by Roxy Wynn
“How long did it take to create each recipe?” I asked.
“Not long. My old man was a baker, so pastries are in my blood.”
“Was he your inspiration to become a baker?”
She paused for a moment and contemplated my question while stabbing a piece of poached egg. I watched her run it through the pool of hollandaise, before delicately placing it into her mouth.
“Dad wasn’t around much when I was a kid, but he was probably my main inspiration to get into baking. Sarah’s mom was another big influence, though. While dad followed recipes religiously, Joyce experimented. I had a lot of great teachers.”
“Have you ever made beignets?” I asked.
“Jeff, we are in Louisiana, of course I’ve made beignets, I’m just not a big fan of them. I’ve messed around with a few recipes but never found one I liked as much as the ones at Café du Monde.” She frowned and put another forkful of ham into her mouth.
I scrunched up my face in disgust, “Café du Monde is your idea of a good beignet?”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?” She asked. She seemed surprised at my reaction.
“Not at all. My momma used to make the best beignets in all of Louisiana. Soft, pillowy, and lighter than air.”
She smiled at me. “I should have known you were a hard core beignet fan. How could you be an authentic southern boy if you weren’t?”
Back to the banter. I couldn’t believe how much I enjoyed talking to her. I had to make a move. Something to ensure another meeting.
Usually, when I ask a woman on a date, it becomes a high-profile event. Like clockwork we always get hounded by fans, and while my dates have the time of their lives, I end up miserable. With Chrissy, I wanted things to be different. I wanted to spend time with her with no one else around. I wanted to get to know her better and knew I’d need more time than a measly lunch break to do it.
Also, last time I asked her out, she shot me down mercilessly.
“I tell you what,” I said, “I’ll find my momma’s recipe and you can try them at Ruby’s. I guarantee they will change your life.”
“Do you know you have the slightest bit of an accent when you talk?” She asked.
“Yes, I have been told that. Momma had a creole drawl and I suppose a bit of it wore off on me. Though when I am on screen, I try to control it.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said. “It is extremely sexy.”
Almost as if realizing she had let a secret out, she took a big sip of her coffee and continued.
“I tell you what, you find that recipe, and I will make your mother’s life changing beignets, and I will bring them back here for you and your crew to enjoy.”
It was an appealing offer, but not the one I was hoping for.
“I will counter that offer,” I said. “How about you come and make them for me personally at my house? It’s secluded, and the kitchen is enormous. Brand new, I have every piece of kitchen equipment you could need. And if I don’t have it, I’ll get it.”
I hoped the promise of a massive kitchen would entice her. I held my breath as she looked to the ceiling, trying to formulate a witty reply. As she knew the waiting was driving me insane, she dragged her finger through the remaining hollandaise and brought it to her mouth. I watched her suck the sticky yellow sauce off her finger and knew there was no way I could stand up from this table without everyone knowing just how much I enjoyed our lunch.
“That’s a tempting offer, Jax. I’m in.”
“I told you, you can call me Jeff.”
“I know, but it felt a little naughty calling you Jax.”
She had better be careful. If she kept this up, I might end up marrying her.
Chapter Thirteen
Chrissy
“I had to go home and change my underwear.”
“Gross!” Sarah said, with a giant smile on her face. We were in the process of working on pre-made bagged lunches for the biggest rush of the day. She was on tuna salad duty, while I worked on the much better smelling peanut butter and jelly.
“Honestly, it was one of the most erotic non sexual situations of my life. He is so ridiculously hot I thought I would faint.”
“And he ate off your plate?”
“HE ATE OFF MY PLATE. Who does that? I almost mauled him in front of everyone.” I had ten sandwiches stacked in front of me wrapped neatly in parchment paper, just waiting for the final touch, a red ribbon. Sarah had an equal stack of sandwiches in front of her.
“Dear God, if this guy is into food as much as you say he is, then he is definitely your soul mate.” She reached into the cooler for more tuna salad. “Should I switch to chicken salad or stick with tuna? Also, how does he eat food like that and stay so ripped?”
“I don’t know. Genetics?”
“You two would make the cutest babies,” she said.
“It’s always babies with you. And yes, on the chicken salad. I don’t know why you always go overboard on the tuna. No one who works in an office wants to eat the stinkiest sandwich and subject their coworkers to that stank ass breath for the rest of the day.”
“Hey, tuna is delicious,” she said. She and I both knew that the uneaten sandwiches were up for grabs at the end of the day… and that tuna just so happened to be a favorite of my three-year-old buddy.
“So when is the date?”
“I’m not sure.” I frowned. “He said he had to find the recipe first.”
Sarah cleaned her cutting board and switched out spatulas before digging into a tub of bright yellow, curried chicken salad. “So you’re waiting for him to call you?”
“Yes.”
I the stacks of sandwiches and began assembling the brown paper bags. The apple and small cardboard box of milk made up the bottom layer. On top to those went a beautifully wrapped sandwich, complete with red ribbon and sticker that said Ruby’s. To top everything off was an oatmeal raisin cookie.
