by Jamie Beck
Her father nodded, and she noted a gleam of respect in his eyes. “So what are you going to do about Alec?”
“I’ll let you know once I decide.”
Alec unpacked the basket of fresh produce and edible and other flowers he’d cobbled together from the farmers’ market. His body buzzed with creative energy and determination.
Colby had agreed to meet him at his apartment tonight to talk. Of course, he knew talking about food was never as effective as showing and tasting. So he’d dedicate the next several hours until her arrival to preparing a meal—an experience—to convince her that they could find a compromise.
Tonight would be the first time he officially invited to his apartment the woman for whom he’d always felt a tortured kind of affection. His heart knocked around inside his chest thanks to his decision to base the entire meal around flowers.
Unprofessional? Yes. But he’d do it, anyway. The romantic in him couldn’t not do it for her. And maybe setting an intimate mood would remind her that she was safe with him. Might coax her into dropping her guard and remembering who she really was at heart—a girl who’d patiently stopped and answered all of crabby old Mrs. Miller’s questions whenever she’d come out to her mailbox rather than run away like the other kids. Not a woman who threw someone’s failures in his face, although he’d take that from her because he’d earned it, even if she never knew why.
After snipping the bottoms off the pink and yellow tulips he’d bought, he arranged them in a square vase. She’d always liked tulips. And hydrangeas. And peonies. Pink peonies. Pink like her lips . . .
He shook his head. With only a few hours at hand, he needed to start cooking. Table setting and daydreaming would have to wait.
As an executive chef, he rarely got to cook at work. He’d almost envied his chefs de partie at times. Tonight, however, he’d indulge his love for food and aesthetics without interruption or pressure. Or a never-ending line of dinner orders from the front of the house.
Methodically, he began pulling out cutting boards, bowls, and platters. He smiled, recalling when he’d first been taught the importance of mise en place. Everything, everything, would be set out and organized before beginning—cookware, utensils, recipes, ingredients, and prep.
A quick glance at the clock made him work faster. Thankfully, he’d been experimenting with a new sorbet yesterday. Colby and her mother had always had a sweet tooth.
This meal marked the first time he’d ever cooked specifically for her. Sure, she’d sampled his experiments in the past, but those had been recipes he’d made for himself. He supposed this, too, was for him in some ways. To keep his job and persuade her to alter her vision. But still . . .
Gingerly, he unpacked his knife roll. His best friends, sadly. Razor sharp. Perfectly worn handles. The most prized: the Messermeister Meridian Elité chef’s knife he’d received as a parting gift when he left France. He set his hands on the counter and drew in a cleansing breath. Some people worshipped at the church altar. He did so in the kitchen.
At work he could never listen to music, but at home he could crank it up. He scrolled through his phone to find Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” and hit “Play.” A tune that turned back the clock, almost as if he thought he could finally go after what he’d always wanted.
Alec folded the napkins to resemble water lilies and then set them on the table between spotless, gleaming silverware. He lit the tapered candles and placed the flower vase in the center of the table. Little details made a difference, even if Colby didn’t yet realize it.
After a moment he remembered she’d never much liked the grunge-music scene, so he opted for Jason Mraz. He swiveled, checking to make sure everything was set. His pulse throbbed in anticipation.
An olivewood platter with charcuterie and cheese, grainy mustard, and Johnny-jump-ups sat waiting on the kitchen bar next to a basket of homemade multigrain crostini. He had chilled prosecco on hand, and—
Knock, knock, knock.
His stomach clenched. Another quick glance made him wish he were living in something nicer than a cheap rental apartment.
Knock, knock.
He opened the door. “Sorry. Come in.”
Unlike him, she hadn’t changed her outfit for the occasion. Of course not. To her, this was nothing more than a quick business meeting. One in which she likely planned to hold him to her ultimatum.
