank off his T-shirt. She looked him up and down, bit her lip, then grabbed him by the belt buckle to lead him into her bedroom, kissing him again and bumping into walls along the way. She clumsily unbuckled his belt and began unbuttoning his jeans.
“
This is getting uneven rather quickly.” Al yanked open Lou’s shirt, buttons popping off, to reveal a lacy red bra. Al raised an eyebrow and grinned.
Lou blushed. “I was hopeful.”
“Thank God for hope.” Al bent his head to kiss along her collarbone, and Lou tilted back her head to give him all the room he needed.
“Mmm, you taste like vanilla ice cream.” He pushed her shirt off her shoulder, going to his knees to get it over her hands. His mouth traced tender kisses over her cleavage and onto her shivering stomach.
His agile hands set the shirt on the floor. He touched her ankles, then slid his hands up her legs to her knee. Lou watched him with breathless wonder. His deft hands traced the path up her legs, circling slowly, as if polishing a precious stone. Al nudged her to sit on the bed and kissed her again, slowly and deeply, one hand on her face, the other on her thigh. Lou forgot everything but her racing pulse, the brush of his skin, and the heat of Al’s lips on hers.
• • • • •
As far as dreams went, this one was particularly odd. He was an octopus, wrapping his arms around a beautiful mermaid with dark hair and pale skin. No question who that was supposed to be. Every time she moved, he pulled her closer. Even underwater she smelled like vanilla. He pulled her tighter.
“Shit,” the mermaid said. Pretty foulmouthed for a mermaid.
“Dammit, let go,” she said. This time she pinched one of his tentacles. Grunt. He pulled her tighter. Why wouldn’t she just stay still? Then they would be so happy together. He felt a harder pinch.
“Al, I’m late. I have to get up.”
Al pried open one heavy lid to see Lou’s lovely white backside leave the bed and disappear into her bathroom. He shook his head a little to forget the weird dream and focus on what had happened. He could hear water running in the bathroom, so he took the opportunity to take stock. Last night had been amazing. Sure, they’d had their awkward moments, but all in all, he couldn’t remember having had more fun in bed with anyone. And he realized he wanted her back in it—now. He rolled on his side to make his intentions less obvious.
Al started making lists. He’d let Hannah know his long-term plans, then take Lou out on a real date, and maybe get an extra key made for his apartment. But first, he should tell her about his real job—that shouldn’t wait one more day, one more second.
Al heard the water turn off and said loudly, “What’s the hurry? It’s not even seven.”
Lou cracked the door a few inches so they wouldn’t have to shout. Al could hear her moving about but couldn’t see her.
“I have to meet the fish guy at seven thirty. He gets cranky when I’m late. Nobody likes a cranky fish guy.”
“Fish guy? Your office has fish?” Al knew that didn’t sound right. As he said it, his stomach had already started the slow plummet. Lou emerged from the bathroom wearing a plain white cotton V-neck T-shirt, the kind you buy three packs of in the men’s department, and black-and-white checked chef pants. The slow plummet became a bobsled racing down an icy track. She opened her top drawer and began digging. Al quickly sat up, heart racing, his breath coming in shallow pants. All the blood got sucked into the black hole forming in his chest, turning his skin pale and cold. He had to work up some saliva so he could ask his question.
“You’re a chef?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know that?”
“You never said. We agreed to never talk about work. You had copier problems. I thought you worked in an office.”
Lou thought for a moment, balancing on one foot then the other to put on her socks.
“Oh yeah. No, I own my own restaurant. At least for now anyway. And our copier breaks down once a month, but I can’t afford to get a new one.” Lou looked up at Al. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
He nodded and swallowed, dreading the next question, hoping to any higher being that might be listening that his suspicion wasn’t true.
“Which restaurant?”
Lou walked back into the bathroom, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she went.
“Luella’s. It’s a few blocks away on the corner. Big windows out front. You need to stop by now that you’ve met Sue and Harley. Sue’s the sous chef. Harley does desserts. . . .”
Lou’s calm, confident voice kept talking but Al didn’t hear anything after “Luella’s.” He fell back into the pillows, thankful Lou couldn’t see him, and stared at the blank white ceiling, searching for answers to questions he didn’t know to ask. It couldn’t be her. Luella’s was owned by an Elizabeth, not a Lou. He pulled himself away from the brink, grasping for his last hope.
“Is Lou short for Luella?” Please say your first name is anything but Elizabeth. Let it be a different Luella’s restaurant, please not the same one, not the same person. Let there be two. But he knew, even without her answer. Al’s heart beat a million times in the second it took Lou to answer.
