Cravings

by Dee Carney

  “Hate making dessert,” muttered Lee. They stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough for Ginger to peer into his saucepan to see a lovely brown sauce simmering gently. Rounds of jalapenos bobbed within the viscous liquid. She drew back when her eyes began to sting from the fumes.

  “Jesus, that’ll take your eyebrows off.” Her eyes still watered.

  “Just means that it’s about done.”

  “That good enough to win?”

  He shot her an amused glance. “Is yours?”

  “Yup. I’ll be stenciling my place’s name on those six spots by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Lee stopped stirring. “About that…”

  Ginger ducked to peer into the oven’s window. The tops of her shortcakes hadn’t yet begun to brown, much to her disappointment. If she couldn’t get them out of the high heat soon, the whipped cream she’d planned on topping them with would melt right onto their molten surfaces.

  She bounced back up, gaze landing on the bowl of dough sitting on Lee’s workstation. The normally fastidious chef had made a mess, flour spread across the board and spilling down the metal sides of the bowl. The hunks of jalapeno in his sauce had been butchered, not finely diced or expertly minced as she’d expect from him. “How’s that hand doing?”

  He held it out, the bandages damp, the glove he wore over it spotted with dried dough in places. “Stiff. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  Ginger thought she spotted a tint of pink in the center but couldn’t judge if it came from within or might have been a distortion of light on the latex. She stepped closer, trying to get a better look at that palm, but Lee curled in his fingers, ruining the view. “Didn’t they give you something for the pain?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but not anything I’m going to take while handling a knife.”

  “Don’t be stupid. If your hand hurts, it’s no use to you. Don’t let me win—”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t.”

  The audience behind them was chanting something inane, she was sure, but Ginger chose to ignore them this time. Lee stood close enough that their arms brushed as they worked, and each touch sent a jolt of awareness through her. Even in the thick of competition, her traitorous body wanted him. After they got out of this, when a winner had been declared, would bitterness rise up and annihilate the attraction?

  Or was it possible that just maybe they’d continue to be friendly rivals, that same attraction burning brighter and hotter than ever?

  Lee scooped dough out of the bowl and began to shape it, his maimed hand an obvious impediment. “We need to talk.”

  “Now?” Ginger swiped perspiration from her forehead with her forearm. Less than six minutes left.

  “Yeah, I want to know what you’re going to do after the winner’s announced.”

  Shit. Really? Now? “We can talk about it afterward.”

  “No, I think you should make up your mind now, before the results push you into a decision.”

  She poured the finished sauce into three glass ramekins. Her hands shook. “You think I don’t know what I want?”

  Lee dropped dough into shimmering oil. “No, I’m not sure I know that you do. If you do, then tell me.”

  “Now?” She stopped plating to glare at him. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re both right in the middle of something important.” Mounting frustration gave her the strength to yank open the oven door and withdraw the cookie sheet. The loud clamor that arose when she slammed it onto the countertop matched her down-spiraling mood.

  “I’m just trying to get this thing worked out before it’s too late.” He continued to work on frying the dough, not looking up. Which annoyed Ginger all to hell.

  “That’s right, everything is about you, huh? Not us—you. It’s why I’m having a hard time deciding whether or not we can make it. If we should just consider what we did enough and not something to repeat. It’s your classic MO, and that’s what I’m having a hard time with. Well, I’ll tell you what. You really want to know what I’m thinking right here, right now?” Her voice dropped lower. “When we’re done tonight, maybe we should just…I don’t know. We had fun and made great memories. But maybe that’s all they should be. Memories.”

  Lee almost dropped the beignet back into the golden oil. The last thing he expected to hear from Ginger was that she didn’t want to see this thing between the two of them all the way through. He almost went so far as to let go of the spoon, grab her by the arm and storm outside where he could talk some sense into her.

  “Chefs, you have five minutes to get those desserts on the plates.”

