by Kim Barnouin
I shot him a smile.
“Who can tell me what this is?” he asked the audience, holding up a head of garlic.
The day got much better from there. Even more so when he told me that Rain was now dating the executive chef at White Blossom, where she’d managed to get hired as sous chef.
“Yeah, I wonder how she got that job,” I said. “She won’t last long.”
“No doubt. Why didn’t you tell me she was a lying bitch?” he asked, that dimple of his flashing at me. “She told me she did slip the butter in your ravioli the night O. Ellery Rice was there. I couldn’t believe that I was not only shagging a woman who’d actually do that to a fellow chef, but someone who was bragging to me about it. I told her it was over between us, and she threw a fit and announced she was going to dump me for her boss anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if I find chicken bones in the French onion soup I’m making for Paris bistro week.”
Awesome.
When I got home, all I wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and wash the smell of cafeteria off me, but Eva was waiting for me in front of my building, sucking on the straw of her Starbucks iced coffee and holding a manila envelope. I almost didn’t recognize her because her hair was dark brown instead of the usual red.
“My natural color,” she said, playing with the pointy ends. “It was Derek who thought I should go red, but I never liked it.”
I didn’t care anymore about Eva’s hair or what her asshole husband liked or didn’t like. And if she said one more word about him, I was leaving. I’d give her two seconds to get on with it.
She eyed me and chewed her lip for a second, then thrust out the manila envelope. “I was going to leave this in your mailbox, but I decided to give it to you in person.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
I flipped open the little silver tab. Inside were two copies of my recipes and the original hand-scrawled set bound inside a black-and-white fabric book.
“I know there’s nothing I can say, Clementine. I know sorry won’t cut it. But I am sorry. I was desperate and acted like a king shit. I’m not even going to ask you to forgive me because I wouldn’t forgive someone who pulled something like that on me. I just want you to know that I really am sorry.”
“Well, at least you tried to make things right,” I said. “If it wasn’t for your proof, my sister probably wouldn’t have been able to force Prime’s hand.”
She gave me something of a smile. “Least I could do and all that jazz. So, um, I’m sure you probably don’t give a rat’s ass, but I wanted you to know I’m really done with him. Moving on for good.”
“Actually, I’m glad to hear it.”
She bit her lip again, told me she was sorry again, and then started to get teary and hurried away.
When I unlocked the door to the apartment, Sara jumped off the couch and said, “Finally.”
“Finally, what?”
She looked kind of nervous. “Finally, you’re home. I have interesting news. Very interesting news.” She gave me a quick glance, then went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of the iced tea I’d made this morning. She poured me a glass, too.
This didn’t sound good. “Are you gonna tell me or what?”
“Guess who got offered the permanent role of snarky assistant on a cooking show?” she asked, barely able to contain her huge grin.
“A cooking show? Like an assistant to the chef? That’s amazing. So they saw you on Eat Me and saw how great you are?”
“Yup. And the job is mine. No audition. No callback. Mine.”
I squeezed her into a hug. “What’s the show?”
She took a sip of her drink. “Um, this is the interesting part. It’s as Joe Asshole Johanssen’s assistant on Eat Me’s weekly live cook-offs.”
I was so surprised I almost spit my mouthful of iced tea all over her. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little bit! Get this, Clem—I’m supposed to be snarky only to him, not the challengers—that’s his job. I’m supposed to tell him to suck it, shove it, whatever I want, and actually boost up the challengers when he tries to knock them down. In fact, the snarkier I am to him, the better.”
That was kind of hilarious, actually. “That’s awesome, Sara.”
“You don’t think I should tell him to shove it?” she asked. “As in, the job?”
“Do you want the job?”
The grin was back. “More than anything. Who knows what this will lead to! Does that make me a bigger asshole than he is?”
“Not in the slightest,” I assured her. “Just promise me you’ll give it to him good.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, clinking her glass of iced tea with mine. “So weird how life works. The craziest stuff can come from where you least expect it, you know?”
Oh, yeah, I knew.
I stood in front of the window in my bedroom, staring out at the space formerly known as The Silver Steer. Sara and I had gone out to celebrate her new gig, and now it was after one in the morning, the moonlight and streetlamps lighting up the arched stone entryway and the red door as they always did, making it too easy to stand here and imagine the place as mine like I’d been doing all these years. But I couldn’t even envision my sign—Clementine’s No Crap Café etched into copper—on that space anymore.
Maybe you’re just scared to get what you want, I heard Zach say. In fact, I’d say that’s exactly what’s holding you back from a couple of things.
I’m not scared of anything.
You’re scared shitless of me. And you’re scared shitless of your dream coming true. I know this because I’m handing you both and you’re saying no.
I remembered how something squeezed inside my chest when he said that.
Like the truth. Half of it, anyway.
I was scared of him. In the best way. But if he wanted me, he’d have to take me as I was.
On Friday afternoon, I did what I always did when I was freaking out. I cooked. My cell phone was next to the package of vegan cream cheese on my kitchen counter. It had rung at least twenty times in the past hour. But it was never the real estate agent.
If she didn’t call me soon I’d go out of my mind.
