by Jax Garren
Brett’s hand slipped from hers as he set her stuff down on the bench, then he swiped his cap off to ruffle his messy hair. His hand had felt nice enough in hers that she was sorry when he dropped the connection. Not that she’d let him know that.
Clutching his hat to his chest, Brett leaned against the back of a bench, bringing him closer to her height. “I’ll give you the photo so you can frame it or scrapbook it or whatever it is you do with treasured pictures. I’ll make sure to have it when I cook you dinner. That’s the second thing I want.” Though his voice sounded teasing, his eyes were full of hope.
She had to hand it to him; the man didn’t give up easily. But his request was unintentionally funny. “You want to cook me dinner?” she deadpanned. Her. A restaurant critic. Her dearest friends refused to cook her dinner—not that she’d ever critique a meal cooked by a non-chef. The generosity of home cooks at friendly gatherings had a different purpose than haute cuisine at thirty-plus bucks a plate. After a few scathing reviews of overpriced food, though, she never received home-cooked dinner invitations anymore.
But Brett didn’t know that. She should probably warn him before she said yes.
Wait, that thought implied she intended to say yes. She’d worry about that in a minute. There was another problem. “Look, I’m pretty sure I’ve only been a crazy emo jerk around you, and I swear I’m not always like that. But I have no idea why you’d want to see more of me.”
This time Brett’s expression turned serious as he once again carefully chose his words. “You haven’t been crazy. Not in comparison to what I’ve been, anyway.” He shuffled his feet, causing more bell ringing. Despite his surprisingly self-aware statement, he didn’t seem to notice the jingle. “But I saw you at the bar and I heard you laugh, and I knew I wanted to get to know you. You have the most wonderful laugh.”
His gaze caught hers, sending another spiral of nervous energy through her. Her memory pulled up a play-by-play of the firm strength in his body as it had pressed against hers. Desire heated her again, but not the brainless, biological, do-me-now kind where nothing mattered but skin. Brett was more like a shelter in the storm.
Her ill-fated relationship with Lincoln had started with fingers and tongues and not this curiosity to see what made him tick. Then again, she could honestly say she’d never met anyone like Brett. Of course she was curious.
Curiosity didn’t mean she had to like him, though. To her surprise, she realized that she did. She steeled herself against the feeling. She was not ready for a crush. Nip it in the bud. A hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips, she said, “So the elf believes in love at first sight, huh?” But the words didn’t come out as harsh as she’d intended. More like an honest question.
He smiled, a slow turn of his lips that had her watching them and squirming. He knew she was interested. Crap.
Instead of answering the question, he said, “The food will be good, I swear. I’ve been training as a chef. I want to start a catering company. It’s been my dream for a while now.”
Oh. That explained a lot, and not just his job. Relief flooded her as his interest in her fell into place, logical and orderly. He wanted one of Austin’s most popular food critics in his pocket. “You know who I am. That’s why you’re doing this.” Of course. What was she thinking? Magical elves and fairy-tale love at first kiss? Good grief.
“Who you are? You’re... Carrie?” He looked honestly confused. Maybe he didn’t know who she was.
“Carrie Martin? Restaurant critic for Austin Life? That’s me.”
Judging by his ecstatic expression, he’d had no clue. Back to elves and fairy-tale kisses it was, then. “That’s awesome! You can try my food and tell me if it’s good! Please come over and try my food.” Full of eager anticipation, he stood up and took her hands. “My Christmas list now consists of one thing, that Carrie Martin, esteemed restaurant critic for Austin Life Magazine, will eat my food and love it. Let me cook you dinner?” Puppy-dog eyes held her gaze without blinking as he jiggled her hands and mouthed “please” over and over.
She couldn’t believe she was about to say this—she was so going to regret this—but his begging was too heart-meltingly cute to answer anything but, “Yes.”
Chapter 3
To avoid any address contamination—the kind where a crazy elf-man knows where you live and starts stalking you—they met at Lora’s brother’s house, with Lora and her brother, Tom, in attendance. Not that Carrie had been worried; off-kilter as Brett may be, she got zero creepy vibes off him. But Lora had insisted and Tom had offered and plans had been set.