  The difficulty of splitting his thoughts between making her see reason and putting together a flawless plating almost made him cast aside one for the other, but he would not be deterred. “I will respect any decision you make,” he said softly. “Any. Even if it’s the wrong one. But know this, it’s not enough to stop me from wanting to touch you, kiss you or make love to you. Every time I see you, I will want to do one of those things. Probably all three.”

  She raised pretty blue eyes to study his, and he prayed like hell he was getting through to her. “Stop,” she whispered, obviously stunned, based on the tremor in her voice.

  He shook his head. “Ever get a taste for milk chocolate and, even knowing it’s going to wreck your diet, you eat everything else to try to get the wanting out of your system? That’s how I feel about you. It’s like I’ve tried carob and mint and peanut butter and marshmallows and a dozen other things, but I can’t get the phantom taste of chocolate out of my mouth. And deep down inside, I know that nothing else is going to satisfy me. Nothing.”

  “Lee…”

  Her hands trembled as she set flaky biscuits dotted with finely diced jalapeno on each plate, her actions slower now. She listened and contemplated his words, whether she wanted to or not. The sawing motion of her knife through each biscuit glided as if in slow motion, the rhythm hypnotic.

  “Now that I’ve sampled you, you’ve become a craving. One I can’t shake. Not without having the real thing. Nothing else will substitute. Not even a little bit.”

  She inclined her face away. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Disappointment wound through Lee. “I can’t tell you what to say, darlin’. You have to feel it too.”

  Ginger’s lips pressed together, her silence an excruciating brand on his heart.

  “One minute!”

  He said nothing further, choosing instead to liberally spread the caramel over each beignet. His own hand shook more than hers, pain making it almost impossible to hold the spoon at this point. He couldn’t wait for this contest to be over, and for more reason than one. If he won, there wouldn’t be much point in celebrating. If he lost, he’d simply go home and nurse his wounds, the hurt of losing her a million times worse than giving up six stupid parking spots. And maybe the distance created by working in a soup kitchen for two weeks would help too. Better than staring at her place, wondering. Hoping.

  “Two…one…”

  “Hands up!”

  Lee stepped back in sync with Ginger and threw both hands in the air. He grimaced at the sudden pop in his palm as a stabbing sensation spiked at the center.

  “Lee!” He hadn’t realized he’d gasped out loud until Ginger rushed to him, pulling his wounded hand to her. She cradled it next to her body, and, surprised, Lee didn’t know whether to pull away or enjoy the tenderness. “Damn it, I think you popped a stitch or something.”

  Fascinated, he watched her lightly touch the tip of each finger, encouraging him unflex them, despite the throbbing kicking up a beat the longer they stood there. The previously white bandage became saturated, though, a faint blush of color darkening from the center outward.

  “Crap, I really think you did.”

  “I’ll live.”

  “So arrogant—”

  “Chef Ginger, what have you prepared for us today?”

  They both lifted their heads at Max’s question. Lee swept the room to find half the audience o
n their feet, each person trying to get a better view of the plates on the butcher block. Thomas sat at the judges’ station looking like the proverbial kid in a candy store, while Liz seemed to scrutinize them—not just their food. What the hell did she see in the two of them that drew her attention so?

  “Uh—” She looked at Max, and he could see the indecision there.

  “Go on.”

  She took another look at Lee’s hand, shook her head, but then turned back to the judges. “Tonight I’ve prepared for you my take on strawberry shortcake with a spicy jalapeno sponge cake and a browned-butter-vanilla sauce drizzled over blackberry whipped cream.”

  “And how did you use the beer?” asked Thomas as he sliced into the dessert with a fork.

  “Macerated the strawberries in it. This is definitely a grown-up version, meant for cooling you down on a warm summer day.”

  Max nodded while he chewed. “Nicely done. This is sophisticated. Not too sweet, and represents your style of cooking very well.”