I was whisking vegan cheddar, jack, Parmesan, and the cream cheese into squash and soy milk for my amazing Macaroni and Four Cheeses when the phone rang.
I grabbed it. “Clementine Cooper speaking.”
It was the real estate agent. I held my breath.
This is it. Say yes.
“Clementine Cooper, I fully expect dessert on the house when I stop by your new restaurant on Montana Avenue.”
I screamed. I barely know what I said back. Promised her free food for the rest of her life, I was pretty sure.
Clementine’s No Crap Café. Reality.
Text to Zach: Talk Friday tonight?
Zach: Come by at seven.
When Zach opened the door to his house, I handed him his lease. Charlie stared up at me and then waddled over to his dog bed.
“I got the space on Montana. Clementine’s No Crap Café is a go. My way.”
“You want to know what I think about all this?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He took my hand. “That you’re not the least bit interested in my money.”
“I could give a shit about your money,” I said. “Actually, I like you less for it.”
He laughed. “You can take me out to dinner then. To celebrate.”
“I’d rather make you dinner. Here.”
He pulled me close to him and kissed me.
“Oh, and by the way, Zach? I love you, too.”
Shit, yeah, I said it.
Epilogue
O. ELLERY RICE
Los Angeles Times Restaurant Critic
It takes a confident chef to put the word “crap” in the name of her restaurant, and let me tell you, twenty-six-year-old Clementine Cooper, owner and executive chef of Clementine’s No Crap Café, has good reason for that confide
nce. Her terrific new vegan restaurant opened last night on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica with a line wrapped around the block.
From the moment you step inside the gleaming ten-table eatery with its Cali-meets-Moroccan décor, you feel instantly healthier. Raised on an organic farm in northern California, Clementine believes in offering delicious food in its natural form, and with a range of cuisines, this fabulous eatery has something for everyone.
From her famed Butternut Squash Ravioli in Garlic and Sage Sauce to melt-on-the-tongue Curried Chickpea Cakes, Clementine’s entrees are healthy and incredibly satisfying. Offerings include Spicy Vegetable Curry, Asian Macaroni and Cheese, Crepes with Raspberry Sauce, Caramelized Eggplant with Red Miso, Lentil Tacos, and some fantastic soups and salads, from the incredible Red Potato Black Olive Salad, to the blissful Kale and White Bean Soup.
A former sous chef at Fresh and several top vegan restaurants, Clementine Cooper has brought to Santa Monica a vegan restaurant so good that it’s easy to see why the competition has always run scared from her. Famous for her Skinny Bitch empire, Clementine sat down with me over dessert—a slice of her incredible German Chocolate Cake—and explained that being a Skinny Bitch has always meant cutting the crap out of your life. Clementine’s No Crap Café will give you a great way to do just that.
Acknowledgments
Laura Dail, a million thanks for so many things. To Karen Kosztolnyik, I am grateful for your enthusiasm and your belief in me. Heather Hunt, you handle so many details that make everything run so smoothly, and I truly appreciate it. To Louise Burke, Jennifer Bergstrom, Liz Psaltis, Natalie Ebel, Ellen Chan, and Stephanie De Luca at Gallery Books, thank you so much for your help in getting this book made, I am forever grateful. Melissa Senate, you are truly magical. Thank you does not suffice, but still, thank you!
A special shout out to San Diego’s La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club; it was there that I got the inspiration to do this novel.
To Keesha Whitehurst Fredricksen and Joylene Loucks, I am the luckiest girl in the world for getting the most amazing BFFs.
And finally, thanks to Stephane and Jack for loving and supporting me, no matter what I decide to do.
KIM BARNOUIN is the #1 New York Times bestselling coauthor of the Skinny Bitch diet and cookbook series: Skinny Bitch, Skinny Bitch in the Kitch, Skinny Bitchin’, Skinny Bitch Bun in the Oven, and Skinny Bastard, and the author of Skinny Bitch Ultimate Everyday Cookbook; Skinny Bitch: Home, Beauty & Style; and Skinny Bitch Book of Vegan Swaps. She is the creator of the Healthy Bitch Daily website. Kim lives in California with her family.
http://authors.simonandschuster.com/Kim-Barnouin/
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Also by Kim Barnouin
Skinny Bitch
Skinny Bitch in the Kitch
Skinny Bastard
Skinny Bitch: Bun in the Oven
Skinny Bitchin’
Skinny Bitch: Ultimate Everyday Cookbook
Skinny Bitch: Home, Beauty & Style
Skinny Bitch Book of Vegan Swaps
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Copyright © 2013 by Kim Barnouin
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Gallery Books hardcover edition June 2013
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Designed by Jaime Putorti
Jacket illustration by Margarete Gockel
Author photography by Matt Armendariz
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Barnouin, Kim
Skinny bitch in love / Kim Barnouin. — First Gallery Books hardcover edition
p. cm
1. Women cooks—Fiction. 2. Cooking schools—Fiction. 3. Santa Monica (Calif.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.A77714S55 2013
813′.6—dc23
ISBN 978-1-4767-0886-7
ISBN 978-1-4767-0892-8 (ebook)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About Kim Barnouin