Текст книги "The Coincidence of Coconut Cake"
Автор книги: Amy E. Reichert
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
• CHAPTER NINETEEN •
Al checked his watch, grabbed a cup of tea to go, and walked out the door. He stepped onto Water Street, where the sky was a pristine blue. A crisp fall breeze ruffled his hair while the sun warmed his face and birds chirped. Snow White had never experienced a day as spectacular as this. He half expected pigeons to swoop down and airlift him to work. Except for that ominous black cloud of guilt spreading on the horizon.
He loved Lou. He loved her warm brown eyes, her freckled nose, her quick smile. He loved her gentle, slightly callused and scarred hands, the hands of an artist. Every aspect of his life had improved since meeting Lou, yet he couldn’t enjoy any of it.
His hands shook at the thought of her discovering his secret identity, spilling hot tea onto his wrist, an inadequate penance. His insides clenched with guilt over the pain he had caused her and the additional pain he would cause her if she ever learned the truth. Without a solution, that cloud threatened everything Lou had helped him discover. He couldn’t be the cause of more heartache in her life. He needed to stop that cloud from taking over her life, too.
• • • • •
“Lou got lucky last night,” Sue’s voice said in a singsong tone.
Lou propped the back restaurant door open to let in the refreshing fall breeze. After months of sweltering kitchens, the chilly air lifted her spirits. Or maybe it was waking up in Al’s arms; he really did seem miraculously recovered. She pulled on her chef’s jacket and joined Sue at the prep station.
“How could you possibly know that? I just got here.”
“You look like a white shirt under a black light—all glowy. Couldn’t wait to rub it in my face, could you?”
“I can’t help that you and Harley haven’t figured it out. Do you need a diagram? I can draw one up for you.”
“Bite me.”
Both women started laughing. It felt good after so many months of stress and uncertainty. Sue elbowed Lou and said, “Seriously, all good?”
Lou’s face softened, then softened some more, followed by a dreamy sigh. She looked at Sue. “Real good.”
“Barf . . . if you got any sappier it’d smell like a Pine-Sol commercial in here.” Harley’s voice broke Lou’s dreamy mood.
“Oh, Harley, let her enjoy the honeymoon phase. It’s not often Lou has a lucky night.”
Cough. “Morning.” Cough. Lou batted her eyes at Sue.
“You wench.” Sue hugged her tight. “I’m so happy for you.”
Lou gave Sue a scrunched-nose smile. “How’s prep coming?”
Sue’s face fell like a soufflé taken out of the oven too soon. Harley emerged from his corner to stand beside her.
“Okay, now I’m concerned. What happened?”
“Two bussers called to quit today, Alison gave her two-week notice, and only the Meyers have reservations.”
“Well, it’s only a Wednesday. It’s never a busy night. I’ll help bus tables if needed. Who’s scheduled to wait?”
“Billy. He’s the only waiter left.”
“So it’s just us now.”
Lou sighed, not because employees had quit, but because she knew they had to. Business just wasn’t there at Luella’s anymore. The restaurant industry ran on tips—preferably cash, thank you very much. No customers, no tips, no employees.
“That’s right. Sam quit last week—he got a job at the new steak house. He should make some good money there. What about you two? Where have you applied?” Lou asked.
Harley looked down to study the floor mats, but Sue looked directly into Lou’s eyes.
“You know damn well we aren’t looking. We’re here till you close the doors. Harley volunteered to wait tables if needed.”
Harley’s head snapped up. “I did not.”
Lou smiled at Sue’s ribbing. She always knew where to poke him. “The horror. I don’t think we’ve come to that yet. But can you imagine a customer’s face with Harley thundering up to them?”
“I don’t thunder.”
“Of course not. You’re a vision of grace and delicacy in an ink-stained wrapper,” said Sue.
Harley studied his tattoos. “I like my ink.”
Sue gave him a soft smile and slipped her hand into his. “So do I.”
