Trina nods, though I doubt she could have prevented the little girl with a will like her mother’s from reaching me. “What is it, baby?” I ask once she’s settled on my forearm.
“Bad dream.”
“What happened?”
“You and chicken?” Annie whimpers.
Baffled, I shoot a look at Trina, who’s leaning against the counter studying us.
“Annie, are you telling me you woke up because you had a dream Jonas would make you eat the chicken he offered Chris?” Trina clarifies.
She nods furiously. “Nono, no chicken.” She leans forward to slap her tiny hand against the side of my face.
Taking her little hand, I press it close. “I promise. I won’t do that. I’ll taste it first or ask your mama to, okay? I’m sorry.”
I’m hoping I’m understood as Annie stares me down. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Mama, mac’n’cheese?”
Trina’s lips curve. “Of course. What else do we ever have on days when we go to the market?”
Annie starts to wiggle in my arms, the universal kid sign for wanting down. “I go play.” Toddling off, she wanders into the living room.
Trina moves closer. “Jonas, I…” Her face holds apology and hesitancy when I want to see neither.
“I knew exactly whose mouth I kissed. I don’t regret a single thing about it. Do you?” I cup the side of her face, a compromise in front of her child when all I really want to do is press my mouth against her still-swollen lips.
To my surprise, she turns her head to the side and brushes her lips against the palm. “No, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.”
Running my hand softly over her hair, I whisper, “I hope eventually you’ll let me in enough to help you with that.”
Much to my surprise, she reaches up and captures my hand against her head. “If I wasn’t willing to do that, I wouldn’t have invited you today. Now, come with me while I go whip up some noodles. Chris is going to be up soon. And trust me, Annie’s a gem next to him.”
Taking her for her word, I follow her back into the kitchen. “Will Annie be all right?” I worry.
Trina stops, pauses, and gives me a head-to-toe perusal. “You really did take on the whole package, didn’t you?”
“And for a look like that, I’d even stay on a food budget for another thirty days,” I mutter.
“I heard that!” Trina laughs.
“I hoped you didn’t.” But I can’t help glancing at the tiny little girl playing with two bears and wondering what kind of asshole Trina was involved with before.
And I’d be lying if I wasn’t a little grateful to the stupid son of a bitch.
“Explain the attraction to this stuff,” I beg a half hour later.
Trina hums but inspects the cooked noodles in the pot on the stove. “Do you mind getting the milk and butter out of the fridge?” is all she says.
“This is making me rethink a bunch of things,” I grumble as I comply.
“Oh? Like what?” Without measuring, she adds them to the packet of orangey powder and begins to stir over low heat.
“Like the fact you have a culinary degree.” I cringe when scoops of the mess are put aside into a storage container. “That’s un-American,” I declare.
The woman I kissed senseless is gone. In her place is the mother who blatantly laughs in my face. “What America are you living in, Jonas? Not every child is raised on five-star dining and chateaubriand. Most of the country sits down to meals just like this.”
“That might account for other issues this country has,” I debate.
“Different conversation. Do you think one in seven households want to be wondering where their next meal is coming from?” While my jaw drops upon hearing that, Trina continues to blow me away. “I may not be able to afford steak every night, but to give my kids what I can, there’s a trick. It’s to find places to shop where fruit is an incentive for children, not cookies. The trick is to mix what they so desperately love with healthy, fun things they need. And to make all of it fit within the budget I have so they have not only what they need now, but later.”
I walk up and place my hands on her tense shoulders. I didn’t mean to offend her in any way, it’s just— “The smell of that cooking brings back some pretty hard memories for me to face,” I admit.
Incredulousness etches her features when she spins around to face me holding a spoon at mouth level. “Mac’n’cheese?”
“It doesn’t fall into the same category as apples.” I lean forward to take a nip of the overly salted processed-cheese noodles. “But same category.”