Carrie still couldn’t completely believe she’d agreed to this. It definitely wasn’t about the dress. She’d repeatedly assured Brett that his friend didn’t have to sew anything—whatever that meant in reality—and had continued her unsuccessful hunt for the perfect gown. She’d agreed to dinner because Brett’s enthusiasm was every bit as compelling as it was strange. If anything, he made her feel safe, like she could say or do anything that struck her fancy and he’d just grin and laugh and, hell, maybe break out a pom-pom routine.
And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shunt the memory of that kiss.
When Carrie arrived at Tom’s, the man was sorting a tangle of video game cords. With a resigned sigh, he shoved the lot of them into a cabinet underneath a television the size of a baby rhinoceros. “Delia dropped Thomas Jr. off a couple days early. Sorry about that. It’s my turn for Christmas. I didn’t have plans for him for tonight though, and ...”
Carrie smiled a reassurance. “You can’t turn your son away. Don’t worry on my account. Where is TJ?”
A crash in the kitchen. Tom hustled toward the noise, calling as he left, “Acting sous-chef. Your friend was kind enough to let him.”
“Actually,” Lora said from the couch as the kitchen door swung shut, “it was more like Brett somehow talked TJ into putting the game controller down and helping. Tom kept thinking he’d come back out to play or get sent back out to play, but so far there’s been no peep. Just, you know, a crash or two. I’m afraid dinner may suffer.”
Carrie raised an eyebrow at the kitchen. “I can’t believe he’s letting a kid help when he’s asked for my honest opinion.” Though Brett was great with kids, little fingers tended to get in the way more than help. Did he not take her seriously? She couldn’t give compliments for the sake of being nice; it would damage her professional reputation if he quoted her. Besides, as much as she wanted to give his ambitions a thumbs-up, false praise did him no favors if he was serious about finding the investment capital it took to start a catering service. The competition was fierce, and all the hopeful enthusiasm in the world wouldn’t earn him a paycheck if he couldn’t rock the menu.
“I can’t believe an elf is making us dinner.” Lora said with a giggle. “You know, I don’t think he’s merely trying to impress the food critic in you.”
Carrie unwrapped her scarf and hung it on the back of the couch, as uneasy about him asking her on a real date as she was about reviewing his food. But she didn’t tell Lora that. “Just tell me he’s not in his costume, and he’s already off on the right foot.”
“Nope, totally normal man attire.” Lora leaned in, her voice hushed. “He’s really cute. And TJ already adores him. Your elf’s got a way with kids.” She smirked. “Must be all that hard work at Santaland.”
Just then, TJ entered, carrying a tray of mini-roast beef sandwiches garnished with au jus and what Carrie guessed might be chive aioli.
Lora breathed deeply. “Ah, to think of the swill I ate before you became a restaurant critic. I love being your friend.” Brett followed with a tray of martinis, all with red-sugared rims and candy cane swizzle sticks. “Really love it.”
Lora might’ve only had eyes for the drinks, but Carrie took a good look at the man. Black corduroy slacks and a fitted midnight-blue button-down highlighted his lean figure much better than candy-cane striped tights. His hair was still in casual disarray, but in t
his outfit it looked more rakish than playful. His gaze found hers immediately, and he grinned. “Thought I heard you come in, Princess. Martini?”
Carrie frowned at the “Princess” and eyed the sandwiches. She’d give him one last chance to make this a friendly meal and not a professional critique. In her experience, most people who asked for comments were looking for praise, and a balanced answer—even a generally positive one—didn’t go over well. “You really want my honest opinions?”
His lips quirked. “I’m not sure you have the ability to lie. Not about food, anyway. I’ve been reading your reviews.”
Lora snorted a laugh and raised a martini. “She will rake you over the coals, man. Back out now!”
Brett gave her a friendly wink and returned to the kitchen, calling, “Dinner’s almost ready,” over his shoulder.