Lou had never seen any form of affection between the two before. It was about time! It felt right that they would make a connection. Big, burly Harley with the heart of an angel, soul of a teddy bear, and Sue with her backbone of titanium, spiked with rusty nails, ready to take on any threat to those close to her.
She needed them to find work soon. She couldn’t afford to pay them much longer, never mind paying herself. She’d lost ten pounds because she only ate one meal a day and walked everywhere to avoid spending money on gas. At least she had it to lose.
“Seriously, you two, you need to find jobs. Soon.”
“Are you firing us?” Sue asked.
“I don’t want it to come to that. Just start looking, please.”
• • • • •
“I can’t do it, mate. I love her,” Al said to John in a hushed voice so their coworkers couldn’t hear.
“Whoa.” John put his hands out to stop Al’s insane ramblings. “Six months ago you couldn’t wait to get out of town. The women were ugly, the men stupid, and don’t get me started on what you said about the food. Now you’re in love and want to live here forever?”
“Right, right. I was a douche canoe, as you so eloquently said once. I know better now.” Al picked up his pen and started shaking it, creating the illusion of a rubber pen.
“You’re glossing over the fundamental flaw in the plan, dude. You sunk her restaurant. I don’t care if you make Fabio look like a crude Neanderthal and she forgives more sins than the Pope, she ain’t forgiving you for this.”
Al sat back in his chair, defeated.
“You’re right. This will crush her. I can’t do it. John, I’m going to lose her.” Al looked at John, eyes begging him for rescue, a way to protect Lou’s heart from his thoughtless, arrogant words so many months ago.
“Well, maybe you can keep it from her, like a CIA job.”
“Be serious. I like my job; I’m proud of my writing. I need to share that with her.” He started tapping his pen on his forehead, as if hoping to dislodge a brilliant solution.
“Maybe you can get a job somewhere else as a food critic.”
“No. This is the job I want.” Al sat up. “Wait, maybe . . . you might have it. I need to talk to Hannah.” Al got up and rushed toward Hannah’s office.
John leaned back in his chair. “Happy to help.”
• • • • •
Al paused outside Hannah’s office to catch his breath and organize his idea. He looked in the door to see Hannah talking on her phone, feet up on the desk, and at least three pencils stuck in her bun. She held up a finger to let him know she saw him there and to wait.
He leaned his back against the doorframe, which provided support so he could channel his energy inward. He couldn’t stop tapping on his legs. The idea could work. Lou knew he wrote, knew he appreciated food. With a few strategic comments, an article or two, he wouldn’t have to live a lie anymore. Hannah hung up the phone and focused her attention on the twitchy man in her office.
“What can I do for you, Al?”
Al strode to stand directly in front of Hannah, set his hands on her desk, and leaned forward. He spoke precisely and clearly. He didn’t want any confusion.
“I want to kill A. W. Wodyski.”
Hannah blinked at him, but her features didn’t betray her disappointment.
“Is this your two weeks, then?”
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
“Now I’m confused. Why would you want to destroy your alias? You don’t have a column without him. A. W. Wodyski writes the food articles. You are A. W. Wodyski.”
“Hear me out. If A. W. dies, then you need a new critic. Perhaps you hire a freelancer you’ve used a few times named Al Waters. He’s young, British, and has a unique take on Milwaukee’s restaurant scene. Having him on staff adds an international flair to the food section, and maybe the paper as a whole?”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed as if she could see him clearer through a more focused window. “Is this about that chef you like?”
“Is it a problem if it is?”
“You can’t review her. And you’ll lose your anonymity if you use your real name. The Internet makes it too easy for people to find pictures of you. So, are you doing it for her?”