“I could whip up…”
I press a finger against the soft mouth I’m already dying to taste again. “You’ll do no such thing. Let’s see how you can improve on mac’n’crap. Maybe you’re the one to cure me of all my childhood demons,” I say lightly.
With a dubious look, Trina reaches for the sauté pan of canned tomatoes, bites of steamed broccoli, and chicken. “I’m a chef, not a miracle worker.” She upends the pan right into the mac’n’cheese.
“What are you doing?” This was not what I was expecting at all.
“Just because I can’t afford to make macaroni and cheese from scratch at home doesn’t mean I don’t augment it. Do I look like I’m completely insane?” The orangey goo begins to take on more of an eerie sunset glow as do the tiny bites of chicken Trina diced meticulously earlier.
“Will Annie and Chris actually eat that?” I ask in wonder.
She turns off the heat and scoops up the fortified mac’n’crap into four bowls. It might be my imagination, but I notice there’s more in the one she shoves at me. “They will if they want dessert,” she declares grimly.
“Which is?” I sniff the air over the bowl much like I do when I’m about to critique a restaurant. “Maybe next time fresh tomatoes,” I offer.
There’s a sound that comes from deep in her chest. I catch her hand before she reaches for the chef’s knife. “Or this. This is great. So, what’s for dessert?” I try to divert her attention.
“Bananas with a little sugar flamed over the top. So, eat up, Jonas. Otherwise, you might not get to see me play with fire.”
I open my mouth to respond, but it only comes out as a squeak. Trina sends me a stern look but begins helplessly giggling. Slowly, she slides her body between mine and the stove to call the kids to dinner. Just like the first time we ate together, she puts Chris in the chair, Annie in her lap. “Nono, sit!” Annie demands.
Woodenly, I move to the table.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to swallow at this point, but I have to.
It just became a primal need to taste the sugar off her lips later before I leave to go home.
Chapter 14
Trina
Jerome called out with a slight bug, so I’m pulling a double so my team doesn’t end up being hit by a Mack truck when the dinner rush hits. Unfortunately, it resulted with a nasty conversation between me and my mother to ask her to watch my children for an extra few hours. It was so bad, it ended by her slamming the phone down in my ear and my having to step outside into the alley to regain my composure. “I’ll help you get home,” Elle said the minute I stepped back to the dessert station.
“Thanks. I don’t relish paying her double plus shelling out a ridiculous amount of money for a cab.”
“Well, there’s just going to be one small price to pay,” she teased with a wicked smile.
“There always is.” I brace myself for what’s coming.
“Tell me everything about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious,” Elle demands as she rinses raspberries in the sink next to me.
“We’re in the middle of work.”
“What better place? We never get to gossip at work.”
“There’s a good reason for that,” I counter.
“Oh?” Elle props a hip against the cooler. “Why’s that?”
“Because of the forty or so other people who could overhear us?”
�
�Pshaw. They’ll be too busy. Just wait. I’ll find the right time,” she warns me as she begins to whisk chocolate to drizzle over the soon-to-be-dried berries.
“What do you want to know?” Wearily, I lift my apron up to scrub against my face. “You’re not getting my cheesecake recipe, so that’s out.”
“Please, I already know it. You talk in your sleep.”
Appalled, I gape at my best friend. “I do not.”
“Do so.”
“Do not.”
“Do so. How do you think I knew what size panties to get you for Christmas last year?” Of course she yells this just as Chef Sterling walks by.
I stammer, “It’s not what it sounds like, Chef Sterling.”
Elle, ever the drama queen, flings her hand with the whisk of chocolate up to her brow—splattering everyone and everything in a two-foot radius with the semi-sweetness that reminds me all too closely of Jonas’s eyes. “I see how it is. Best friends and boxed wine don’t mean a thing once you find a man.”
“Keep talking and I’ll spill the beans about what you stuffed your cake with during pastry school finals,” I threaten.
Elle’s mouth freezes in face as the chocolate drips down her glove-covered hand. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers, horrified.