Lora poked her in the shoulder. “It’s like he already knows you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Carrie settled in, readying herself to be honest but not vicious. He needed the truth if he wanted to be successful. Plus, doing her job would probably kill his interest in her, which would keep her safe from a romantic entanglement. She wanted to be safe, didn’t she? Honesty was the best thing for both of them.
The meal started off on a decent foot. Nobody guessed that the mini-sandwiches were seitan—turned out Brett was a pescatarian and preferred to cook that way—and they had a sauerkraut dressing that gave them a unique punch. The dish was creative and well balanced, and Carrie relaxed somewhat at the first bite. The meal had promise.
She looked up to find him watching her, his gaze focused on her lips. Well, of course he was watching her. He wanted to know what she thought about the food she was chewing.
When he realized she’d noticed his attention, his smile turned chagrined and his eyes left her, as if to say, “Busted.” He glanced back, winked then passed the sandwiches to Tom.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly thick. He hadn’t been thinking about her opinion. He’d been thinking about her mouth. Her skin warmed and she couldn’t help taking a glance at his own lips, narrow and pale. Would he try to kiss her again tonight? Did she want him to?
The question made her nervous, and she reached for her drink. She hadn’t even tried it yet. Too wound up she supposed—plus it looked like a sugary mess, not her kind of thing.
Unlike the sandwich, with its elegant layers of flavor, the drink wasn’t balanced quite right. She set it back down, relinquishing the nervous woman for the professional critic—a much easier persona to take on.
“Something’s off.” Brett made it a statement, not a question. He must’ve seen her reaction.
His expression was curious, not offended, which was some comfort. Usually she gave critiques from the safety of her computer. It was harder than she’d expected to say something to his face, but she managed it. “It’s a little sweet for my tastes.” As she’d suspected it would be.
“I think they’re great,” Lora interjected.
“Thank you, Lora,” Brett acknowledged, but he kept his focus on Carrie. “I want to know what you’re thinking. Drinks are not my strong suit, and I’d like to get better.”
Breathing a little easier, she said, “I know you’ll probably have a bartender to handle this part. I don’t expect a chef to be a mixologist, too, but if the drinks are too sweet, they’ll be considered less refined. It’s easy to make a drink appeal with sugar. But it tends to kill the other flavors.” There it was. She’d said it as nicely as she could. Could he handle the criticism he’d asked for?
He nodded. “Good to know.” A grin. “Give that one to Lora, and I’ll make you another.”
As he left, Lora reached for her glass. “Gimme that.” In a whisper she added, “Food snob.”
Brett turned at the kitchen. “All my favorite people are.” The door closed behind him.
“How did he hear that?”
Carried huffed and leaned toward her friend in hopes of being unheard. “Oh ye of the complete one-eighty on this guy. A few days ago, you were insulting him, and now you’re defending him from my professional opinions? What happened?”
“Back then he was a drunk mall elf ruining your sweater. Now he’s a hot caterer trying to woo you. What can I say? He took my critical glares to heart and changed his ways.”
Tom nudged her. “Yeah, sis, I’m sure this is all about you. Have you seen the way he looks at Carrie?”
Lora’s shoulders squeezed in an excited motion. “I know! Isn’t it precious? And he’s a food snob, too! A hottie food snob. They’re perfect for each other.”
Carrie dropped an elbow to the table and rubbed her forehead. “Oh my God.” There was a crazy light in Lora’s eyes. The woman was re-marrying her off already. “We prefer ‘foodie.’”
The door opened for Brett’s return, and they all leaned back in their seats, as if somehow he wouldn’t know they’d been discussing him. A new drink landed in front of her.
“Better?” he asked as he settled into his chair.
She took a sip. The almost candied quality had been toned down and then tempered with the pepper of rosemary. “Much better. Smoother but with more depth of flavor.” She took another drink. It wasn’t Shawn-good, but she could honestly say, “I like this one a lot.”
With a satisfied smile, he dropped his napkin into his lap. “He can be taught.”
