South Beach Love

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “I’m sorry too, Sara. I don’t want it to be like this between us.”

  There was such a hangdog look on his face that she couldn’t resist saying, “How did you want it to be between us?” She waited for his reply, holding her breath in expectation. Praying for the kind of answer that would give her hope that it wasn’t over between them.

  Jeri’s ringtone chirped again, and she muttered, “Give me a break.”

  Tony gestured to her phone even as his began its own symphony of noise. “I think you should go.”

  “I guess you should too,” she said and didn’t wait for any more interruptions.

  Roberta Lane had sparked the rivalry the other day and with today’s tweet she had ignited a full-fledged conflagration. Unfortunately, no matter what both she and Tony had wanted, there was no longer any way to avoid the rivalry.

  And no matter what, she had to be better than Tony because too many people relied on her for her to fail.

  Roberta did a little whoop of joy as she watched the number of retweets and comments jump on Twitter. She had clearly hit on something as she read the comments which went anywhere from supportive to the height of snark and meanness.

  Sanchez sold out and abandoned Miami a long time ago. I hope Sara kicks his butt back to New York.

  Chef Tony is so hawt! There’s no way an amateur like Sara Kelly should be the one in ur article.

  “That smirk on your face can only mean one thing,” her boss said as he walked into her office holding his tablet. He turned it in her direction to show her the poll on their website. They’d hit over a thousand votes in just a few hours and Tony and Sara were still neck and neck.

  She held up her phone for him and he let out a low whistle as he caught sight of the response her tweet had generated. “This is turning out bigger than we could have imagined,” Marco said with a definitive nod and an “I told you so” look.

  “Way better than a story just about the resurgence of quinceañeras,” Roberta said.

  “Definitely. We’re going to get a lot of traction with this, but do you think you can keep up the momentum?” Marco asked. From the look on his face, she could tell he was already tallying how many magazines they’d be able to sell as well as hits to their website and the money from advertisers that any clicks would earn.

  Roberta shrugged. “We’re supposed to visit with the chefs to get some shots of them working in the kitchen. Same with the girls in their dresses, but I think we should focus on the chef’s rivalry.”

  “I agree. I hope you’ll be able to stir that pot, Roberta. You’ve done well so far,” he said and turned to walk out of her small office.

  “Thank you, Marco,” she said, but her boss stopped and faced her.

  “Don’t disappoint me,” he said, making her worry about how far he wanted her to go to push the story.

  Some might think she wasn’t nice, but she wouldn’t intentionally harm someone. Well, not usually. But she had to get a good story for the magazine. She’d gotten lucky with this one and she intended to run with it. If that meant some chefs ended the day with hurt feelings, then she could live with that.

  Chapter 15

  After the visit to the fruit stand, Tony had gone back home to work on his idea for a cookbook. He wanted it to feature not only traditional Cuban recipes, but the upscale and fusion recipes that he’d developed at his restaurant over the years. He sat at the kitchen table, the journals that his manager had sent down spread across the table along with an assortment of colored sticky notes he’d borrowed from Sylvia’s quinceañera planner. He had chosen different colors to flag dishes he might want to include in the cookbook and to separate them according to whether they were appetizers, entrees, side dishes, or desserts. Afterward, he intended to mix-in stories and photos of his family and friends that related to the various recipes.

  As he worked, he listened to the patter of his parents chatting in the room next door. It was a familiar sound, as comforting as the foods that Sara had chosen to make in her restaurant.

  Sara, he thought with a sigh. She had looked lovely that morning, but tired. Troubled after seeing that reporter’s tweet and the aftermath of it. He had hated seeing the worry on her beautiful face.

  He was sorry he’d ever agreed to talk to the viper and not only because of the way she had twisted the quinceañera into a contest. He was angry because the story was supposed to have been about the girls and a wonderful tradition. It made him wonder if there was any way to turn the narrative back around and make it about the girls again.

  “That’s a very angry face when you’re doing something you love, Mijo,” his mother said and laid her hands on his shoulders. She rubbed them in a familiar gesture from his childhood, one she’d always used to soothe whatever upset was troubling him.

  “Just trying to figure some things out,” he said and grabbed another one of the journals to review the recipes, flag his selections, and place them in the right category.

  “Would one of those things be Sara Kelly?” his mother asked.

  It would do no good trying to lie to his mother. He had never been able to keep anything secret from her. “You know it is. This thing –”

  “The article?” she said with an arch of a brow as she left him to put up a pot of coffee.

  “When Sylvia asked me to come and help make this quinceañera the best for Angelica, I never expected that it would come to this,” he admitted and flipped through his journal, his mind only half on the project. Maybe less than half as it drifted back to Sara.

  “What’s this?” Sylvia asked as she breezed into the kitchen wearing one of her “power suits.” The black suit accentuated her petite figure while the white shirt was a perfect foil for her dark hair and eyes. Her bangles and many rings had been replaced by only her wedding band and engagement ring, giving her a totally professional look.

  “Sara and the magazine feature,” their mother answered for him.