“Thank you.” She kept her gaze locked on his as she stepped inside. “I won’t keep you long, I just—” She paused, having peripherally noticed the ambience. Her eyes widened. “What’s all this? Do you have a date tonight?”
“No.” He fought the flush rising up his neck. “This is for you.”
“For me?” She wandered to the table and fingered one of the napkins, brows pinched in the cutest show of confusion. “I thought we were going to talk about our disagreement.”
“We are . . . in a manner of speaking.” He went to the kitchen, tossed a hibiscus bud in a champagne flute, and filled it with prosecco and a dash of St-Germain elderflower liqueur. “Have a drink and try some cheese.”
She hesitated before taking the glass from him. “Ham?”
He tsk-tsked. “Jamón ibérico, from Spain.”
Her sardonic stare reminded him that she didn’t appreciate the distinction.
“Yes, Colby. Ham. Very special ham.”
“So special it needs flowers, apparently.” She grinned, fingering the Johnny-jump-ups on the platter.
“Those are edible. Minty. Good with the goat cheese.” He made her a crostino with cheese, meat, and the flower. “Try it.”
He then spread some mustard on another piece of toast, covered it with “ham,” and popped it in his mouth. The combination of salt and spice with the hint of garlic-seasoned olive oil on the toast sprang to life in his mouth.
“This ham is delicious.” Colby said.
“I’m glad you approve. We should include a proper charcuterie-and-cheese selection on our menu. And as you can see, it’s not fussy, although it makes an impression.”
She raised a brow. Without addressing his remark, she glanced around. Her gaze stopped on the half-finished 3-D puzzle of Notre-Dame Cathedral residing on his coffee table. “Three-D now?”
He’d loved jigsaw puzzles—every kind of puzzle, really—for as long as he could remember. He wondered if she remembered sending him a personalized jigsaw puzzle she’d had made from a photograph of Une Bouchée as a congratulatory gift when he’d earned the James Beard Award. “Keeps me out of trouble.”
“Oh, yes. You were always such a radical,” she joked. Following another assessing look around, she asked, “How long have you been living here?”
“Almost two months.”
“No photos anywhere? Nothing on the walls.” She tilted her head. “Unsure of whether or not you’d be staying?”
He gulped down his prosecco. He was going to need more of it to get through the evening. “Yes.”
“Why?”
How to answer that complicated question? “Lots of ghosts.”
Probably not the reply to toss offhandedly at a woman whose husband had killed himself. Dammit, she made him nervous, and he’d always been stupid whenever he’d been nervous.
Colby peered into her glass at the flower surrounded by golden bubbles. “What changed your mind?”
Alec leaned against the counter. “My mother, and Hunter. When I took off after losing everything, it broke my mom’s heart all over. I came back for her but didn’t have the money to start another restaurant. My former colleagues had lost faith in me, so my options were limited. Then Hunter called. I took it as a sign.”
He watched her while she carefully constructed another crostino. She closed her eyes when she bit into it, then finished it off with a sip of her drink. After swallowing, she opened her eyes. “So you plan to use A CertainTea to prove everyone wrong. To reclaim what you lost.”
Alec didn’t want to discuss his motives, especially the more personal ones. Non
e of them undermined his earnest belief that following his lead would be her best shot at making A CertainTea a wildly popular restaurant.
“That doesn’t mean our goals conflict.” Alec gestured toward the table, sidestepping her question. He couldn’t tell her that handing her her dream was one of his goals, because that would raise questions he didn’t want to answer. “Take a seat and I’ll join you in a minute.”
While she seated herself, Alec ladled white gazpacho into two bowls. After drizzling them with his secret emerald-green oil and adding sliced almonds, he garnished each bowl with lavender blossoms. He looked toward the dining table, where Colby sat, looking perfectly at home. Oddly, it seemed to him the most natural thing in the world to have her there. To cook for her. To serve her. To just look upon her made him happier than he’d been in years.
He carried the bowls to the table and set one in front of her. “Voilà.”
