An Acquired Taste

by Kelly Cain

  Before he continues, he unbuttons his shirt, staring at me the whole time. It’s almost as though he’s seen my dreams and means to give me a show. But the thing is, I get it. He knows I don’t have an apron just as I’m sure he doesn’t either, and getting his fancy shirt stained isn’t in the plan. I don’t cook in anything I don’t want ruined either. He pulls it off and places it on the back of one of the stools, then sets back to work.

  My new favorite thing is watching Knox Everheart grate cheese. In my kitchen.

  His body puts my dreams to shame. He still has on an undershirt, but it’s thin and doesn’t hide one single muscle jumping and flexing as he grates. Another huge difference—tattoos on his chest. I had no idea.

  When he turns to the stove to heat the pan, I nearly faint. I sit up straight because I am no longer tired. My senses are firing on all cylinders, and my nipples definitely have a mind of their own, hardening under my jacket. Thank goodness I was too tired to take it off.

  His chest is thrown out, his arms extended back, perfect posture on full display. His back is…beautiful. Completely unmarred, tanned, and jacked. Muscular broad shoulders flow into a trim waist and tight butt.

  He turns back my way to assemble the sandwich and smirks. “You have a little something on your chin, Amber.”

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of checking for drool because I know I haven’t lost complete control. Yet. Instead I muster a weak, “You wish, Everheart.”

  He lifts one side of his mouth into a half smile and glances at me with hooded eyes before turning back to the pan. While it’s sizzling in the skillet, he heats the broiler. Then tops the sandwich with more cheese and béchamel, setting it under the fire.

  Knox pulls down a plate and slides on his creation, setting it on the counter.

  “Croque monsieur, madam.”

  I go to the sink and wash my hands, then remove my jacket, throwing it in the laundry closet off the kitchen. I’m wearing a gold T-shirt underneath, and it’s probably sweat-stained but I don’t even care. I’m hungry and horny, but I only plan to solve one of those problems.

  Knox is putting everything back and washing the pan when I sit in front of his offering.

  I take a bite of the gooey piece of heaven. “Thank you. It’s mind-numbing.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” He rounds the counter and takes the chair next to me, pulling his shirt back on.

  “What are your tattoos?”

  He stops buttoning, looking down. “It’s a clock set in a tree that grows on the land where my mother was born with the words Amor di madre, amore senza limiti.”

  “Why did you come here tonight?”

  “Because you’re the only one who understands.”

  I nod because there really isn’t anything else to say. Through all of our fighting and competing, we always understood each other. That’s why it was so easy to get under one another’s skin.

  He stands and walks to the door.

  “Knox.”

  He stops but doesn’t turn.

  “Come back anytime you need to.”

  He nods and goes through.

  *

  Mama’s feeling better and we’re back in a flow at the restaurant with everyone present and accounted for. I haven’t seen or heard from Knox since he fed me a grilled cheese three weeks ago.

  I smoothed things over with Mike, telling him the truth that Knox stopped by out of the blue to apologize. He reiterated that he thinks there’s more to the Rowan/Knox story and that what Knox did by answering my phone was a dick move somehow proving his point. For what it’s worth, I don’t agree with Mike. Knox and I have something, but it’s not a mutual attraction. It’s something else that I can’t quite put my finger on, and it’s been brewing for years. Out of everything that Knox said that night three weeks ago, one question keeps bouncing around in my head. Do you want me to fix it? What did he mean?

  On the other hand, Mike and I have been texting daily, learning more about each other. Turns out he started his family restaurant and both his parents, two sisters, and brother work there. A couple cousins too. It really is a family business. His sister convinced him to enter the competition. At thirty-two, he’s a couple years older than me which I never would have guessed from his youthful look.

  I open the drapes to the living room in my apartment and bounce over to the front door after the knock.

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Hi, Mama.” I lean down and give her a hug. Wyatt files in behind her and we fist-bump each other.

  “Have a seat at the counter. Breakfast will be right out.”

  Ever since Mama’s last flare and what Daddy said about her elevated blood pressure and cholesterol, anything I serve her is heart healthy. Unfortunately, she doesn’t eat all her meals with me so I can only control so much. I set a plate of avocado toast with crushed red pepper in front of them both, then spoon some lemon and ginger quinoa and oatmeal with blueberries and hazelnut in bowls.

  “This looks, er, interesting, Rowan. Very healthy.”

  I ignore her snark and pour her a glass of freshly juiced vegetables.

  We enjoy our breakfast together with not even so much as a comment on the weather. We all know why we’re gathered here, and no one’s anxious to get this party started.

  When every crumb has been eaten and every drop drank, we move into the living room. Mama and Wyatt sit on the sofa while I perch on my desk chair. Mama is fresh-faced but a little pale. It hurts her to be in the sunlight so she stays out of it directly as much as possible. But even though she’s lacking a good dose of melanin, her skin is glowing and her eyes are bright.

  Satisfied with my assessment, I take a deep breath. “I think we should drop out of the competition.”

  Mama’s head snaps to me. “What are you talking about, girl?”

  “I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s not good for your health. Last time, you were overworked and had a flare because of it.”