  “Better than I expected, but I’m not so sure this is very creative, Chef,” Liz said. “I feel like you were distracted during this round, unlike yesterday. That being said, I did enjoy it a lot.”

  The judges took their time scribbling on notepads while Lee’s heart pounded for Ginger. They liked her dish, but would they like his more?

  He waited for them to look up before explaining his creation. “Judges, I’d hoped to impress you with a doughnut for dessert, but due to the time constraints had to improvise. So today I have prepared for you a gingered beignet with a spicy red currant sauce for dipping. Enjoy.”

  “Ginger?” Liz asked as she used a fork to separate the golden beignet into two pieces. “Is there any particular reason you chose that?”

  “Besides the fact it always adds an exotic punch to any dessert, I can admit that I was inspired by my opponent here.”

  “Nice.”

  As she dipped a tiny morsel into the sticky sauce, he couldn’t be sure if she referred to his homage to Ginger or the dessert.

  Thomas set down his fork. “This is so thoughtful. The ginger is used with a delicate hand, and by the time the red currant sweetness goes down, you don’t realize there’s heat until about a minute later.” He smiled big. “It’s excellent, Chef.”

  “Lee, your hand.” Ginger spoke in a low voice, but a note of panic rang in her words.

  He glanced down at where she still held on to him and almost started. All the activity for the past thirty minutes must have been more strenuous than he realized. Blood trickled out of the glove, dribbling down the side of his forearm and forming ghastly droplets on the floor.

  “Chef, are you all right?” Max rose to his feet, concern a mask on his face.

  “No, he’s hurt. Sorry, but we’re going to have to bow out so that he can get back to the ER.”

  “Just a scratch. I’ll be fine,” Lee replied. If he hadn’t been standing next to her, he wouldn’t have believed that Ginger said that. “What are you doing?” he asked Ginger, very aware of their audience. Concerned expressions were beginning to spread among the attendees.

  “Taking care of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because someone has to.”

  “But why?” Lee slowly withdrew his hand from hers. He winced as he slid it free, and he couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from. Might have been the wound. Might be the hollow where his heart used to be.

  He turned, intending to head to a sink, grab a paper towel roll and tend his hand. Ginger grabbing him by the arm made him pause.

  “Why did you make beignets? That’s not your style,” she said.

  He frowned. Shrugged. “I told you, we’re a lot alike. You cook things your grandma would make, and so do I. That’s my nana’s recipe with a slight twist.”

  “And the ginger? Was that part of her recipe too?”

  “I felt inspired.” Lee took a step, having given enough of an explanation, done with being there. The date with a couch and about forty hours of sleep appealed to him on a level that bordered on obscene.

  “Wait,” she said softly. “Wait…just, please.” Ginger leaned her head back and blew out a breath. “You called me a craving.”

  “You are.” It would be a long time before he found something else or someone else who could satisfy him the way she could.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to admit this out loud…” She looked intently into his eyes, and Lee’s heart began to hammer just like the first time he’d ever seen her. “But from the day I met you, despite all the hoighty-toightiness making you shine, I had a sudden inexplicable, unrelenting craving for chocolate too.”

  A slow smile spread across Lee’s face, and the stupid throb in his palm couldn’t match the force of a wonderfully happy heartbeat. “So how do we resolve it, you think?”

  “Not sure, but I think maybe you feed me a few times, maybe I’ll feed you on occasion…breakfast at Christelle’s if we’re both too tired to cook… That sort of thing. Maybe after a while, we’ll stop craving that chocolate so much.”

  He took a step closer. “Probably not. Chocolate’s an awful powerful thing.”

  She tilted her head, affording him a perfect view of glittering blue eyes. “Good point.”

  His hand still throbbed, but damned if Lee wasn’t going to get closer and press his mouth to her parted lips.

  They all but called him.

  Ginger leaned into him, placing a hand on his chest.

  “Uh, chefs?”