“It’s gorgeous, but it’s . . . green.” She sniffed twice, trying to discern the soup base.
Green. Such a boring, meaningless word. The pale soup—veering toward white—would be better described as pistachio. It glowed, evoking a sense of renewal. Something he suspected they both were seeking, if for different reasons. “White gazpacho.”
An approving grin appeared. “And these flowers are edible, too?”
“Lavender. Yes.”
He watched her face as she sampled her first spoonful, and waited. Waited for the delighted, surprised look that would light her eyes. When it came, his chest expanded with victory.
“Yum!” She smacked her lips together.
Yum, indeed. He snickered. “Not the praise I’m used to, but it’ll do.”
“Well, I’m no Michelin Guide critic. Yum is as good as it gets.” She laughed then and raised her glass. “The tulips are a nice touch, Alec. I’m sensing a theme here with all the flowers.”
“Bonus points for keen observation, Ms. Cabot-Baxter.” If Alec weren’t acutely aware of everything about Colby, he might’ve missed the brief moment of tension in her shoulders when he’d mentioned her married name. “Finish up, there’s more to come.”
“My mom will be so jealous.” Colby spooned another mouthful. “Just today she was reminiscing about the fruit tarts you used to bring her.”
“I’ll bring her a little takeout box when I see my mother tomorrow night.”
“She’d love that.” Colby’s grateful smile melted him, like always.
“Perhaps I can help you fill that so-called black hole of neediness, since your brother won’t.” He wouldn’t ask why Colby didn’t prod Hunter for more help. She’d always been the caretaker in that family. He suspected it had been some time since anyone had taken care of her. A role he’d happily adopt through placating her mom.
“A chef and a caretaker?” Her brows rose, and then she chuckled. “Careful not to bite off more than you can chew.”
“Is that a lame attempt at a culinary joke?” He sipped his drink.
“Stop talking and let me enjoy this green soup.” She put her finger to her lips to shush him.
He envied that finger. “Take your time while I finish making the next course.”
Alec worked quickly, infusing the salmon confit with a brown butter hollandaise, garnished with young asparagus and beetroot, along with some daylilies. “I hope you like salmon.”
“Who doesn’t?” She craned her neck to peek at the plate in his hand.
“Exactly.” He set the plate down, and she let out a sigh.
“That’s really pretty. I feel like I should be taking pictures and posting them on Instagram.”
“Well, they’d certainly be more enticing than a dull-brown photo of chicken marsala.” He cleared his throat.
Colby fell silent for a moment or two while eating. “This must’ve taken you all afternoon.”
Alec shrugged. It had been his pleasure, in more ways than one. Of course, sitting across from her tonight had been the best part of all. He could almost pretend it was a date. Almost.
“You’ve always been so passionate about food I suppose it didn’t surprise me today when you snapped about the menu.”
He wiped his mouth. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“Apology accepted. And I’m sorry I insulted you.” Colby cut more salmon, her voice soft yet strong. “But Alec, I won’t be manipulated and bullied in my own restaurant.”
“I understand.” Did that mean that, even after all this, she wasn’t persuaded to give him control of the menu? Would he be forced to walk away? Because he knew he couldn’t make a career of overseeing grilled fillet, baked potatoes “with all the fixins,” and steamed vegetables. “Before you make any final decisions, how about la pièce de résistance. I haven’t forgotten about your sweet tooth.”
She smiled. “You’re playing me well. Fitting together all the pieces like another kind of puzzle.”
He collected their plates without confessing. Despite years of accumulated observation and fascination, she’d likely be the one puzzle he’d never be able to solve. “Excuse me.”
When he returned, she clapped her hands. “Ooh, pretty. What is it?”
“Pink-lemonade lavender thyme sorbet, with mint and violet garnish.”
Feminine, complex, and beautiful, just like Colby. A tiny nod to that tenderhearted person who wasn’t afraid to show compassion to her neighbors, because he remembered her even if she didn’t.
