“Can you ever have too much chorizo or rice?” Sara said since both were favorites of hers.
Tony shook his head and joined in her laughter. “Never. You know we haven’t included ropa vieja and that’s a Cuban staple also.”
It was and the shredded beef in tomato sauce was one of her favorites. “We haven’t done a tamale either and I love those.”
“I do, too. So what if we—”
“Stuff the tamale with the ropa vieja,” they said at the same time.
Like water streaming across rapids, the ideas came fast and furious until they had to actually pare back the number of choices for the cocktail hour. But as Tony went to cross off the deviled ham sandwiches, Sara laid a hand on his to stop him.
A jolt like electricity made them both jump. Sara lost her concentration for that brief second, but quickly recovered. “We can’t lose the deviled ham sandwiches. It’s comfort food, isn’t it?”
Tony nodded and immediately agreed. “You’re right. They were at every occasion in my house. Let’s get to work on it. I mean, if you want to, that is.”
She gave him points for asking instead of commanding. “I’d like that. I actually baked a ham yesterday for us to use,” she said and walked away to get the ham from the fridge.
When she returned to the station Tony had set up the attachment on her stand mixer so they could grind the ham. As she set the ham on a chopping board at her station, she said, “I did a guava glaze on it because the deviled ham spread always had a sweet-spicy flavor to me.”
“Probably the catsup a lot of Cubans mix in,” he said. “Want me to chop?”
“Please. I’m going to get some of the other ingredients,” she said and went back to the fridge for the mayonnaise and cream cheese. Cornichons for a relish, fresh lemons, and parsley.
Tony had chopped and ground the ham until it resembled a slightly rough meal. He was checking the grind, passing it through his fingers to check the consistency. As she came over, he said, “What do you think?”
She examined the ground ham. “I like that coarser texture. There’s no way anyone would think it came out of a can.”
“Especially when we get done with it. Good choice on the cornichons. Their tart and sweet will really work with this spread.”
She nodded and started rolling lemons to break up the juice segments “Thanks. I thought so.”
Tony grabbed the parsley and chopped. “I don’t see any heat here. Did you have any thoughts on that?”
Sara shook her head. “I’m torn between hot sauce and chilis. Or maybe hot mustard?”
Tony made a face at the latter. “Not a mustard fan. Pickles either.”
It surprised her since they were keys ingredient in Cuban sandwiches, until it hit her. “That’s why you don’t use them in your sandwiches. Only the marinade.”
He smiled and laughed. “You’re quick, Sara. Yes, that’s why I only use the marinade.”
She threw her head back and joined him in the laughter, enjoying how easy it was to work and laugh with him. But then she got back to work, squeezing the lemons into a measuring cup so they could do the final touch to the spread with the lemon juice when appropriate. As she worked, she said, “What about grilling some chiles? It would add that smoky flavor to the spread.”
“I like that idea,” he said and tossed the minced parsley into the mixing bowl. “Do you have cream?”
“I do. Why?” she asked and grabbed the cornichons to start chopping them.
“I use a little cream to soften the cheese and less mayo. Not a fan of a heavy mayo taste,” he said.
She peered at him from the corner of her eye. “You’ve got a lot of things you dislike, don’t you?”
His gaze locked with hers. “What I like is way more important. I like the way we can work together. I like you, Sara,” he said, then reached out and stopped her chopping before she could lose a finger.
“I like this too, Tony. A lot. Maybe more than a lot, but I’m here and you’re going back to New York, right?”
With a shrug, Tony looked away and shook his head. “I have to go back, Sara. If only to make sure things are okay so I can decide what to do next.”
“Do you mean that, Tony? Do you really think that you might decide to come back to Miami if things are okay in New York?”
He faced her and shrugged his broad shoulders. “I never pictured myself as an executive chef, running things from afar, but you make me want to think about that. About us,” he said, sincerity in his voice. His brown-eyed gaze was intense as it settled more intimately on her.
“I’ve been thinking about us as well, Tony. I love working with you. Being with you. I think I’m falling for you, but I’m not sure I could handle a long-distance relationship,” she said in a rush of words, afraid that if she stopped, she’d bottle up all that she was feeling. It was long past time that he know. That she admitted what had been growing in her heart over the last few weeks.
Tony stepped close and wrapped her in a tight embrace. He lowered his head to hers and whispered, “I think I’m falling for you too, Sara. I never expected this when I came to Miami. Never thought it would be with you, someone I’ve known all my life and yet, someone new and exciting and so so special.”
She savored his nearness, aware of how special it was considering he would soon be leaving. Fighting tears, she said, “We’ll just have to find a way to work things out, just like we did with all the recipes.”
“We will. We’re good together that way,” he said and with a final reassuring squeeze, stepped away since they had things to finish for the quinceañera in a few days.
“Where is the cream?” he asked.
“In the fridge,” she said, hiding the tear that slipped down her cheek. She hated the thought of him leaving. But now she knew that it might not be forever because he loved her and she loved him.