  The world, which had faded from view, suddenly snapped back into focus.

  From the corner of his eye, now that he wasn’t fixated on Ginger, Lee glimpsed the audience. Not an inattentive person in the house. He didn’t have to study each one to know they had been witnesses to the beginnings of an amazing affair. One he hoped would continue and flourish.

  “C’mon, babe,” Ginger said softly. “Let’s go get that hand taken care of.”

  “Uh…chefs?”

  “I actually think it might have stopped bleeding. Oh, but hey, I thought of a way to settle the parking issue at the stores while I was cooking earlier.”

  “Yeah?” She had been studying his hand but looked up at the last statement.

  “How about valet parking? I’ll even eat the cost for the first year. It’ll make my place look good and keep your people from venturing to my side. And yes, I will reimburse your sous’s tow fees. That was a shitty thing for me to do.”

  “That. Is. Awesome! But…we’ll go fifty-fifty on the valet costs—”

  A shrill whistle cut the air. Liz shot to her feet. “Chefs! Don’t you want to know who won?”

  He’d won. He’d gotten his girl, and he didn’t need much more than that right now. There wasn’t anything the judges could tell him to alter his thinking on that.

  “Although perhaps the last five minutes have been the most entertaining part of the past two nights, I do believe that my guests deserve to know,” Max said as he stood. “In the dessert round, one chef scored eighteen points, while the other scored seventeen.”

  The audience began to rustle at Max’s pause. They were on edge, anxious to hear the winner. But for as many people as there were who’d trained their sights on Max, approximately the same number watched where Ginger had cuddled into Lee’s side.

  God, he loved having her there next to him.

  “After an incredible demonstration of remarkable skill by both chefs, the dessert that showed us the most promise and the one the judges agreed they’d want to eat again and again was made by…the winner, who is…Chef—”

  “You and me, darling,” Lee said softly, looking down at her.

  “I know,” Ginger said.

  “Solomon! Congratulations on winning Food Fighters!”

  The room erupted into applause and chatter, but Lee ignored them. Holding his injured hand out of the way, he took a moment to study her lips again before giving in to temptation. His mouth brushed hers once, twice and then lingered.
Warmth spread through his body, and Lee knew happiness.

  When at last he pulled away, Ginger was smiling. Her eyes sparkled as she asked, “Rematch in a few months?”

  Lee shook his head in mock disbelief but chuckled. “Deal.”

  Not Quite Christelle’s Chocolate Crescents

  1 - 8oz can refrigerated crescent dinner rolls

  ½ cup mini chocolate chips

  Powdered sugar for decoration

  Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Separate dough into 8 triangles.

  Place tablespoon of chocolate chips on wide end of each triangle. Roll up, starting at shortest side of triangle; rolling to opposite point. Place on ungreased cookie sheet.

  Bake at 350 degrees F for 15 to 20 minutes, or until golden brown. Let cool and then sprinkle with powdered sugar.

  Variation:

  Substitute 1 tablespoon of chocolate hazelnut spread for the chocolate chips.

  About the Author

  Dee Carney started her writing career in elementary school, creating amazing journeys starring her friends, where everyone lived happily ever after by page five. Since then, she’s been a waitress, a teacher, a scientist and a nurse.

  Today, Dee is a best-selling, award-winning author of over thirty novels and novellas, including those penned by her alter ego, Morgan Sierra.

  Visit Dee on the web at www.deecarney.com or email dee@deecarney.com.

  Look for these titles by Dee Carney

  Now Available:

  Keeping Pace

  Close to the Heat

  Once Burned

  Temptation never tasted so good.

  Once Burned

  © 2012 Dee Carney

  Close to the Heat, Book 1

  With a chance to win a cooking competition that will advance her career, the last thing food truck chef Pepper Joseph needs is a distraction. Except she’s got a heaping helping of it in the form of fellow chef Darien Priest, the man who broke her heart.