She didn’t even wait for him to sit before she tasted it. “Oh! This is delish.”
“Yum?” he teased.
She shook her head, savoring another bite of sorbet in her mouth. “Double yum.”
“I’m deeply humbled.” He spread his hand across his chest and bowed his head.
“I doubt it.” She smirked.
She licked her spoon, glazing her lips with sorbet. Despite everything standing between them—past and present—he wanted to kiss her. Sweet, citrusy, sticky kisses. He almost groaned at the thought.
While he fantasized about her mouth, she’d obviously turned her thoughts back to business.
“Alec, in all seriousness, can you compromise? Can you work to make my dream happen without replacing it with your own?” She sat back, hand on her stomach, looking both sated and contemplative.
He paused, thinking about what he could and couldn’t do. “That depends.”
She raised her brows. “Go on.”
“Did you enjoy this meal?”
“You know I did.”
He leaned forward, strung tight with the need to be understood. “If you didn’t know me, and if this was your one and only experience with food from my kitchen, would you return again to see what else I might create?”
“Yes.” She looked at him now, her gaze softening. “Yes, I’d come back.”
Perhaps that second glass of prosecco played with his head, but it almost sounded like something more than the simple answer he’d requested. Might she come back here, to eat with him?
Candlelight glinted off her wedding band, reminding him of the truth. He pushed his foolish wish aside and pressed her in order to secure her cooperation. “If I’d grilled a decent steak, would you have had as much fun experiencing the meal?”
“No.” Two little lines appeared between her brows. Her thinking face. He resisted the urge to press his lips to her forehead and kiss away those lines.
“That’s my point, Colby. I’m not trying to usurp your dream. Just let me make A CertainTea an experience your customers will remember. One they’ll share with friends and on Facebook or whatever. We can create buzz with the right menu.” He waved his hand over the table. “Simple foods served exquisitely.”
She stared at him as if trying to judge his sincerity. “Okay, let’s try to make this work. Come tomorrow with some ideas to discuss. We can meet at nine, and I’ll make sure the other staff arrives by ten o’clock.”
“Thank you.” Saying less would be the right strategy. He’d just won a major battle.
“Tha
nk you.” She rested her chin in her hand. “That was the best meal I’ve had in ages.”
“Does it rate a triple yum?” Suddenly Alec felt fifty pounds lighter.
She laughed. “Well, I can’t stroke your ego too much. Besides, you don’t want to peak too soon, right?”
“No.” He’d always preferred the slow build to a fast burn.
“Let me help you clean up, then I’ll get out of your hair.” She took their bowls into the kitchen. He followed with their glasses, wishing she’d decide to stay longer.
“Hunter says you still live in the city.”
“Yes.” A pained look flared, making him regret his thoughtless comment. “I moved to a different neighborhood, closer to my old office. Now it’s not so convenient, though. I should probably think about selling it and coming back this way.”
He began rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. “I suppose it’s more fun, though, being in the center of Portland. More to do.”
“I’m busy enough getting up to speed on this new career. Securing permits, designing the space, hiring the staff, creating employee manuals, learning the laws about food handling, and, well, just everything.” She wiped down some of the empty counters, then rinsed and wrung the dishrag. “No time for anything else, really.”
Again, he noted tension in her shoulders and face. Clearly she hadn’t yet moved on with her personal life. He hated the image that came to him then, of her sitting in her condo, surrounded by objects but no people. No laughter. Colby used to laugh easily.
“The work hours of this industry make it tough, but don’t neglect your personal life.”
She playfully slapped his shoulder. “I don’t need another mother. One is more than enough.”
Ah, yes. She’d always view him like a family member. He raised his hands. “Fair enough.”
“I should go.” She went to get her purse.
“Hang on.” Alec strode to the table and plucked the tulips from the vase. After soaking some paper towels in cold water, he then wrapped them around the base of the stems and secured them with a rubber band. “Take these.”