“You’re going to get burned,” Jeri said while she walked by with a tray of slider buns.
“Shut up, Jeri,” she warned and as Tony approached with the cream, she left her station to get some hot peppers.
By the time she returned Tony was blending the ham and his mix. He waited until she had grilled, chopped, and added the skinned and seeded chiles. Spilled in some of the lemon juice while Tony mixed again. Grabbing a spoon, he offered her a taste.
“Delicious. You try it,” she said. When he did, he nodded and said, “We’ve got a winner here.”
“We do.” The ‘we’ being an operative part of the sentence, she realized. The rivalry stoked by the South Beach Style reporter had vanished over the last few days, replaced by a common desire to do the best they both could do.
Together. Just like they’d said the other day. Tiny steps to together.
For themselves and for the girls.
She turned to him, feeling that connection again, but suddenly Jeri was there, standing between them. Her face inquisitive and protective at the same time as she focused on Tony. Without glancing away from him, almost accusingly, Jeri waggled the wireless phone in Sara’s face.
“Matt wants to confirm the final numbers with you,” she said.
Sara held up her finger to Tony. “Give me a minute. I’ll tell him to add brisket for the ropa vieja, more chorizo, and the ham.”
She hurried to her office to get the numbers, rattled them off to Matt and augmented the order with what they’d need for the additional hors d’oeuvres. But when she returned to her station Tony was gone and Jeri was there, cleaning up the area.
Sara stopped short, shocked. “He left?”
Jeri shrugged, but avoided meeting Sara’s gaze. “Jeri, what did you do?”
Her friend stayed in avoidance mode, giving undue attention to wiping down the stainless-steel counter.
“Jeri,” Sara insisted.
Jeri tossed down the towel, jammed her arms acr
oss her chest, and lifted her chin in defiance. “I suggested that it was best that he leaves before you got back.”
Sara shook her head. “Why, Jeri? Why would you do something like that?”
Jeri’s stance didn’t waver. “He’s got you all twisted up, Sara. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
Sara took a step back, turned away, and then marched back up to her partner. “Like you’re any expert on romance? You’ve had your Prince Charming right under your nose for years –”
“Who? Rick?” Jeri challenged.
“Yes, of course, Rick. Don’t be so dense.”
Jeri blew out a harsh laugh, but then the surprising sheen of tears filled her gaze. “I know he’s your brother and you love him, but Rick is never serious about anything.”
She could see her friend’s genuine upset, which tempered Sara’s anger over what Jeri had done. After all, she understood why Jeri would see any man coming near her or Sara as a potential threat—to their happiness if not their safety.
Jeri’s ex had been abusive and untrustworthy. Jeri hadn’t deserved the way she’d been misused and abandoned. That experience had scarred her, but her reaction to it had been to withdraw from the chance of ever getting hurt again. Sara wished for more for her friend. That Jeri could learn to trust and love again. Sara reached out and hugged her, trying to soothe her. “If you gave him a chance, he’d be serious about you and Sophie.”
With sniffle, Jeri mumbled, “He was really good with her when he babysat the past few days. Maybe I can think about it.”
Sara tightened her embrace to comfort her and said, “Maybe is a good start.”
Chapter 26
Roberta was at her desk, working on the quinceañera article and giving it the “feel good” spin that would inspire others. It wouldn’t be the first time that she’d done that kind of story, having covered multiple charity events and galas over the years. In truth, they were her favorite kinds of lifestyle stories and she preferred them over Marco’s preferred lineup of articles filled with drama and conflict.
Having had this story with lots of juicy trouble turn into one with sweet human interest made her feel less guilty about what had happened earlier with the chefs. She hoped that she could somehow make it up to them with a wonderful piece about the event.
She tucked her keyboard drawer back under her desk just as her editor walked in, coffee cup in hand. Breadcrumbs, a remnant of his daily toasted Cuban bread, dusted the front of his shirt which stretched tightly against a growing belly. Probably because of all the carbs he ate.
She faked a smile and said, “Good morning, Marco. What can I do for you today?”
“I know you’re working on the quinceañera story and I have some news to share with you.”
His voice held a tone she didn’t like, but she didn’t let on that she was worried. She leaned back in her chair, adopting a casual pose. “I’m all ears, Marco.”
He nodded, took a sip of his coffee, and then grasped the mug tightly with both hands, as if to steady himself. “Your recent write-ups caught the attention of one of the editors at a national channel. They want to do a short segment about the quinceañera.”
She held a hand to her chest. “But I have an exclusive on the story.”
“The magazine has an exclusive, Roberta.” One eyebrow shot up as if to dare her to disagree.
“What does that mean, Marco? Am I not writing the story? And if I am, what’s the sense of doing it after the national segment airs?” She’d been looking forward to how her article would highlight the girls’ quinceañera as well as the two chefs, but she had also been looking forward to the attention it would bring to her.
“The magazine will be out after the national and hopefully we’ll see more hits to the website and sales. Do you have an issue with that?” His second eyebrow joined the first, daring her to defy him.