Al’s gut response flew to his tongue. Of course he wanted to make these changes because of Lou, but it wasn’t just that. It was more than protecting her from the hurt of discovering he was A. W. He’d been living a lie since he arrived. He’d pretended to be a local, yet had loathed everything about Milwaukee. Now Al knew differently. He didn’t want to be anything else but himself: a cheese curd–loving, festival-going, Brew Crew fan who adored the most incredible chef in the city. He couldn’t really be himself if he hid behind a pseudonym.
“It’s quite a bit more than that. I don’t want to hide behind A. W. anymore.”
Hannah assessed his sincere eyes, his pleading posture. His heart stood bare to her in his face.
“I need to think about it. What you’re suggesting hasn’t been done here. There could be some serious repercussions if the truth surfaced. There’s more to your plan than A. W.’s existence.”
“I’ll take that for now.” Al turned to leave, then stopped. “Thank you, Hannah—for at least considering it.”
• CHAPTER TWENTY •
He’s here,” Lou said after peeking out the pickup window. “I’ll come back if we get any more customers.” Sue nodded and continued scrubbing the oven. During downtime, which they had a lot of, they worked to get the equipment shiny and bright for the inevitable auction. It was just a matter of time before the bank pulled the plug on her cash flow. She could only skip payments for so long. Lou pushed through the swinging doors and walked to greet Al in the quiet dining room.
Al stopped by the bar and surveyed the restaurant, taking in the mostly empty tables, subtle decor, and single waiter working the entire restaurant. He paused when he saw Lou approaching him with a smile engaging her entire body. Lou kissed him quick on the lips and stepped back. She hadn’t felt nervous until he walked in the door, and now every nerve danced the jitterbug. She looked down and bit her lip.
“You came. I didn’t know if you would make it.”
Al looked surprised.
“Nonsense. Luella’s is your baby. I have to visit.”
Lou grabbed his hand and squeezed.
“Thanks.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Besides, I recall the promise of a free meal.”
“You’ll get your food. First you need to meet some people, then I’ll give you the nickel tour.”
Al looked around for the people Lou planned to introduce him to. He already knew Harley and Sue in the kitchen. She led him to the center table, where Otto and Gertrude sat holding hands. They both seemed to be losing weight. She’d bring them both a dessert on the house tonight, since they’d already finished their dinners.
“Al, I’d like to introduce you to my very best customers and good friends Gertrude and Otto Meyer. Gertrude and Otto, this is my . . . Al.” Lou stumbled over what to call Al.
“Herzchen, this is your gentleman friend, yes? The one that makes you smile so much?”
Lou smiled and blushed.
The door jangled and new customers entered the restaurant.
“Excuse me; I’ll be right back.” Lou hurried off to assist the new customers. A full house at this stage wouldn’t save Luella’s, but every new customer meant a few extra dollars she didn’t have to earn before she could open her new restaurant. As she left, she heard Gertrude tell Al, “Sit. I don’t like looking up when I talk to people.”
• • • • •
Al sat. He already didn’t want to disappoint this lovely, small woman. His phone beeped.
“Excuse me while I check this,” Al said.
“You young ones with your gadgets. When do you get a break?” Gertrude said.
“I guess the theory is if we’re always available, then we don’t have to be in the office as much,” Al explained as he searched his phone.
A text had arrived from Hannah.
RIP AW. Need obit asap.
Al absorbed the words, let them swish about in his gray matter and funnel into every cell. He’d done it—well, almost. The news energized him. Phase one of cover-his-tracks completed. He tried to ignore the niggling fact that he was still hiding the whole truth from Lou.
Now that he had Hannah’s response, he powered off his phone.
“My apologies. My attention is all yours,” Al said.
Gertrude waved his apology away.
“Is everything okay? Not bad news, I hope,” Gertrude asked.
“No, not at all. The very best news actually.”
“Delightful,” Gertrude said. The three paused in conversation, deciding where to go next.
“Lou tells me you come here quite frequently?” Al asked.
“Oh yes. She makes the very best food. Her servers are always attentive. We’ve never had a bad meal, have we, Otto?” Otto nodded his head in agreement.
