An Acquired Taste
Page 8
I wish I could say I played along with him, not showing how much this situation is unsettling me, but I’m not even close to being able to pull that shit off. “Do you have to talk?”
“It’s a four-hour flight. What else are we going to do?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’d your date go yesterday? Seems weird to start going out with someone halfway across the country.”
The earbuds in my hands don’t ever seem to make it to my ears. “Why in the world would you care? Even if we were friends, which we’re definitely not, is that how you’d ask someone such a personal question?”
He frowns and straightens in his seat. “If I were talking to Declan right now instead of you, that’s exactly how I would ask. And that’s not an answer.”
“Declan’s your brother. Wait, do you not have any friends? Why am I not surprised?” I’m not surprised. Making friends and maintaining relationships outside the restaurant when you’re a chef isn’t easy and I know that as well as anyone, but it doesn’t stop me from the dig at him.
His frown deepens. “Still not an answer.”
“I guess you missed the part about us not being friends. Don’t you have a recipe to create using small children or something? What happened to your index cards?”
He shrugs and pats the pocket of his cargo shorts. “I think I’ll leave them right here. Wouldn’t want them to run away again.”
My face warms, and I turn to the window and raise the shade. They’re still loading the luggage. I wonder if there’s time to get the hell off this plane. The light dings overhead and the flight attendant announces they’ve closed the doors and reminds us to stow large electronics.
There’s no help for it. I’m stuck on the plane with Knox for the next four hours. Not just the plane, which would be bad enough, but in the same row.
I shove the earbuds in my ear and hit play on my phone’s music app, studiously ignoring my seatmate.
The plane starts down the runway and we both concentrate on getting in the air. As if there’s anything we can do one way or the other. Knox grips the arms of his seat which sends a jolt of surprise through me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him anxious.
Once we’re safely in the air, he visibly relaxes and pulls his earbuds out of a pocket in his shorts.
I turn my head toward the window and pretend he isn’t there, and listen to my music. Too afraid to go to sleep even though I’d love to. What if I were to dream about him again? Or moan his name? Gah. My cheeks heat just thinking about it.
The position I’m in is completely unbelievable. He’s sitting over there acting like he hasn’t been plotting to win and using my emotions against me. And has the nerve to ask me about Mike, like it’s any of his business.
The flight attendant rolls the beverage cart to our row and stops, leaning over Knox. I remove my earbud to let her know I’ll have coffee. I’m so sleepy and I’m never going to make it if I don’t ingest a stimulant. She passes me the cup along with a stroopwafel. I’m not normally one for snacks, unlike my arch nemesis gleefully unwrapping his package next to me, but I can appreciate a good stroopwafel with my coffee.
Knox chomps on his wafer, washing it down with plain water. Amateur.
I unwrap my cookie and place it on top of my coffee so the syrup within will warm, and the stroopwafel will become pliable. It’s the best way to eat it, and I rub my hands together in anticipation.
My neighbor looks at me. I know he does because the side of my face is heating. When I glance his way, he nods toward my wafer. “Fancy, aren’t you?”
“Leave me alone.”
His eyes turn cornflower blue, and he leans over the seat closer to me and lowers his voice. “When I win, I’m going to name my restaurant Prato Ristorante. I’ve already started constructing the menu. I’ll send you a special invitation for the grand opening.”
“When I win, I’m not going to think of you at all.”
He smirks. “We’ll see about that.” He reaches under the seat in front of him and opens his backpack, pulling out a book. It’s an extra-large hardcover that he sets on the middle seat while zipping up the backpack.
It’s a historical non-fiction novel on medieval history.
Dafuq?
He must see my confused face because he laughs. A real laugh.
I can’t help but chuckle myself. “You read?”
“Didn’t you just tell me to leave you alone?”
Ugh. I did but I’m way too curious for my own good. “Permission granted to speak.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Yes, Rowan, I read. I got really interested in history when we were in school, and then I took a medieval history class junior year. Italian history right before the plague is especially interesting to me.”
I nod. That makes sense considering his mom was from Italy. I toss him a sympathetic smile. I can’t imagine losing a mother at such a young age. As much as Mama can’t stand Flynn, even she would have a kind word whenever talk of her passing would come up.
He only shrugs and looks down at the text.
“I would never have guessed. At no time at all have I seen you with a book.”
“I enjoy reading about as much as you love music.”
I blush and I’m not sure why. To deflect from my heating face, I redirect the conversation. “What do you like about medieval Italian history?”
He picks up the book and turns it over, opening it to the first page. “I spent a lot of summers in Italia. Even though my grandparents came over when my mom and aunt were little girls, they still had so much family there. It’s interesting visiting Firenze and Venezia, and even Napoli, and then reading about them at the beginning of civilization. How things were so different, but also a lot the same.”
I furrow my brows, concentrating on translating. I think I know Venice and am sure about Naples. “Firenze?”
He nods and smiles. “Florence. Have you been?”
“No. The closest I’ve been is Paris.”
“Yes, another ancient city with a rich history.”
I only nod because I really don’t know much about it, outside of the food. I had a singular purpose for visiting.