Proving I’m no pushover, I stand to my full height and address an entranced Sterling. “Chef, would you like to know what can be substituted for ricotta? It’s…” A hand coated in chocolate is slapped over my mouth from behind.
I do what comes naturally. I lick it before taking a nip hard enough to cause Elle to squeal.
Freed, I comment, “Delicious, but it needs a pinch more salt.”
“I’ll pinch you,” she threatens.
Most of the back of the house is propping themselves on walls, tables, each other to keep upright. All except Chef Sterling, who merely raises a perfectly threaded brow before she says, “Carry on, ladies. I have a feeling it’s going to be an…interesting evening.”
As our boss wanders off, I hip bump Elle. “You’re going to get us both fired.”
I try my best for dignity and obviously fail when Elle retorts, “Maybe you should wipe the chocolate off your face, Chef. It looks like one of the kids had a blowout when you were zerberting their butts.” Her words are emphasized by her snapping off her gloves to replace them so she can continue preparing tonight’s chocolate-and-raspberry torte while I finish with the delicate strawberry filling of one of our signature desserts. I scrunch my nose at the drying chocolate on my face, but as I fold the whipped cream in, I know I’ll have to start over if I stop now.
But I can work and talk. “There’s no one like you, Elle.”
“Same goes, T. Forever and ever, you’ll be my bud before stud.”
And even as we’re off in another round of hysterics, it reminds me so much of the early days of pastry school, and crazily enough, those early days of having Will to lean on. “This—this is what I miss about having someone, Elle.” Even though I’m serious, I can’t keep the laughter from my voice.
“God, I feel like the chocolate just curdled.” All the humor gone, she makes her way to the sink at our station. Dousing some wet towels, she begins to scrub the chocolate from my face. “I left some on your lips. Now, tell me for real if it went bad since you insinuated you missed Will.”
Quickly, I dart my tongue out and think about it. “Nope. Spot-on. And I didn’t mean I missed Will, per se. Just that special someone you can lean on when things like this happen.” I wave a hand to encompass the chaos of the kitchen.
We clean up our station and resume working on the next item on our list. “Why on earth did all of this make you go there?”
“Because when I called to ask my mother to watch her grandchildren a few extra hours, I was given a lecture—again—about my poor parenting.” Elle makes a sound of disgust that causes me to chuckle. “Just say it and don’t spray it.”
She’s appalled. “Like I’d dare. I have too much respect for our customers. So, since we established your mother’s the gem of all humans, let’s switch topic and talk about what happened on your date.”
I roll my eyes as I plop the strawberry creme into a mold. Fortunately, Elle can’t see the blush on my face as she’s too busy frosting her torte. “What about it?” I ask, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.
Elle actually manages a whisper when she asks, “Did he kiss you?”
My head spins, knocking against hers. “I can’t talk about that here. I don’t know if…what impact that will have on everything.”
Her “What do you mean?” makes me want to fling the mirror glaze I’m beginning to mix at her. I limit myself to, “We’ve already caused one scandal on the night shift; I’d like to avoid another.”
“Oh, ohh! We’ll talk about it later.”
“Good plan. Now, how about you finish making more of the dessert of the day?” What was I thinking when I decided to create the dark chocolate mirror glaze for the strawberry dome mousse? Oh, that’s right. “I was reminded of his eyes before he kissed me,” I groan as the last of the glaze drips harmlessly into the pan below.
“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you,” Elle singsongs.
“I’m not talking to you.” Crap.
“You were talking to someone. Just like you do in your sleep.”
I sigh. It’s going to be a long night.
It’s almost one in the morning. Elle called an Uber to take us back to the Bronx after we were relieved from duty. My phone has been blowing up alternately with texts from my mother and Jonas, and I’m so exhausted I don’t know which one I can handle answering first. I decide to send a quick message to my mother to warn her I’m almost at our complex. I’m about to drop my phone in my bag when it rings in my hand. I cringe at the ringtone. Elle emits a growl. “Put it on Speaker.”