Damn. She really liked him.
The rest of the meal went without a hitch, full of excellent food and even better conversation about flavor, texture, aroma, and the creative process. There were few things Carrie loved talking about more than food, and Brett shared her infatuation. He could do a lot more than simply talk about it, too. His borscht soup was thick and hearty, his dill gravlax seasoned perfectly, and the meal finished off with a rice pudding that was pungent with the unexpected flavoring of lavender and anise. “For the tonttu,” Brett explained as he served dessert and related a funny legend about arctic fairy-folk.
Almost all his food had a story, usually about growing up in a tiny town in northern Canada. If she had a complaint, and Carrie desperately sought something to suppress her rising interest, it was that his self-confidence bordered on arrogance. But he never put anyone else down, and that made it okay. Besides, he’d need that self-assurance to succeed in the food industry—it could be vicious.
Regardless of what went on between them, she’d happily hand over whatever contacts she could to help him out. He deserved it.
After dinner, they settled into the living room for coffee, more cocktails, and homemade nougat candy, and the room turned to her in anticipation. Brett steepled his fingers in front of his face, his gaze steady on her. But she could see the grin. He knew he’d knocked it out of the park.
She laughed, trying to form words that weren’t in the superlative. Usually she had a little time to prep her commentary before public consumption.
His smile grew as he watched her, reminding her of his comment that he loved her laugh. He pushed another martini her way, as if in supplication. True to his teetotaler claim from his inebriated introduction, aside from handing the martinis out, he hadn’t touched them.
That probably explained why drinks were his weak point.
“Come on, I looked up your column: Martin’s Meals. One to five burners, and you’re pretty stingy with them. What do I have? Three? Three and a half?” He sucked in a noisy breath. “Four?”
She laughed again, producing an instant grin from him. “Four and a half.” It was hard to separate the fun time from the food, but she felt that was pretty accurate.
He pumped a fist and slid onto the couch next to her. “Yes! Elite.”
Laughter caught her even harder. “I’ll bump it to five if you snag me the last nougat.”
The plate appeared in her lap, and Brett turned a cocky grin to Lora and Tom.
Lora huffed in mock outrage. “Well, I’m off to do the dishes.”
Tom stood to join her. “You win.”
“Huh?” Carrie a
sked.
“Before you got here,” Brett answered, “we bet the dirty dishes whether or not you’d be impressed.” He waggled a finger at them as they passed. “Never bet against an elf.”
Carrie snorted. She’d thought Lora’s insistence on referring to him as an elf would irritate him. Instead, he’d run with it at the dinner, telling ridiculous stories about the mall and cracking jokes that deflated any attempts to get the upper hand.
Everything rolled right off Brett in a Teflon way she only wished she could’ve accomplished with Lincoln’s friends. Yet another reason to be impressed—and to wonder what Brett had seen in her that piqued his interest so quickly. She hadn’t exactly put her best foot forward with him.
She should change that. Maybe let him in a little bit. Not too far, but enough to give him a chance. The million dollar question was: A chance to do what?
Brett gave TJ a high five. “Good job, sous-chef!” The smile he turned to Carrie had no mockery in it. “Couldn’t have done it without him.”
TJ climbed up onto the sofa beside him, captivated by the side of Brett’s head as only a six-year-old can unselfconsciously be. “Aunt Lora says you’re an elf. Did you cut the tops of your ears off?” The kid pointed to Brett’s right ear.
Carrie glanced at the top of his other ear then did a double take. On his left ear, the one on her side, he had a scar across the top, mostly hidden under his unruly hair. She wanted to look over and check if that was what TJ was looking at, but unlike a six-year-old, she couldn’t be quite that gauche.
Brett sighed, the picture of melodrama. “I got in trouble and they kicked me out of the North Pole, which is why you should always mind your elders. But you see, they can’t have elves with big pointy ears wandering around humans, so they cut mine off!” He made a motion with his hand, showing elongated ears cut down to normal size.
TJ gasped, eyes huge with fascination. “Did it hurt?”
