She jabbed her finger in his direction. “Bingo. I need that article to get noticed. I need to make connections so I can either expand this place or open a second location.”
As much as he understood her need, he selfishly had his own needs as well. The paradox was that those needs also included her. “I’m sorry, Sara. I know you’re doing good things here—”
“I am, Tony. I’m giving women a chance to get back on their feet. That’s important to me and to them. And they’re not amateurs.” The earlier anger in her tone had been replaced with passion. With concern for her staff.
“I never said they were. That was Roberta’s word, not mine. I see how well they work. I’ve tasted the amazing food they’ve made. Your food.” He took a step toward her, wanting to offer comfort, but she shifted away. It chilled his heart to have her withdrawing from him.
She raked her hand through her hair again. “They are wonderful, and I plan on leading them to make the best quinceañera meal this town has ever seen. It’s important to me, but also to Samantha and my sister-in-law, Dolores. It’s a tradition that means a lot to her.”
“A tradition you know nothing about,” he tossed at her, equally frustrated by her obstinance.
“Wrong again, Tony. Dolores has been sharing her traditions with me and it’s been amazing to learn about it and her family’s recipes. Her stories about her family, and about Cuba and how they left, are fascinating.”
He could well imagine. The diaspora of Cubans to the United States was a tale of love and determination, hope and loss. “It is fascinating, but it’s not your story. It’s not your food.”
“Dolores is family and because of that her traditions are becoming a part of me,” she said and laid a hand over her heart to emphasize the point. “It’s a part of my family that I want to honor with an amazing meal and an awesome event.”
Her sincerity was real and intense, but there was no way she was going to out-Cuban a Cuban when it came to Cuban food or traditions. “I guess we’ll see who’s the better chef.”
“I guess we will.” With a determined dip of her head, she pivoted on her heel, and escaped back into her restaurant.
The feel of her absence was immediate. He didn’t want to be at odds with Sara, but Roberta Lane had made anything else impossible with her manipulative interviews. But he wasn’t about to just give up on their relationship entirely. Sara had grown to mean too much to him. There had to be a way for them to both get what they wanted despite this manufactured competition to be the one featured in the article. There had to be a way for them to continue to explore what they were feeling for each other and whether it could be more. Whether it could be real love.
He jammed his hands on his hips again and peered through the door of the restaurant. Inside Sara was speaking to Jeri, who shot a quick look in his direction before hugging Sara. Jeri’s gaze warned him to not only stay away, but to disappear or face dire consequences. He understood her anger and admired her loyalty to her friend, as misguided as it might be.
With a few quick strides he was on the sidewalk and moving back toward his car. He needed to return to his parents’ house and doublecheck the menu he had planned. Not to mention call Sylvia let her know what was happening because things had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated than he had ever thought possible.
The knife bit deep into her fingertip. Sara yelped, dropped the knife, and applied pressure to the cut.
Dolores was immediately there and at the sight of the blood, she went into action like any good mom would do. She handed Sara a piece of paper towel and said, “Let me get something to clean that and get it bandaged.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just a little distracted.” Sara kept pressure on the wound and waited while Dolores rushed out to the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit. The two sat at the table and Dolores, clearly in mommy mode, opened the kit and disinfected the wound.
As she swiped an alcohol swab over the slice, Dolores said, “I’ve noticed that you’re not your usual cheery self tonight. What’s bothering you?”
Sara shrugged, then winced as the alcohol stung her finger, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Dolores said, but wiped the cut again just to be safe before instructing Sara to keep the pad and pressure on her finger.
“It’s okay. It didn’t hurt that much.” Nowhere near as much as the hurt from the words she’d exchanged with Tony. Words that had really knocked her off her game. Especially the ones about Dolores’s traditions and food not really being a part of her. That accusation had been eating at her because part of her felt that he hadn’t been wrong. This quinceañera tradition didn’t belong to her and neither did the food.
Dolores’s fingers were sure, but gentle, as she wrapped an adhesive bandage securely around the cut. As she worked, she said, “Can I take a guess who has you frazzled? Would it be Tony Sanchez by any chance?”
Sara smoothed the bandage over the cut and checked to make sure it was secure so she could continue cooking. “I guess Roberta Lane, that snake, has been busy spreading her venom.”
Dolores nodded and closed the first aid kit. “It’s been hard enough keeping the rivalry between the girls in check and now this.” She shook her head, dejection in the slump of her shoulders and the cocoa brown of her eyes. “Sometimes I’m sorry I pushed to have this party.”
Sara laid a hand over Dolores’s as it rested on the tabletop. “Don’t say that, Dolores. This is a lovely tradition and it’s been so wonderful for all of us to get to know more about it and your family’s history. We tend to forget the past, but it’s what shapes our future.”
Dolores took hold of her hand and gently squeezed. “It does, Sara. And I also want to show how proud I am of what we have accomplished. Matt and I might not have the kind of money that Angelica’s parents have, but we’ve come a long way from our tiny cinder block homes in Little Havana.”