“Only if you promise not to say a word,” I warn her before I press the button.
But I’m grateful it’s just the driver, Elle, and me in the car when after I answer, “Mom,” her verbal attack immediately begins. I don’t have to mask my exhaustion with the situation, my head falling back against the headrest.
“Trina. This is getting perilously close to triple time. I’m worried that waking the children this late isn’t good for their health with them being so recently ill.”
I don’t even have the energy to laugh. “Bill me what you feel is necessary, Mom. But my kids will wake up tomorrow morning at home.”
“But Trina,” she protests.
I just hang up the phone.
It immediately rings in my hand.
I answer without looking at the screen, snapping, “What is it, Mom? I’m almost there.”
“I’m guessing you had a bad day?” comes Jonas’s hesitant voice.
“Jonas, God. I’m so sorry.” Scrubbing my hand up and down over my face, I realize Elle’s little stunt with the chocolate earlier somehow managed to splatter some in my hair. “I’m just on my way home.”
“Please tell me you’re not on a subway at this hour. I respect your budget, but…”
“Elle and I are splitting an Uber. I’m not careless with my safety, Jonas,” I reprimand him. “I know what’s waiting for me at home.”
“No, you really don’t,” he says mysteriously.
“I don’t?”
“Nope.”
“Want to enlighten me?” I face Elle and shrug since she’s so blatantly listening in.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Then he asks a strange question: “How do you feel about chocolate?”
I let out the first real laugh in hours. “I was practically baptized in it,” I say blandly. Swiping a finger across my hairline, I smear it on Elle’s cheek, who cackles.
Jonas is quiet for a moment. “Why do I feel like I missing something?”
I laugh softly. “Since you just made me feel about a million times better before I have to go get the kids from my mother, I’ll take a picture before I text you the story.”<
br />
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.” The car pulls up outside my building. “Listen, we’re getting out of our ride now, and I really want to get Annie and Chris. I need to let you go.” Elle and I walk toward the entrance.
“Okay.” I hear footsteps. Elle must too, because her head snaps up. But the odd part is I heard them through the phone as well. He continues. “I just thought I’d drop these by for you first.” Jonas steps out of the shadows holding a familiar brown-and-silver bag. “I thought if they were small enough you could share them with the kids.”
Taken completely by surprise, I blurt out, “After the day I’ve had, you don’t know how good it is to see you.”
“Judging by the amount of chocolate in your hairline, I’m guessing it was fairly atrocious?”
“That was Elle. She’s ruthless in the kitchen.”
“And don’t you forget it,” the woman in question jokes. Clearing her throat, she says, “Hi, Jonas. Night, Jonas. Thanks for the snack.” Plucking the bag of Kisses right out of my hand, she walks to the entrance.
“Hi,” we both say simultaneously. His face transforms to a combination of humor and tenderness, and I’m afraid all the chocolate in my hair is going to drip onto the sidewalk with how warm my insides are getting.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, stepping closer.
“Not long at all.” His nose twitches.
I laugh, releasing tension from my mother’s call. “God, you’re such a bad liar.”
“What makes you say that?” He tugs a clump of my hair away from the others. “You look…good enough to eat.” My breath catches at the intensity in his eyes. “Was I lying just then, Trina?”
“No. But, Jonas, I’m filthy. There was a chocolate war…”
“Tell me tomorrow when you’re more relaxed. I just wanted—no, needed—to see you.”
Elle’s voice floats at us through the dark. “I’m available to babysit tomorrow. Just throwing that out there in case anyone cares to take me up on it.” Jonas’s fingers tighten against the drying chocolate. It’s a small tug of pain blanking my mind to everything but what it would be like if he pulled my hair when he tipped my head to the side and nibbled along the side of my neck. My lips curve as the little fantasy runs through my head.
Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel Page 11