  “Last time I didn’t take my medicine properly while we were there. I’ve learned my lesson, and I understand I need to start taking this seriously.”

  “Mama, nothing is worth your health.”

  “We’re not dropping out.” She stands up and puts her hand on her hip. “And I know about you and your father conspiring behind my back. I’m not an invalid, Rowan. I can make my own decisions just fine. And I decided I’m going to San Francisco this weekend. You can go or not. That’s your decision.”

  I sigh. “I’m sorry about Daddy. He only wants to help.”

  She nods and places her hands on my shoulders. “I know that, baby. And I know that’s all you want. But you have to let me be grown. I’m still the mother, okay?”

  All I can do is nod. There’s a catch in my throat, so I stay quiet and look over to Wyatt who hasn’t had anything at all to say since he walked through the door.

  Mama turns to him too. “Cat got your tongue, boy?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m just waiting for you and Rowan to tell me what to do. Same as always.” He smiles wide and dodges the sofa pillow I throw at him.

  When we’ve finished laughing and wiping tears, I broach the next subject. “Last time, you made all the food decisions. I want to the next round.”

  She lifts both eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “We’re going to have to switch it up next round if we want to go to the finals.”

  “I don’t see why. Didn’t my gumbo rank the highest out of everything that was cooked?”

  I knew that would be her argument, but I’m ready for it. “Yes, and it’s delicious. The Smith’s potpie ranked really high too, but they’re out. They played it safe and so have we. We’ve been cooking what we know. We can’t go safe next round, Mama.”

  She presses her lips into a frown and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know, Rowan. What’s wrong with cooking what we know? It got us this far.”

  “Absolutely nothing. Unless we want to win. You can best bel
ieve the Everhearts will be bringing every manner of technical delights. The judges will be looking for more than good food, but for difficulty of preparation as well. A wow factor.” I don’t want to upset her, and the flush in her cheeks worries me a bit. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  I sit by her and lean over for a hug. Wyatt scooches over and wraps his arms around both of us. We may not have come to an agreement, but we’ve made progress. And more importantly, Mama opened up about her illness. Something she hasn’t been willing to do. We’re on the right path and we’re going to kick ass next week.

  Migas Tacos

  8 large eggs

  4 tbsp whipping cream

  1/4 tsp kosher salt

  ¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

  1 tbsp unsalted butter

  1/2 cup chopped tomato

  1/4 cup chopped onion

  2 small jalapeño peppers, seeded and finely chopped

  1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese

  3 corn tortillas, sliced into small strips, and lightly fried

  8 small flour tortillas

  In a mixing bowl, whisk the eggs with the whipping cream. Melt the butter in a cast iron skillet over medium-high heat, and sprinkle in salt and pepper. Scramble the eggs until just set. Add the tomato, onion, jalapeños, cheese, and tortilla strips. Cook until the eggs are done but still moist, 1 to 2 minutes more. Warm the flour tortillas in a skillet. Divide the eggs among the 8 tortillas, and serve with salsa.

  Yield: 4 servings

  CHAPTER TEN

  Teamwork makes the dream work.

  My phone beeps so I turn off my laptop and throw on my Converse. I’m meeting Mike in the lobby, then we’re going to tour the city since he didn’t have much time when we were competing last month.

  I head toward the elevator. This time we’re on the fifteenth floor and my room is far from the hotel’s center. Same setup as last time with Mama and Wyatt. Mama’s resting up just as she promised us. Wyatt’s holed up in his room, snatching video moments with Hannah when she’s free. When I get closer to the elevator, I slow, glancing around. The coast is clear so I push the button. When the doors open, it’s empty. I jump in and press the lobby button, then hold my breath. I make it downstairs without any unexpected company, and pray to Drausinus, patron saint for protection against enemy plots.

  Mike is waiting by the large oval table near the elevators. He’s studying the considerably sized floral arrangement balanced on top. Not that I expected him to, but he hasn’t changed since I saw him last month. He’s wearing jeans and a thin brown V-neck sweater. He looks up as I approach and lights up, a huge smile splitting his face.

  I walk into his waiting arms. The embrace is sweet, and it’s like greeting an old friend I’ve known forever. We’ve texted a lot over the past month, getting to know each other. He’s decent enough but always slipping Knox into the conversation which isn’t the greatest considering I’m usually trying not to think about Knox.

  “Hey, you.” He taps me on the nose.

  “Hi, yourself. You ready to get in these streets?” The sooner we leave this hotel, the better I’ll feel.

  “Definitely. Thank you for coming with me. I know you have a big day tomorrow.”

  I smile at him, pulling him by the hand out of the rotating doors. “Sure. I love this city. I think you will too.”

  We walk out onto the sidewalk and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  First, we hit Chinatown, then Union Square, then hop on the cable car and ride it down to the wharf where we have lunch.

  I spear my poké, looking out over the water. “Beautiful view.”

  Mike’s looking at me when he replies, “Very beautiful.”

  I’m all smiles when I lean toward him. “Thank you. Did you enjoy the morning?”