“You have, Dolores. You should be very proud of all that you’ve done.” She had always loved and respected her sister-in-law and had a good relationship with her. Planning the quinceañera had only brought them even closer.
Dolores smiled and urged Sara out of her chair. “You should be as well. You’ve accomplished so much and not just for yourself. You’re making a big difference in other people’s lives. That’s amazing!”
Maybe, Sara thought, but had to know whether Dolores felt the same way that Tony did about Sara’s involvement in the quinceañera. “Tony said that these traditions and the foods aren’t mine. He made me feel guilty that I’m going to be using your family recipes to boost my name. Kelly. Not too Cuban, right?” she said with a harsh laugh.
Dolores wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “So he thinks only Cubans can cook Cuban food? Didn’t he train under French and Italian chefs?”
With a huff, Sara said, “Yes, he did. Part of the training, right?”
With a reassuring shake, Dolores said, “You respect my traditions and my food. You’re taking the time to learn about both. That’s what matters to me and not the fact that you’re Irish.” With a laugh, Dolores continued. “Besides, both Tony’s family and mine were first generation in Cuba. Some there didn’t consider us Cuban enough back then but that didn’t stop us from being Cuban in our hearts.”
Sara smiled, appreciating the support. Sara hugged her sister-in-law and walked her back toward the counter where she had been chopping garlic. “Well this heart—and stomach—thinks that the mojo you put on the tostones is absolutely amazing. Now I want to know how you did it.”
Dolores urged Sara away from the cutting board and picked up the knife. She cut the garlic cloves, chatting as she chopped them into finer and finer pieces. “Well, there’s the parsley and citrus mojo that’s just like the marinade for the roast pork. This one is all garlic all the time.”
When the garlic was finely diced, Dolores pou
red extra virgin olive oil into a cast iron pan. “Mi abuela had a little secret for this mojo,” she said and added a healthy dollop of butter to the oil. “But you need to keep the heat low, so the garlic and butter won’t burn.”
“Got it,” Sara said. Garlic joined the butter and oil in the pan and within seconds the fragrance of the garlic wafted through the kitchen. It took only a few minutes and the garlic was heading toward a lovely gold. Dolores immediately shut off the gas and shifted the cast iron pan off the range. The pan would retain enough heat to finish cooking off the garlic.
“Let it cool and then we can try it,” Dolores said and walked over to the counter to bring over the plate of tostones they had made earlier that night by twice frying and flattening slices of green plantains.
As they sat at the table, Sara grabbed one of the now flat and thin plantains and added a liberal amount of salt. She ate a piece, loving the crispy edges, crunchiness of the exterior, and slightly creamy interior. Holding up what was left, she said, “This would make a totally awesome carrier for something. Maybe a slider of some kind.”
“You do love your burgers, don’t you,” Dolores teased with a smile.
“I so do. I know most people don’t think of them as fancy food, but they can be a perfect meal.” She popped the last little bit of plantain into her mouth and her mind was whirling with possible ideas for the kind of slider that would perfectly match the tostones.
“Tony loved your sliders. Or at least that’s what Rick told Matt,” Dolores said with a knowing look.
Tony, Tony, Tony. He’d been on her mind since yesterday’s blow-up. Maybe talking about him was a way to exorcise him from her brain so she could focus on what she had to do for the quinceañera. “He liked my food. I think he liked me and not just in a chef-way.” And the feelings were mutual. Her childhood crush was long gone, her feelings those of a woman who wanted a happily-ever-after with a complex and interesting man. But definitely not a long-distance relationship.
“You’ve liked him since forever.” Dolores rose from the table and went back to the stove where she ladled some of the garlic mojo into a small bowl and brought it back to the kitchen table for them to try.
“Did Matt tell you that too?” Her older brother could be amazingly dense at times about what to keep private.
Dolores chuckled and shook her head. “Chica, I have eyes of my own. It was obvious to everyone in the neighborhood, except Tony of course, that you liked him.”
Sara planted her face in her hands and groaned. “Lord, was I that obvious?” When the smell of garlic teased her, she opened her eyes to find Dolores holding out a plantain with a tiny bit of garlic, oil, and butter glistening at its center.
She didn’t hesitate to take it and sample the mojo. The garlic and butter were sweet against the fruitiness of the tostones and slight tang of the olive oil. “Delicious. I see how the butter adds another layer. I’ll have to try that with some of my other recipes.”
“Do I get a commission when you do?” Dolores said with a wink.
“For sure, Dolores. In fact, I’ll credit you on the menu for any of the recipes I use.”
“I’d be honored if you did that,” Dolores said, but then plowed on. “What do you plan to do about Tony?”
She’d been thinking about it non-stop since the interview with the reporter. “There’s only one thing I can do: Be the best.”
Tony had always been able to count on his older siblings to help him when he had a sticky problem—and Sara was definitely one of the stickiest problems to come his way in a long time.