“She’s only cooked for me a few times. What I’ve had ranks among some of the best ever. I can see why you come here often.”
“It’s really a shame she has to close. I can’t believe that horrible man wrote such awful things about her cooking, our Liebling’s cooking. He is a Dummkopf.”
“Quite right.” Al nodded in absolute agreement.
“Lou fancies you.”
Gertrude leaned in as if sharing a top secret, a smile brightening her pale face. Al tilted toward her to respond.
“I should hope so. If not, she should stop snogging me so much.”
“Are you saying you don’t like it?” Lou swooped down from behind and kissed him on the cheek. Otto’s eyes crinkled at the affection, and Gertrude clapped her hands.
“Haha. They are in love, Otto. You remind me of when I first met him. We couldn’t stop touching. At our age, people seemed to think we should keep our hands to ourselves. I say bah to such silliness. When people are in love, they should show it.” She leaned over and planted a wavering kiss on Otto’s wan cheek, then wiped the smudged pink lipstick off.
“You should see the mess when she wears the red lipstick,” said Otto.
“Otto, they don’t need to know such things.” She gave him a sly wink.
“So how did you first meet each other? In Germany?” Al asked.
“Hasn’t Lou told you?” Gertrude responded.
“You tell it so much better,” Lou said. “I couldn’t do it justice.”
“All right. We were both married, you know. Our parents came to Milwaukee before World War Two. They were smart, our parents. They came here because other friends and family already moved. People spoke the old language, made the old food, supported each other in this very different place.
“Otto and I grew up here but never met. There were so many Germans—we didn’t know everyone. We married our high school sweethearts, then we each buried them after many years of marriage. I had settled into widowhood, content with my friends, my nieces, my nephews. One summer, when German Fest was still new, I waited in line for Spanferkel.” She saw the confusion in Al’s eyes.
“Do you know what this is?” Gertrude asked. Al shook his head no.
“The Spanferkel is a young piglet. They roast it slowly and the juices leak, making crispy skin and moist meat. In Germany, we make this for celebrations. It is not something a widow would make to eat by herself. At German Fest, they had a stand selling Spanferkel. When I made my order and pulled out my money to pay, the most handsome man stepped forward to set his money on the counter.
“At first I grew quite angry, thinking him pushy. But then another order was added and he paid for both. And then he said, ach, I’ll never forget his words. He said, ‘If I may?’ ”
“That was it? Just ‘If I may?’ ” Al said.
“My Otto uses few words. His polite question gave me shivers I still feel now. I nodded; he carried our orders to a nearby table, waited until I sat; then we ate. After a cold beer, he asked me to polka. We danced all night to every song. I remember his sparkling eyes under these same bushy brows. They were darker then. He danced with springs on his toes. By the end of the night, I danced on springs, too.”
While Gertrude told her story, Al and Lou looked at each other, remembering their spontaneous dance at Irish Fest. Lou gave a gentle squeeze to the back of Al’s neck and continued to play with his hair. She swirled soft circles across the bare skin. The gentle touch went directly to his soul, soothing any lingering tension from his meeting with Hannah and uncertainty about their future.
“It is so fun to watch young love,” Gertrude said. “Now, this young man is hungry. Aren’t you a chef?”
Lou looked a little startled at Gertrude’s obvious dismissal. Al was sad she took her hands away, but the rumble in his stomach agreed with Gertrude’s suggestion.
“I suppose she’s right. I did promise you food. What would you like?”
“Surprise me. If you make it, I know I’ll love it.” Lou nodded and headed back to the kitchen. Gertrude watched her leave.
“Good, I never thought she’d go.” Al didn’t expect to hear that from the sweet little lady. “She’ll be back too soon, but I wanted to chat with you about your intentions with our girl. As you can see, she has become family to us. While you seem a nice gentleman, I want to know what you plan.”