  Sylvia placed her purse on a kitchen chair, leaned her hands on the top rung of it, and stared at him. “I’m sorry, hermanito. Angelica and I wanted this to be the best party, but not for it to turn into this circus, or drag you into some kind of showdown.”

  “It is what it is,” he said, not that he was happy about it. He missed Sara. Missed spending time with her. And he worried that whatever had been growing between them might have been squashed by the pressure created by the reporter.

  “That doesn’t sound like the Tony I know. The one who tossed his college degree to the winds to follow his dream,” Sylvia said.

  “Y que pena,” his mother said and wrung her hands.

  Sylvia glared at their mother. “It’s not a shame, mami. Tony chose what made him happy and that’s what you said you always wanted for us, verdad? To be happy.”

  “Sí, como no. I want you to be feliz,” their mother said and returned to stand behind Tony and rub his shoulders. “And that’s why Tony has to do something about Sara.”

  “Por favor, mami,” he groused, but Sylvia cut him off.

  “She’s right, Tony. No matter what happens with this article, you have to find a way to make things right with Sara. We’ve always thought you two had a special connection.”

  “The Kellys and Sanchezes have been friends and neighbors forever so yes, there’s a connection,” he said, dodging the implication to avoid his sister’s meddling. If his sister found out that things with Sara had already become more, she’d never leave it alone.

  “Mentiroso,” his mother said and tsked accusingly about the lie he’d told.

  He gathered the journals and supplies to make an escape into his room and away from his well-meaning family, but didn’t have a chance to move before his family started in on him again.

  “You can run and hide from us, but you can’t run away from what you feel for her, hermanito,” his sister warned. Looks like his secret was
out. “There are no quitters in the Sanchez family. Think about our great-grandparents leaving Spain for Cuba and a better way of life. About los abuelos and mami and papi and what it took to escape Cuba and make it here.”

  He couldn’t deny the fortitude that his family had shown over the last generations. Or the strength it had taken for him to follow his own dream after finishing college. But fighting for love?

  “Sara and me, it’s complicated.”

  “Save that for your profile page. When this is all over with the quinceañera, you need to face up to what you feel for Sara and honestly, she needs to do the same,” Sylvia said with a determined nod.

  For the first time that day, a bit of hope rose. “You think Sara feels the same way?”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes and shook her head. His mother was doing the same as Sylvia said, “How can you be so dense? Of course, she does.”

  Since his sister had always been a good judge of character and situations, he wasn’t about to argue. “When this is over –”

  “Why wait until it’s over? Why not go now and tell her how you feel?” Sylvia said.

  He wanted to shout out that it was too soon. That they’d only had a couple of dates in less than two weeks. Love doesn’t happen that fast, he told himself. Or does it? He knew Sylvia was like a pit bull when she latched onto an idea, so he said, “I’ll think about heading over later tonight to see her.”

  “Don’t just think about it. Do it,” Sylvia said.

  His mother echoed the sentiment and reinforced it with a slight squeeze of her hands on his shoulders. “Sí, Mijo. Do it. We want you back home in Miami for good.”

  “Mami, don’t get your hopes up. There’s a lot for me to think about before I make that kind of decision,” he said. Then, to avoid any further discussion, he jumped to his feet and hurried back to his old bedroom to work.

  As he laid out the journal he’d been reviewing, his knees bumped against the wooden edges of the small student desk. He leaned back and the chair creaked from his weight. I’ve filled out a bit since my teen years, but that isn’t the only thing that’s changed, he thought.

  He’d given up Miami and his family for fame and fortune...and loneliness...in New York.

  His parents and sister wanted nothing more than for him to come back home and settle down and there was no doubt they thought Sara was what would keep him in Miami. As for what his heart was telling him...

  He hadn’t expected to find love in South Beach and he still wasn’t sure he had. But like his sister had said, the Sanchezes weren’t quitters. He’d go see Sara tonight to talk to her about this whole crazy competition they’d been dragged into and how he felt about it and her. That he wanted to go back to how it had been before that. To that place where they had been learning more about each other and growing closer. That he hoped that maybe, just maybe, they could allow that relationship to develop into something more.

  Maybe after they talked, they could put things back to rights and avoid any of the upset that had come about because of a meddling reporter.

  Sara shaped the dough for the strombolis that would be one of that night’s specials. She’d always found making bread relaxing even if it was a time-consuming activity. It required patience as you waited for the rise to finish before you could properly knead it and begin the process all over again. As the dough beneath her fingers refused to take shape, she pounded it with her fist. She was feeling anything but patient.

  “Are you imagining that’s Tony Sanchez?” Jeri asked as she watched Sara prep the dough.

  “Maybe.” For good measure she pounded the dough again, relieved when it finally flattened and began to take the shape she wanted. A good omen? she hoped. As out of control as things had gotten, she missed Tony.

  “We’re going to use our homemade sausage and mozzarella in this, right?” Sara asked her partner. The last few days she’d found herself being less decisive than usual.