More than baking, I loved the aesthetic of beautifully made food. While Sarah couldn’t care less how each bag looked, I took pride in assembling them so the sandwich didn’t get squished by the apple, and the cookie didn’t get crushed by the milk.
God, I love food.
“How long are you going to wait until you give in and call him?”
“I will not call him. I put the ball, or beignet in this case, in his court. Who knows, maybe he’ll come to his senses and decide the entire thing was a mistake.” I set the bags on display in our cherry red vintage cooler front and center, ready for when the rush arrived.
“Why is it a mistake? He obviously wants to spend time with you.”
“Yeah, but like, what if he woke up and realized ‘oh shit, I can’t be seen with her’ she’s a chunky nobody and I’m the immortal Jeffrey Jaxon?”
“You are not chunky. How many times have I told you?”
“Yeah, but when you look at me, you see me through rose colored best friend glasses. To other people, I’m chubby.”
Sarah finished her last sandwich and wrapped it in parchment before tossing it in the bag. I winced.
Be careful with that sandwich, you tiny titan.
“I’ll say this for the last time.” She tossed her spatula over her shoulder into the small three-compartment sink. “You are not fat. As a teenager, yeah, you were a chunker, but since culinary school you have slimmed down a ton.” She thought about it for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Which is weird because you eat more food now than ever. If I ate that much, I could star on my own episode of ‘My 600 Pound Life’. But my point is this, you work out in this bakery a hell of a lot more than you think you do.”
I took the sandwich back out of the bag and gently tied the red ribbon around it, before rearranging everything. “But that’s the thing, I weigh the same amount now as I did in high school.”
“Yeah, but you now partake in physical activity. You have a ton of muscle. I bet your pants size is way smaller.”
Sarah had a point. I thought back to the first few days o
f culinary school when I got my ass kicked daily. I was so sore in the beginning, but after the first month, my pants started to loosen up. Before I knew it, I was down to a size twelve and feeling pretty good about myself.
Each fifty-pound bag of flour I hoisted up helped to slim my waist, even if my weight stayed the same.
“Okay. Message received,” I said. “It’s just hard overcoming that stuff.”
“I bet,” she said. “Your shitbag of a grandmother didn’t help with your self esteem either. I swear, all of your body image problems come directly from that hell beast’s mouth.”
Sarah hated my grandmother, and I didn’t blame her, Nana was an evil bitch when it came to my looks. Since dad was a baker and always working, I spent more time at her house than my own.
For lunch, Nana would make a big production out of treating me to macaroni and cheese. However, she would only ever mix half of that delicious orange cheese powder in. When I asked her why she didn’t use all of it, she told me it was because my father said I was ‘husky’. It wasn’t until years later that I learned he never said any such thing.
She even went so far as to tell me I needed to slim down so I could catch a husband. I was twelve at the time. Over the years those words began to weigh on me, and it took more food to make the hurt go away.
Years later, when Nana was in the hospital, I went to see her for the last time. While I sat at her bedside and gave her the scoop on culinary school, she filled me in on the evil woman who beat her at cribbage every evening. For once, Nana kept her thoughts about my body to herself. Elated, I thought we had a lovely time. I felt like, maybe, I could forgive her for the terrible things she had said over the years.
I gave her a kiss, then grabbed my bag to head home. Just as I stepped out the door, I overheard her nurse asking about me. Nana scoffed. “She’s a friendly girl, it’s too bad. She would be beautiful if she wasn’t so fat.”
Of course, Sarah was the one to comfort me later that night while I had tears in my eyes, and a bag of chips in my hand. She was furious. She didn’t give a shit how old, or sick Nana was. You do not call anyone fat. Ever.
“I know, and I agree, but it goes deeper than that too. Just look at Jerry.”
“Jerry is a human turd,” she said. When I finally gave her the full details about our date, she was appalled.
“I know, but he’s a total stranger. He said the first thing that popped into his head, and that phrase was ‘fat chick’.”
“He was negging you. You know, where a guy says something shitty to you so it lowers your inhibitions and then he can get you into bed? It’s a classic move.”
“Please tell me that’s not a real thing. If it is, it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard,” I said. “But isn’t there a nugget of truth in there?”
“No. Not even a nugget.” She turned and put a big smile on her face when the bell above Ruby’s door chimed. It was two people coming in for bagged lunches.
Both of them ordered the tuna salad, and Sarah gave me a silent look that said told you so. I took the bags from the cooler and handed them to the two women dressed in power suits.
That’s going to be a fragrant office.
I tried giving myself little reminders throughout the day about how beautiful I was inside and out. Maybe it’s a weird thing to do, I don’t know. But I am a firm believer in loving yourself before letting anyone else in on the action. Sure, Jax could be a chubby chaser, but I hoped he wasn’t.
And if he was?
Fuck him.
Chapter Fourteen
Jax
You know you’ve made it in life when you can afford a house with five bathrooms.
That’s right, five.