  “Every bit of it. And look at this view. Maybe we can visit Alcatraz next time.” He’s pointing to the island in the near distance.

  Before thinking, I say, “We sure can. I’ve never been.” Next time. I haven’t given a lot of thought to what this is with Mike. And if our family doesn’t make it to the finals, there definitely won’t be a next time. Knox was right. Do I really think I can maintain some sort of long-distance relationship? I barely have enough time to see friends and family who live in the same town. And that’s because I work with most of them.

  And even if Mike and I lived in the same town, would I want something more than friendship with him? He’s cool, but it takes more than that for romantic interest. For a relationship. Maybe there’s more and I just need to open myself up to it.

  We take the trolley back to near where I’m staying and walk the few blocks to my hotel. Before going in, I lean into Mike and we kiss. And it’s…fine. Average. Mike is good for me though. He doesn’t have me questioning my abilities or keeping me on edge all the time.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I walk through the doors and scurry toward the elevators.

  Knox is waiting for me. Maybe not waiting, but he’s there.

  “What’s wrong, Amber? You’re looking unusually flustered.” He’s leaning against the wall next to the elevators, legs crossed, as well as arms. His sweatpants and T-shirt are wet, giving me the impression he’s just been out running. Did he see me with Mike?

  “God, you’re such a creeper. I’m not ‘unusually flustered.’ I just came in from outdoors. What’s your excuse?”

  “I was working out. Just came down to get some water.” He shows me the bottle in his hand.

  The elevator doors open and a middle-aged couple gets off. Knox steps in. “Going up?”

  I sigh and enter the box.

  “So. Mike Smith?”

  Of course he saw us. He sees everything. Knows everything.

  “What about him?”

  He shrugs and peels at the label of his water bottle. “You’re dating?”

  “We’re friends.”

  He nods. “Friends.”

  Right, because Knox and I are not friends, even though he asked if we could be. If we could put everything behind us. After four years of torturing each other, it seems an impossible task.

  The elevator doors open and we step through. He turns left and I turn right.

  *

  We’re rested and ready. A new set of four families are seated at their tables: Warren versus Everheart and Townsend versus Ortiz. Mama looks healthy and has promised me she’s taken her medicine correctly. There’re observers from both the Smith and Dolter families. I wave at Mike and then nod at the one sister who returned. Mike waves back.

  Mama says, “That Mike sure is fine.” She raises both eyebrows at me.

  I glance back at him.

  He smiles and gestures a thumbs-up.

  “Do you think so?” I try to observe him through new eyes, taking in his face, his build, his eyes. “Fine?”

  “Are we looking at the same man?”

  I shrug on my green chef’s jacket. The Everhearts have donned their black, the Ortiz family their blue, and the Warrens are wearing white. When I saw them last month, I thought that a bold choice, even though most of us are professional chefs, it’s still a competition.

  The director comes out, and we all perk up, bringing our collective attention to her.

  “Welcome, semifinalists. And congratulations for making it to the next round. The first task is to bring back two of your dishes and make them better. A main and a side. One caveat is that it can’t be your highest scorer. Another glitch is that you’ll sit one of your team members and sub in from the team you aren’t competing against. We’ll pick which member.”

  Gulp. I look around at the other families. No one looks particularly happy. When my eyes land on Knox, he winks. Fucking Everheart. I will quit before I sous chef for him.

  Thankfully it doesn’t come to that. They sit Weston and sub in Wyatt, and the Everhearts and Warren family go first.

  Dean Ellerson and Chef Buccola attend this round of competitio
n but offer more observation than direction so far. From our earlier instruction, they’ll be more involved during tomorrow’s tasks.

  It’s interesting that right when I convince Mama to try something outside the box, we’re stuck with food we’ve already made.

  “What do you think, Mama? We can’t make gumbo because that got the highest score.”

  “I was thinking your greens for the side. They were good, but you’ve made them better.”

  Ouch. “Okay. And the main?”

  “Neck bones?”

  “Hmmm, they liked them fine, but I think a little too ethnic for the judges. Plus, how would we improve them?”

  She nods. “Good point. That only leaves jambalaya or ox tails. I think the jambalaya, only you make it this time. You always make it better than me.”

  “Thanks, Mama. Jambalaya and greens it is.”

  Weston joins me and Mama at our table as the first competition gets under way.

  Knox doesn’t waste any time putting Wyatt to work.

  Weston looks at me and chuckles. “What would you have done if that was you?”

  “I’d be at the airport by now.”

  “That’s what I figured. I’ve always wondered why you hate him so much. He said he doesn’t know.”

  “I don’t hate him.”

  Weston arches an eyebrow and Mama clears her throat.

  “I don’t hate him anymore.”

  I don’t offer anything further because this isn’t the time to rehash all Knox’s past transgressions.

  “Well, I’m glad you don’t hate him anymore.”

  “Why? It doesn’t really matter. After this, we’ll probably never see each other again.”

  Weston examines me, then smirks. Not a good look on his normally sweet face.

  “What, Weston?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  This is going nowhere, so I move on to something else. “It’s really nice of you to do this for Knox. You don’t want your own restaurant? Or Declan?”