He’d be seeing Sylvia later, but now it was time to reach out to Javi and not just about Sara. No one had heard for certain when his brother would be arriving in Miami for the quinceañera which was now only two weeks away.
He dialed Javi, who only answered after several rings. “Tony, this isn’t a good time,” Javier said.
In the background he could hear others talking and he wanted to say that lately it was never a good time with Javier but bit it back. “I’m sorry, but I really needed to talk, mano.”
A long pause followed and then the sound on the phone became muffled as his brother said, “You’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes.”
When Javier came back on, he was the only one on the line. “How can I help, Tony?”
Tony explained about Sara and the quinceañera competition that had come out of nowhere.
“Hermanito, that is a difficult situation. Do you care for her?” Javi asked and he could picture his brother’s face, full of caring and patience much like when they were kids and Tony had needed advice.
“I do, Javi. I know it hasn’t been all that long –”
“Just over a week,” Javi challenged.
“But in that short time, we’ve really gotten to know each other. I like her. I’m totally into her and I don’t know what to do about this.”
“Can you separate the competition from what you feel for her?” Javi asked.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted honestly. He was competitive by nature. It was how he’d succeeded in such a cutthroat business. But competing against Sara... “I’m not sure,” he repeated, so confused by what he wanted and how it impacted what Sara wanted.
Javi started to speak, but then a second voice intruded. “Javi, we really need you back in the meeting. Come on, dude. This is important.”
The sound was muffled again as Javi said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Javi, are you okay?” Tony asked, worried that there was something serious going on in his brother’s life.
“I’m okay, I just can’t share any details right now. But I hope I’ll be able to once I get home,” Javi said, his tone rushed, but without worry which eased some of Tony’s concern.
“Are you coming home for the quince?” Tony pressed, just to make sure he wasn’t misreading his brother’s comment.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, hermanito. I miss you all and can’t wait to see you.”
Relief swamped Tony. “Take care, Javi. We’ll see you soon.”
“What are you going to do?” Sylvia asked as she sat across from Tony, sipping the cortadito that their mother had prepared for them.
Tony took a taste of his own and the thick sweetness of the condensed milk his mother had used coated his mouth. It would make a perfect base for a coffee-flavored ice cream.
“So?” Sylvia pressed and because he knew his sister would not leave it alone, he finally answered.
“I don’t know. To be honest, being home has made me think about spending more time here.” And more time with Sara.
“As in, you’d live here, hermanito?” Hopefulness colored her words.
With a reticent nod, he said, “Sí, as in living here. Maybe even opening another restaurant with a more eclectic menu. That’ll take money and connections and that article in South Beach Style could be enough to get the ball rolling. That is if the reporter features Angelica’s party and my cooking.”
Sylvia gently held her small espresso cup, peering down at it until she softly said, “And rolling right over a speed bump named Sara Kelly. Not to mention her niece Samantha.”
Obviously, Sylvia didn’t like the thought of that any more than he did. “Were you aware that she trained at-risk women with no cooking experience in her kitchens so they could have more job opportunities?”
“And she helps place them in other restaurants and hotels so they can move up,” Sylvia added. “I knew. Esteban and I have attended her annual fundraiser to help offset the costs of equipment and supplies for the women.”
“Saint Sara,” he muttered and finished off his coffee with one big gulp. The heat of it burned like acid as it went down his throat along with the guilt that swamped him. Sara was doing something really important and didn’t merit his sarcasm, only praise.
“She does i
t because of Bridget,” Sylvia said, surprising him with the mention of Sara’s older sister.
“What about Bridget?” Tony asked, puzzled by the statement.
Sylvia dipped her head to one side and hesitated, obviously conflicted. “She had a hard time both before and after her divorce. Bridget was lucky to have family that could help her, but if she hadn’t had them, she might have ended up homeless just like the women that Sara helps.”
“I still don’t get the connection,” he said, feeling like he was missing something.
“After her experience, Bridget went to some support groups and met many women who hadn’t been as lucky as she was. That made her want to find a way to help them, so she started an organization that supports women in need and Sara helps in whatever ways she can,” Sylvia said.
“So, if I’m the one whose featured in this article—”
“It’s not just Sara who gets hurt, although I think that’s a major part of it for you. Not an easy choice, is it?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. But I have a reputation to uphold and I made a promise to you and Angelica. As important as this is to Sara, I can’t do anything less than my best for all of us.” The truth of that didn’t make him feel any better about what was happening or how this would all end. He didn’t want to sabotage Sara’s chance to expand her business. He didn’t want to hurt Sara or her staff. And he still wanted to see where their relationship could go. But he had to support his family as well.
“You care for her, don’t you?” Sylvia said, her brow furrowed as she waited for his response.
“I do. She’s so talented. Bright. Funny. Unique. She’s not afraid to follow her own drummer, sabes.”
“Do you love her, Tony?”
If he did, he wasn’t ready to say, especially not to Sylvia. The person he wanted to hear that first was Sara. “Maybe,” was all that he was willing to admit to his sister.
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