Turbulence bumps us in our seats, and Knox’s knuckles turn white gripping the armrests.
I raise a brow but he doesn’t look at me, so I scoot over into the middle seat and place a hand on his. He’s clearly in distress and I’m not completely unfeeling.
He offers a hint of a smile but doesn’t look up.
When the bumpy air shifts the plane again, he grabs my forearm. His hand is tight around my arm and his entire body is tense. I’m no fan of turbulence either, but I don’t usually worry about it too much. Knox’s reaction has me looking around at the flight attendant to ensure there’s no emergency. I spot one sitting in his flight seat, and he smiles at me with a slight nod.
I turn back to Knox, and he clears his throat and lets go of my arm. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” I look at him for a moment, but he doesn’t offer anything further. I’m super curious why he’s so frightened of flying, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to find out today. When I start to move back to my seat, he speaks again, offering me an earbud. “Hey, listen to this. It’s one of my favorites.” We share the earbuds, and when he presses play and bobs his head offbeat to the music, I can’t help but smile. It’s endearing considering he’s so entirely perfect at everything, but doesn’t have rhythm to save his life.
“Yeah, it’s good.” I hand him back the borrowed earbud, and begin to move again.
“You can stay for a while if you want. Can I interest you in some ancient history?” His eyes are pleading with me even though he’s slouched in his seat, presenting a relaxed attitude.
“Sure. Why not? Tell me about Italy.”
We spend the flight sharing snippets of conversation here and there about music and history, and I remain in the middle seat. There’s no more rockiness, but as the plane makes its descent, he grabs the armre
sts again, sweat popping out on his brow. Knox is bold and confident. I’m not certain I’ve seen him so vulnerable before since he’s been on this airplane.
I lean into him until we land safely, offering him whatever comfort I can.
When we arrive at the gate, he offers a tense, “Thanks.” His ears pink.
After gathering my belongings, I trail Knox off the plane. I make an effort to hang back and let him go on, but he turns around, face perfectly composed.
“What, Knox?”
The light in his eyes dim a bit, but otherwise his expression doesn’t change.
“Just checking to see if you have a ride.”
I relax a little but pick up my pace. “I do, but thanks.” I don’t, but I intend to get a ride share.
He strolls alongside me but doesn’t say anything else until we walk outside, and he heads to the parking lot shuttle. “See you.”
I don’t bother responding to his retreating back.
Dutch Cold Brew Coffee and Stroopwafel
For the coffee:
3-1/2 ounces light-roast single-source coffee
4 cups water
Ice
Using a mortar and pestle, grind the coffee coarsely. Using a Dutch cold brew coffee dripper, wet the filter paper and pour the ground coffee on top. Wet a fitted paper filter and place on top of the grounds. Mix water with ice then pour the cold water over ground coffee. Adjust the drip speed to 30-45 drips per minute. Allow to drip 3-4 hours. Can serve cold, but heat to pair with stroopwafel.
Yield: 4 servings
For the Stroopwafel:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup + 2 tbsp butter, melted
1/4 cup + 2 tbsp white sugar
1 (.25 ounce) envelope active dry yeast
3 tbsp warm milk
1/2 egg
3/4 cup molasses
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
2 tbsp and 2 tsp butter
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar, yeast, butter, milk and egg. Stir until the dough becomes soft and smooth. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead by hand for a few minutes. Set aside to rise for 45 minutes. In a saucepan over medium heat, heat the molasses, brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon. Stir to blend, and set aside. Preheat a pizzelle iron. Knead the dough briefly, and divide into balls the size of the pizzelle iron pattern. Press the balls in the preheated iron, and cook until the iron stops releasing steam, or until the waffles are golden brown. Carefully remove the waffles with a spatula, and split in half horizontally while they are still warm. Spread filling inside, and put the halves back together.
Yield: 6 servings
CHAPTER NINE
Croque monsieur.
As with every Friday, Sue is at my apartment early in the morning. There’s no need today, but she comes anyway. Since she’s been here all week, she’s more informed than I am. I’m exhausted but offered to take over today since she’s been working for me all week. She wanted the hours.
This morning I make Migas tacos, still in my pajamas.
Sue’s in her work gear, a baggy pair of cotton pants. They’re striped white and gold to go with her white chef’s jacket. Mama likes the white coats. She’d prefer black pants but has been flexible the last few months.
I sit across from her with my tacos, and wait. Clearly there’s something on her mind if she still wanted to come by.
She takes a sip of her drink. “You know how much I love working here.”
Uh oh. No conversation starting that way is going to be good. “What’s wrong, Sue?”
“This week has been great. It felt like running my own kitchen, even if Hannah met every decision with a comment.”
That certainly sounds familiar. I smile and nod in encouragement. I don’t need to be an oracle to know where this is going.
“You know I appreciate you and everything you’ve done to help, but I’ve been piecing together a living. Two days here, a day there, or somewhere else where I’m needed. I need something steadier.”