“Sort of. Luella is my middle name and my grandma’s. My real name is Elizabeth, but no one ever uses it. Don’t you dare start calling me Lizzy.”
He went still—channeling all the emotions into their proper place to be identified and analyzed. Shock would go there, then anger behind that, then sadness blanketed them all. He had to end it. Logically, a person in his job couldn’t fraternize with the people he critiqued for a living, and he certainly couldn’t make love to them for hours after having a cookout with half their staff. It contradicted his personal code of ethics.
And he felt shame.
He fumbled with the facts—shifting and sorting them into the right order, like Scrabble tiles spelling out words. He lined up the events he knew, then filled in the rest. The last event clicked into place. He knew now what had happened that day, the day he reviewed Luella’s. He saw it, saw her sad frosting trail and broken heart the same night he ate at her restaurant. Yes, the food was awful, but he didn’t do his job. Any other food critic would have returned, given the restaurant another chance. Not him, no—he had to bury her. Had he gone back, the food would have been perfect. If last night’s meal was any indication, Lou understood food and how to coax it into something grander. Shame at a job poorly done caused his eyes to burn with the truth of his situation. He had to leave. She could never know who he was, which meant they could not be together. He sat up, movements stiff and slow, grabbed his pants, and proceeded to get dressed.
Lou came out from the bathroom, a bottle of vanilla in one hand, the other dabbing the extract behind her ears. She saw what he was doing and frowned a little.
“Leaving? You don’t have to. You could come with me. Harley usually makes a few fresh pastries for those of us coming in early.”
Al looked her in the eyes, building up his courage for the lies he needed to tell.
“I can’t. I have to pack.”
“You’re going on a trip? Where?”
“Work. I have an assignment in California. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. I leave tomorrow.”
“That sucks. You could come over when you finish packing.”
“Probably not. I tend to pack last minute, so now I have to spend all my time wrapping up loose ends.”
“Of course. I didn’t expect last night either.” Lou blushed a little, remembering, and Al’s guilt surged higher.
“I better be off. I’ll call you when I get back?”
“Sounds good.”
The radio in the bathroom sounded louder in the silence. “Storms are headed this way. Take shelter and don’t go out if you don’t need to,” said the weatherman.
Al gave her a swift peck on the cheek and left, closing the apartment door quietly.
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN •
Thunder rumbled and a cool breeze rushed through the open back door of the restaurant. A waterfall fell over the entrance, the gutters above long since defunct. Other than the rain and thunder, only the whir of Harley’s mixer and the snick of knives on cutting boards disturbed the peaceful morning. While Lou loved the raucous music, loud voices, an
d chaotic movement of a dinner rush, the calm of prep work soothed her soul and gave her time to think. Some people did downward dog, some burned incense in front of a Buddha statue, some prayed the rosary; Lou chopped vegetables into tiny squares, filleted fish, and reduced veal stock. Her meditation smelled better, and even if she didn’t find a solution, at least she got to eat.
“I don’t know, Sue; it was odd,” Lou said, breaking the silence and talking loud enough that Harley could hear in his corner of the kitchen.
“The morning after is always weird,” Sue said.
“No, that’s not it. He wasn’t letting me out of bed. He kept holding me tighter. It was really sweet. Then all of a sudden he couldn’t leave fast enough. I half expected him to mention a squash game he forgot about.”
“Maybe he really had to pack? You never know. What do you think, Harley?”
“He looks like Harry Potter.”
“Just because he’s British does not make him Harry Potter.” Lou rolled her eyes at Harley’s comment.
Sue leaned in close to Lou. “He must really like him if he’s comparing him to Potter.”
Lou smiled and whispered back, “I know. Not much higher praise than that.”
Even with her slightly uneasy feeling, Lou felt joy—giddy joy. She smiled the sloppy grin of the newly besotted.
“You know you’re glowing, right?” Sue asked.
Lou blushed. “I can’t help it. I’m just so . . .” She searched for the right word.
“Happy,” Sue said.
“Yes, happy. And giddy. And nervous. And twittery.”
“Twittery?”
“Yes, twittery. I’m twittery. This feels so different from Devlin. I want to know everything about him. Does he always snore when he sleeps? Did he always want to be a writer? Who was his first love? I know so little about him and I can’t wait to find it all out.”
• • • • •
“Hannah, please,” Al said, gripping the faded office chair in front of Hannah’s desk.
Hannah studied the muscles tensing in his jaw, restraining the multitude of counterarguments he had ready for any refusals she presented.
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 15