Otto, his bald pate bobbing in agreement, actually cracked a knuckle under the table. Al wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, but the stern look on Otto’s face reminded him of his first girlfriend’s father when he’d picked her up for a date. That particular man had polished his hunting rifle on the dining room table as Al waited for his date to make her entrance.
Al sat up straight, taking Gertrude and Otto’s concerns seriously. He paused before he spoke, wanting to make sure his words reflected the certainty he felt.
“First, Lou is quite lucky to have so many people around her who care for her so deeply. I hope that caring someday extends to me. When I arrived, I knew no one other than the few people I worked with. I wasn’t particularly fond of the city. I arrived in the depths of winter to a blizzard and below-zero temperatures. It seemed an omen of things to come.
“Then it warmed, sort of. And Lou fell into my life. She showed me where to find the heart of Milwaukee. I didn’t know it when I came here, but I’ve been searching for a place like this. Lou represents everything I love about this city: the past, the present, and I hope the future. I fell in love. This is my home now.”
“Good,” Otto said, nodding his shiny head again in approval.
“Be good to her, Liebchen. She is a treasure,” Gertrude added.
“I will do anything to make her happy. She is in good hands.”
“I hope your thoughts lean toward a permanent change for our Lou.” She tapped her ring finger with her other hand. “Otto and I met and married within a few months. When you have found your match, you know, right?”
Al blinked at Gertrude’s suggestion. He hadn’t thought about marriage. It seemed too quick, but he still found himself nodding along with Gertrude; when you knew, you knew.
“We are done now; she comes,” Gertrude said, interrupting his thoughts.
Lou appeared at his side with four plates, two containing entrées and two containing apple tarts with large scoops of ice cream.
She set the desserts in front of Otto and Gertrude.
“Harley sent these out for you. He’s topped them with the salted caramel ice cream you like so much.”
“That man spoils us too much. He will make us fat,” Gertrude said, but the two eagerly scooped up bites.
Lou set the remaining two plates in front of Al and herself.
“It looked so good when I made yours, I realized I haven’t eaten today.”
Al looked down to see a plate of sole meunière. He couldn’t help remembering the last time he consumed this dish in this restaurant. But this was different. She was different. He was different.
He cut off a large piece of fish and shoved it in his mouth with an inward flinch. He chewed. Then sighed. Perfection. How could he have expected anything less? Further evidence of his past arrogance. Al devoured the delicate fish, hoping to smother the guilt stomping about in his stomach.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE •
Al sat alone at the bar sipping a cup of tea. It had been almost three weeks since he’d first entered her restaurant, and he had since become a fixture. She loved the way he looked sitting at her bar.
Miniature pumpkins dotted the surface, most with kooky painted faces. Harley had painted them whenever it was slow. Looking around the restaurant, she could see that each pumpkin had a different expression. It had been slower than slow.
Lou could see Al each time she passed the pickup window. She refused to let him help¸ insisting he’d only get in her way. Every Sunday morning she came in to clean out the fridge of items that wouldn’t last until the next open. Finding food past its prime prodded her latent OCD. Lou could let a lot of things slide, but reaching into a box and pulling out a moldy lemon or slimy head of lettuce triggered the gag reflex. Normally she tossed anything approaching its expiration date, but today she planned to bring home anything usable, and perhaps a few things in no danger of expiring. What was the point of owning a restaurant if you couldn’t use the good stuff occasionally? Today she had plans to make dinner with Al, so no reason to waste perfectly good food.
Lou recovered some foie gras, duck confit, and assorted veggies and herbs. As she grabbed the items, a menu started bubbling to the surface: foie gras ravioli with a cherry-sage cream sauce, crispy goat cheese medallions on mixed greens with a simple vinaigrette, pan-fried duck confit, and duck-fat-roasted new potatoes with more of the cherry-sage cream sauce. For dessert, a chocolate soufflé with coconut crisps. She grabbed a few more ingredients off the shelf to avoid a stop at the grocery store.