She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to blow him off and tell him to write the article himself, but she bit her tongue and dipped her head to acknowledge his request. Once he was out the door, she drew out her keyboard drawer, opened a document, and did the only thing she could after his instructions.
She wrote the kind of story that would set things right and give people hope. That would highlight friendship, family, and maybe a bit of romance as well. When she was done with that, she did the only other thing she could do.
She updated her resumé.
Tony was in the kitchen, his cooking journals laid out across the surface of the table. He’d set them aside in the last week while dealing with the last-minute rush for tomorrow’s quinceañera celebration, but he’d been itching to get back to selecting recipes for a possible cookbook. With a short break before the madness that would start later that night, going through his journals would serve a dual purpose. It would help him relax and it would also keep his mind off Sara. He was happy with how they were once again talking and laughing. Happy that she’d said she loved him.
But he couldn’t avoid the ticking time bomb staring him in the face, namely that once the quinceañera party was over, he was going back to New York. The Big Apple. The place where if you could make it there, you could make it anywhere. He’d made it there. Big. And yet now, it didn’t bring him the kind of joy that working beside Sara did. Staying in Miami, however, was complicated.
Too complicated? he asked himself. Could he leave what he’d built in the hands of his staff in order to start over in Miami? It was a difficult question and one he had no answer to yet. But whether he came home or not, one thing he intended to do was work on the cookbook that had been on his mind for way too long.
Flipping open one of his earliest journals, he skimmed the pages and flagged some more recipes that would be good for the book with a little updating.
Tension left his body with each page that he turned and recipe he identified. He was about half-way done with the current journal when a commotion in the living room shattered his peace. Especially when he heard the creak of his father’s recliner, warning that his old man had moved from his throne. That didn’t happen all that often.
“Mijo,” he heard his mother shout out followed by an almost bellowed, “Mami. Papi.”
Javi, he thought and rushed out of the kitchen. Sylvia and he had not given up hope that their brother was coming home for the party even though they hadn’t gotten a firm commitment of any travel schedule from him despite various phone calls and texts with him in the last few days.
Sure enough, his older brother was trapped between his mother and father in an awkward embrace. As Javi saw him, he lifted his shoulders and smiled. “Tony, por favor. Ayudame,” he teased in a mock plea for help.
There was no denying the joy on his parents’ faces and the happiness on Javi’s, although his brother looked tired. Dark circles like smudges of charcoal sat heavily beneath his eyes. Deep lines bracketed the edges of his mouth and fanned out from beside his grey eyes. The hair at his temples had silvered, making him appear way older than his thirty-five years.
Tony walked over; hands tucked into his pants pockets. “Sorry, hermano, but you deserve being trapped for keeping us guessing about when you planned on getting here.”
Javi peered heavenward, as if seeking divine intervention, but their mother finally released her death grip on him and shooed her husband back to his recliner. “Javier, Mijo, why didn’t you let us know you were coming?” their mother admonished, and their father grunted his agreement and dissatisfaction with their middle child.
“Yes, mano. Sylvia and I only called you about what? A dozen times in the last week?” Tony kidded.
Javi shook his head in frustration and wrapped a muscular arm around his mother’s broad waist. “It was more like a hundred phone calls and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
“¿Porque?” Tony asked, wondering what could have been so important that his brother couldn’t take two
minutes to tell them about his plans—especially when he had been able to take a minute to be there for Tony when he had been at his lowest about the situation with Sara.
Javi raised his hands as if pleading and said, “I think you should all sit down for this.” He guided his mother to the ottoman in front of their father’s recliner and urged her onto it. He faced Tony and said, “You too, hermanito.”
“Out with it. No need for all the drama,” Tony said. His brother, besides being absent-minded, always made a saga out of a novella.
With a flip of his hands, he said, “Bueno. I sold my company. You are now looking at our family’s first billionaire.”
As Tony’s knees went weak, he thought that maybe he should have sat down.
Javier couldn’t have chosen a worse day to come home and make his announcement. There was no time to catch up with his brother or to celebrate the big news because of all that Tony had to get done at the hotel. While his parents, Javi, and his sister were busy planning a get-together at Sylvia’s later that night, Tony had headed to the venue to meet Sara, Jeri, and their staff, as well as the crew at the hotel. He hoped that he would be able to get away and join his family before it got too late.
When he arrived, the women were already hard at work on making the trio of flans while the hotel staff bustled to prepare marinade for the pork shoulders.
He found Sara in the midst of all the activity, enthusiastically making dough for the empanadas they’d added to the hors d’oeuvres. He held back for a second, just watching her work. Watching how she smiled at one of the other chefs laboring nearby. Her smile stole his breath and the passion in her grey-green eyes was magnetic.
He finally took a breath, told himself to get a grip, and apologized for being a little late. “I’m sorry, but you’ll never guess what happened.”
“Javi came home a billionaire,” she said, surprising him. With a wrinkle of her nose at his questioning look, she said, “News travels fast in Little Havana.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Apparently, it does. What are they saying about us?”
South Beach Love Page 22