Since my career took off, I had been fortunate enough to travel the world. From five-star hotels in Dubai to luxury villas in France, I’ve been everywhere. The time spent in my home, however, was nonexistent.
As soon as Alex and I got Bayview up and running, I wanted to do major interior renovations. There was nothing wrong with the house, it just felt sterile. Looking around, everything was concrete and stainless steel with no personal touches.
To be honest, the place looked the same as it did the day I bought it.
Had I been so wrapped up in being a celebrity that I lost my identity?
For a long time, I thought the muted shades of grey and black suited me, but then I remembered I’m not a serial killer. I’m just a guy who has no clue about home decoration.
How hard could it be to paint some accent walls, or install some shelves?
As I wandered around the empty house in search of a recipe book, my eyes longed for a pop of color. Somewhere, anywhere.
Cherry red in particular.
The only part of my house with any personality was the place I kept mom’s cookbook collection. For a man that relied on protein and water to stay in shape, I loved the hell out of those books.
Sure, most of the books contained recipes no one in their right mind would ever want to try, like the baked bean and jello recipe I found once, but mom loved those damn books.
After six years, not a day goes by where I don’t think of her.
A big collector of recipes, my mom had no shame. If we went to a restaurant, and I mentioned I liked something, she made it her mission in life to get the recipe straight from the chef himself.
As a kid, she was my hero.
I moved The Joy of Cooking out of the way to access the small sauce stained notebook hidden in the back. No one would ever steal it, but that one book was worth more to me than the house and everything inside of it combined. The book was my mother’s favorite, her ‘Flavor Bible’, as she liked to call it. Inside, she kept track of her favorite recipes and scribbled funny notes in the margins as to how it was acquired. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her title was already in use.
I thumbed through the pages looking for her beignet recipe like a kid on the hunt for treasure. There was no table of contents, and her recipe naming system made no sense. Suddenly, I remembered. Mom was a big fan of Wild Turkey.
No wonder her margin scribbles made no sense!
After ten minutes of searching, I found it, and a familiar pang of longing hit me in the gut. The ingredient list consisted of flour, sugar, yeast and ‘love’ the ingredient she added to the end of each recipe. I had no doubt this recipe was something special.
I texted Chrissy.
Me: Found it.
Chrissy: Found what?
Smartass
Me: The beignet recipe. Remember?
Chrissy: Ah, Mamma Jax’s special recipe. Anything I need to know about it?
Me: Don’t think so. You are a baker, you should be able to handle it.
Chrissy: Technically, my culinary school degree says I’m a Pastry Chef, but I’ll let it slide:)
So are we doing this?
Me: Yes. Absolutely. When are you free?
Chrissy: I’m usually free in the evenings. But you’re the fancy pants celebrity. You tell me.
I looked at my calendar and thought about the night shoots I would have in the future. Working in dates wasn’t always easy, but I had no problem calling in sick. Especially since the show was on its way out and Chrissy was agreeing to spend time with me.
Me: How about Thursday night. Let’s say five?
Chrissy: Five it is! Now stop texting me or I’m going to burn my cookies.
Ok, that’s it, I’m marrying her.
Me: Get back to work. Don’t let me distract you.
When she stopped responding, I took the opportunity to make sure I had the ingredients needed to get the beignets made. I opened my pantry and peered inside; there was canned chicken and protein powder. And that was about it.
Making a list, I included all the recipe staples I didn’t already have. I wouldn’t be able to get anything myself, but that’s what personal assistants are for. Texting my assistant, I gave him a run down on the ingredients I needed.
After another
minute, I added in several other things. I can’t very well invite her over with no snacks, she might just leave. If I’m going to win Chrissy’s heart I would need snacks… and probably wine.
Definitely wine.
Knowing Dominic would need several hours to get my groceries, I reluctantly decided to touch base with Alex again. Late last night when I should have been sleeping, I did one more drive by of the bakery. The location was even better than I thought.
There was a jazz bar down the road and the amount of foot traffic on a week night was unbelievable. It made me wonder why the bakery closed so early. They could be getting all that late night drunk person business.
Phone in hand, I hesitated. The location was perfect, but I also didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my budding relationship with Chrissy.
I couldn’t explain it since we hardly knew each other, but each time I thought about the building, I felt guilty. Like I just kicked a puppy or something. It wasn’t like to me to let relationships come between me and what I want. How could someone I’ve only known for a handful of days have this much effect on me?
Of course, the owner had to blab to Alex that all the businesses were on a month-to-month lease. It meant that any tenancy agreement would be void once the sale was complete and we could kick everyone out. A bad business move on Ruby’s part, but for two young women who had never run a company in their lives, it seemed an easy mistake to make.
Technically, anyone could come in and swoop the place out from under them. I tried telling myself we would be doing them a favor by teaching them a harsh business lesson early on.
Would it would be extra hurtful if she knew it came from me?
Even if she showed up on Thursday with a camera crew and gave TMZ exclusive for rights to our date, I still didn’t think I could do that to her. It would be an underhanded and sleazy move. Besides, she had worked too hard for it.