“Hey, Al, why don’t you grab a few bottles of wine from the bar? Pick something for foie gras, duck, and chocolate,” Lou shouted through the pickup window.
“On it. Don’t forget the truffles.” Lou could hear him hop off the bar stool and start searching for the wine. She packed all the items into a few bags and her small cooler, then pushed open the doors to join Al.
“I like you a lot, but not enough to use up my truffles.”
“You wound me. Not even a shaving or two?” Al dramatically set a hand across his chest.
“Shameless. How about this? If I still have any by the time I close the restaurant, I’ll make you a truffle-themed meal.”
Al took the bags from Lou’s hands, set them on the bar, then pulled her into his arms.
“That’s all I’m asking.” He set his lips on hers in the faintest of kisses, just a whisper to start. Lou moved to tighten her arms around his neck to settle in for a thorough kiss, but Al ducked his head out of her embrace and retrieved some of the bags from the counter.
“Well, best be off. I’m getting hungry,” he said.
Lou squinted her eyes, hoping to discern his intentions. He was up to something. She grabbed the remaining bags and followed him out.
• • • • •
Smells of frying onion and sizzling duck fat hung thick enough that Al wanted to lick the air. His stomach rumbled but his mind couldn’t stop focusing on Lou’s bare shoulders, the way her dress clung to her hips and swished around her bare legs, the waft of vanilla every time she got too close. He wanted to trail his fingers from her ankle until they disappeared under the hem of her dress.
They had all night together without any interruptions, any responsibilities other than to enjoy themselves, and he would make sure of the latter. He planned to add to the growing list of reasons he loved her—the newest reason being the foie gras ravioli she’d planned.
“Are you going to help, or just keep staring at my behind?”
Lou interrupted his daydream that involved strategically dripped Baileys and her neck. Al shook his head. That helped a little. Lou flicked on the radio and returned to her cooking.
“. . . thunderstorm rolling. The air is sizzling with electricity, so watch out for the lightning,” the weatherman said.
He had no idea.
Al enjoyed watching Lou cook. She moved with precision and grace, each move intentional. Any indecision or lack of confidence disappeared when the knives came out—and that confidence was remarkably sexy. She’d been cooking for fifteen minutes. In that time, he’d unearthed the bottle opener, dusted off two wineglasses, and poured them each a glass to sip while they cooked. He thought that was quite efficient. She had unpacked all the food, pulled out sauté and saucepans, heated the oven, chopped and started cooking onions, chopped shallots for the sauce, and heated duck fat for the potatoes. She had lined up ingredients according to the dish with such efficiency it seemed absentminded. Al could have watched her for hours.
Thunder rumbled, indicating the promised thunderstorm was approaching. A cold breeze broke through the heat in the kitchen, a hint of the warring fronts above that seemed to isolate them from the world outside. The increasing winds and electrically charged air added an element of reckless energy to his growing tension. Al picked up Lou’s wineglass, stepped directly behind her, then leaned into her so he could set the glass in front of her. Lou straightened, then melted against him. He leaned over, close enough that the tiny invisible hairs on her ear tickled his lips, and whispered, “Where should I start?”
• • • • •
By kissing me senseless, Lou thought. But Al just set the glass down and stepped away. Maybe he didn’t realize the effect he had on her.
Lou cleared her throat and spoke.
“Think you can handle the salad?”
“You’re giving me salad duty? You must think I’m useless.”
“Prove me wrong. If you do a good job, I’ll let you make dessert.”
Al went to the salad station to organize the ingredients but knocked a shallot off the counter that rolled near Lou. When he crouched to pick it up, one hand closed around the small bulb; the other grazed her ankle. As he stood, his hand traced a barely perceptible path up her leg until her dress started to bunch. When he took his hand away, Lou turned to react but Al already had his back to her and was chopping the escapee vegetable into minute pieces. She took a deep breath and paused to admire his correct knife-hold and even dicing, just as a professional writer would admire a well-written sentence.