  “That’s what you said. But what’s going to be the twist? We never do straight comfort food,” Jeri reminded as she continued to stand there, watching Sara stretch out the dough.

  “To tell the truth, I’m at a loss.” The whole thing with the article had her distracted and rattled. Totally off her game and maybe that’s what the reporter – and maybe even Tony – had wanted.

  Jeri stared at the dough for a long hard minute. “How about we make it a breakfast Stromboli instead? Fried eggs, ham, and cheddar.”

  Sara smiled and went with the flow her partner had started. “A little spinach and top it with a buttery hollandaise.”

  “Perfect for that very late-night club crowd,” Jeri said and held her hand up for a high five.

  Sara managed a listless high five and went to the line chefs to explain what they had to prep for the dish. Normally she’d pass the dough preparation on to the pastry chef if she was done with that day’s dessert items, but this time she kept that task for herself. The kneading and pounding were cathartic and by the time the dinner crowd had begun, she was feeling more like her old self.

  “Hey, sis. Are you done murdering that dough?” Rick said as he slipped into the kitchen, wrapped an arm around her waist, and wiped some flour from her cheek.

  “I am. And what brings you here?” she said and craned her neck to look for Jeri to see if she could take a short break to chat with Rick. Her partner was in the back, assisting one of their newer trainees with some knife work.

  Rick tracked her gaze and a warm smile lit up his features. “Just came by to make sure you’re okay. I heard about the whole Tony Twitter thing.”

  “I’m fine and you’d be too if you just asked her out,” Sara said and jerked her chin in Jeri’s direction.

  Rick shook his head. “She keeps on shutting me down whenever it gets close to that moment.”

  Thanks to her ex, Jeri was leery around men, especially since she also had her young daughter Sophie to think about as well. But Sara knew that Rick would never hurt Jeri the way her ex had.

  She cupped her brother’s cheek. “Just give her a little time and keep at it. But not in a stalkery way.”

  “Which I guess means I should get my butt out of this kitchen and over to my table.” He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and said, “Thanks, sis.”

  But as he walked out, a sudden silence swept over the restaurant and then built into a cacophony of excited chatter. The air seemed charged with electricity—so much so that it drew the attention of everyone in the kitchen toward the dining area.

  Tony Sanchez stood at the hostess podium. He must have sensed the change in the mood triggered by his arrival since he jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. He glanced around the room before shifting his gaze to hers.

  She picked up a kitchen towel and wiped her hands clean, intending to tell him to go even as her heart sped up in a hopeful beat, but she had taken no more than a step when a chant began at one end of the room. A group of her regulars, pounding their fists on the tabletop as they said, “Sara, Sara, Sara.”

  Muttering a curse, she went to stop it because no one deserved that kind of humiliation, but it was too late. Like lightning the chant spread across the restaurant, growing louder and more animated as each table joined in.

  Tony got the message loud and clear. He murmured something to the hostess, forced a smile and wave in her direction, and hurried from the restaurant. Sara wanted to go after him, but she had a restaurant full of people to feed. Despite that, she went to rush after Tony but a second later, her brother was charging after him, leaving his meal virtually untouched.

  The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers, leaving Sara with mixed emotions. While she appreciated the support, she wasn’t a fan of what basically amounted to bullying. Not to mention that a big part of her had been hoping that Tony being there meant there was still hope for the relationship that had been developing betw
een them.

  Jeri came over and laid a supportive hand on Sara’s back. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “Do you need to leave? We can handle things for you,” Jeri said and rubbed her back.

  “I can deal,” she managed to say, but her voice was strangled with emotion and as she worked, a tear fell onto the dough she had started kneading again.

  She picked it up and tossed it into the trash. Got out a new round of dough from the dozens they had made earlier that day. She started kneading and pounding and by the time she was finished and passed the dough to a line chef to be filled, she was satisfied that she’d worked the stupid competition to a back corner of her mind for the rest of the night. But as she had before, she wished that Tony being there was a sign that there was still hope for them.

  Chapter 16

  Tony rushed out of the restaurant, chants of “Sara, Sara, Sara,” chasing him onto the sidewalk.

  “Hey, bro, hold up,” said a familiar voice and he half-turned to find Rick running after him. When his friend caught up to him, he said, “Sorry about what happened inside there.”

  Tony started walking again, away from the restaurant, and said, “Probably not the wisest move on my part to come by since that tweet went viral this morning.”

  Rick shook his head and clapped Tony on the back. “Definitely not the wisest. How about we go get dinner?”

  Tony stopped once again and motioned toward Munch with his head. “Didn’t you have a table in there already?”

  Rick nodded and smiled. “And a very nice steak that I’m leaving behind, but I won’t hold that against you. Are you game?”

  Tony shrugged, but appreciated Rick’s support. He had always been a good friend and it made him feel guilty that he hadn’t been there for him lately. Distance had been part of the reason and he was reminded once again that he should spend more time in Miami. He wrapped an arm around Rick’s shoulder and said, “I guess I owe you a meal. Is that fancy steakhouse still up on Washington and Lincoln Road?”