Of course she does. “I agree, Sue. And it’s not just been me helping you. You’ve helped me so much. This restaurant so much. I couldn’t have convinced Lillie to make half the changes without your support. You’re a huge part of the success we’ve had these past few years.”
“Thank you for saying that. I want to stay, and I want to continue implementing changes, but you said it yourself. We just don’t have the room here.”
“Do you have a plan? Are you asking me something? Just tell me, Sue. We’ve been friends forever. You’re not just an employee around here.”
She inhales deeply and sets her glass down on the counter. “I have an offer from a restaurant opening in the fall. It’s for a sous chef which I don’t really want to be, but it’s full time and I think I need that.”
“I understand. You know if we win, we’ll be able to open up more shifts for you, right?”
She nods, a sad smile playing across her lips. “And that would be great, but you have to win first. More shifts would be great, but as long as you’re head chef, it won’t be full time, will it?”
The point she’s making is valid. A kitchen doesn’t have room for two head chefs. It’s worked well for us so far because she works the two days I’m off. When she’s down there alone, she still has Mama to answer to, but not in the details of running the kitchen. Just like when I’m down there. If we lose Sue though, I’m not sure what we’ll do. Mama can’t pick up those shifts because she’s unwell. I could work every day for a while, but that’s not sustainable.
I rub my hands across my face. “When do you have to let them know? Can you give me until after next month’s competition to try and figure something out?”
“I can.”
So much is depending on winning this competition. I still need to talk to Mama about not being so safe next time. Who knows how she’ll react, but it’s nonnegotiable.
I reach across the counter and squeeze Sue’s hand.
She smiles and squeezes back. “Now that that’s out of the way, how did everything go for the first round?”
I tell her about the competition, the judges, and what we cooked. I even tell her about Mike, but leave all details and thoughts of Knox out of it.
She notices. “Were the Everhearts there at all? Did they drop out?”
I sigh and lean back on my stool. “Unfortunately, no. They had the highest scores.”
She rolls her eyes. “I bet Knox really rubbed that in your face. Was he an asshat the entire time like you always say?”
I think back to our time together. He was…Knox. “Most of the time, but he helped me too.” I relate what happened with the knives.
Sue’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. “Whoa. Really?”
“Yeah, and I’m glad you’re sitting down for this next bit.” I take a deep breath. “IalmostkissedKnoxandnowthinkabouthimallthetime.” I lay my head on the counter and whimper.
“Wait, what? I think I heard kiss and Knox in the same sentence. Spill.”
“I don’t know what happened, Sue. I was riding high on our win, had a little to drink, and then thought he was opening up to me about his father. Turns out he was being his normal Everheart-self and was just playing me. I don’t regret nearly kissing him though. I almost wish we weren’t interrupted.”
She’s laughing so hard, she has to hold her side. When she can finally catch a breath, she says, “Oh my God, you almost kissed him. Your arch enemy. The man you vowed to hate since the first day you met him.”
“I still hate him. I just don’t hate his body. I definitely hate his face, especially his eyes. Maybe not his lips.” I grin and slap my forehead. “Jeesh, I’m ridiculous. I can’t get him out of my head now. The sad thing is that I think he orchestrated this whole thing. This is how Everhearts operate when they want something. And Knox Everheart wants to win.”
“Oh, honey, you can’t really mean that. I know you two hav
e history, but that’s sinister.”
I’m nodding before she finishes her sentence. “Yeah, now you get it.”
Her alarm goes off and she gets up and lifts her bag. “I’ll see you later. Are you coming down today at all?”
“Yeah, I’m going over to see Mama in a bit, but I’ll probably have dinner tonight. Save me some catfish.”
“Will do.” She waves as she heads out the door leading downstairs.
I sit on the sofa and contemplate everything. Sue’s career situation which leads into the competition because that’s step one of solving all of our troubles. I won’t let Knox soften me or my resolve, but I may have bigger fish to fry to get past the next phase of competition.
I pick up my cell and make the phone call.
*
I focus on the car next to mine in Mama’s driveway. When I called her this morning to let her know I was coming over to see her, she mentioned Daddy was with her. There’s only one reason for Daddy to be here.
His Range Rover is shiny and black and imposing, just like my father. Except Lillie doesn’t have any part of him when he’s trying to inflict his will on her. She’s just as stubborn. Before the restaurant, she supported him in building up his business and followed his lead. She didn’t know anything about technology nor did she have much interest, but that was his business, and she loved him. When she opened Smothered in Love, he tried to bring his gregarious personality into her tiny restaurant and that just didn’t work. He may have been a pioneer in tech, but she knew what she was doing in her place, and that was that.
I knock but use my key to unlock the door.
Daddy comes out of the kitchen wearing jeans and a pale-yellow button-down, covered by an apron. “There’s my honey.” His voice is booming and he wraps me up in a hug nearly squeezing every breath out of my body. At six foot three, he easily lifts me off the floor.
I hug him back with the same vigor. When I catch my breath, I say, “Hey, Daddy.”
“Hi there, little girl.”
Yes, I’ll always be Daddy’s little girl apparently. Probably even when I have a little girl of my own. In the distant future.