Lou turned back to her ravioli filling, her skin still tingling. She sautéed the foie gras with shallots. Off heat she’d add in finely diced sweet cherries, sage, and a little goat cheese.
Al finished assembling a vinaigrette and put his breaded goat cheese rounds in the freezer so they wouldn’t melt when cooked. He did know more about cooking than she thought he did. He joined her at the stove, standing close enough that she could feel his clothes brushing hers. The strap on her dress had slipped, and Al pushed it all the way off her shoulder so he could brush his lips over its former location.
Between caresses Al asked, “Should I start the soufflé?”
“Uh-huh.” Lou slanted her head to the side, giving him more room to work, expecting him to continue his playful kisses. Instead he stepped away and put ingredients into a pan for the soufflé.
“Hmph.” Two can play at this game. Lou scanned her tasks—no use burning dinner. She just finished stuffing the ravioli and the potatoes cooked in the oven. The duck would wait until right before that course, as would boiling the ravioli. She just needed to start the sauce. Plenty of time for a distraction. She picked up her wine and walked to check on Al’s work. Too bad she tripped on nothing and spilled her red wine all over Al’s back.
“Oops.”
“No worries.” Al smiled. “There are worse things than a wine stain.”
Lou looked over his shoulder as he unbuttoned the stained shirt, inhaling the aroma of red wine and Al’s spicy scent of black pepper and cinnamon.
“It looks like you’re ready to whip the egg whites.” Lou smiled innocently. She handed Al a whisk and returned to her station. She began the sauce, sautéing the onions in duck fat, deglazing the pan with a little stock and port wine. Creating sauces always seemed magical to her, like alchemy. With the right steps and proportions, mundane ingredients could change into liquid gold.
While she scraped up the browned bits of deliciousness, Al crossed the room with a spoonful of chocolate base he made.
“I added in some orange zest. Let me know how it tastes before I mix it with the egg whites.”
As he moved the spoon toward her mouth, she could swear he tilted it so chocolate drizzled down her dress. He popped the remaining chocolate into her mouth.
“Damn. Now your dress is stained, too. Let me help clean that up.”
He leaned in to kiss the warm chocolate off her skin, adding to the considerable heat already in the kitchen.
Al pulled back, licking the last bit of chocolate off his lips.
“Now you can finish off that sauce.”
Lou sighed and thought she heard Al chuckle when she returned to her task. Every cool breeze, flash of lightning, and growl of thunder added to the electricity in the air. Her bare skin thrummed with leashed energy. She worked in silence, adding the last few pats of butter to the sauce.
“Al, can you come here? I want you to taste the sauce. Let me know if it’s done.”
Inches away from him, she dipped her finger in the creamy sauce and lifted it between them. Looking into Al’s eyes, she slowly smoothed the sauce onto his lower lip. Neither breathed. She lifted her mouth to kiss the sauce off, tasting the rich cream balancing the layered flavors of onion and duck.
Their stained clothing fell to the floor. Lightning seared the night sky, thunder shook the building, and rain pounded against the window glass.
• • • • •
The sauce burned.
“That smells awful.” Lou giggled from the kitchen floor. She lay partially atop Al, her head propped up so she could see his face. Her free hand played with his thick hair as he traced squiggles on her bare back.
“I can’t believe a chef would let her sauce burn. How unprofessional.” Al shook his head in mock disgust.
“Mmm, I’d choose burnt sauce over professionalism any day.” Lou’s stomach rumbled.
“It seems we worked up an appetite. We should probably eat so we have energy for the rest of the night,” Al said.
Lou got up and tossed Al an apron that said “Wisconsin Cheddar Does It Better.”
“Here’s an apron. We don’t want you to get burned.” Lou put on hers. They finished making dinner, both enjoying their memorable meal wearing nothing more than their aprons.
