Love on the Back Burner

by Barbara Oliverio

  Darn. How could she always see that through the phone line?

  “Well. I suppose you could be right.”

  “Ali, give me the benefit of perspective here. From the outside, all I see is a woman visiting a man at the office. She could be his sister or cousin or ex-coworker. I mean, you didn’t actually see them fall into a passionate embrace or anything, did you?”

  “Keira, I’m soooo sure that they would lip-lock right in front of other people, particularly the CEO.” I paused. “And what about the bit about ‘the castle’? Huh? What about that?”

  I moved about the small kitchen of the church basement where Natalie would be getting married, setting pans at the ready to fill with ribbons of pasta, shreds of cheese, and ladles of meat sauce for the actual lasagna. The tiramisu was made and ready in one refrigerator, and as soon as the pasta dish was complete, I would put the pans in the other refrigerator for tomorrow’s reception.

  “Hmm. You do have me there. Darn it, Alexandria, you should have been a lawyer. Your mind works like a steel trap. Too bad you usually are obsessive about such mundane things.”

  “Mundane? I beg to differ.”

  “Maybe mundane wasn’t the right choice of words. Sheesh … touchy much? What I MEANT to say is that you tend to obsess over things that end up being so different when you get all of the facts.”

  “Well, that is true sometimes, I guess,” I admitted.

  She continued, “You are such an intelligent woman— scary intelligent, as a matter of fact. Sometimes you just let emotions get all tangled up and take over.”

  “I guess.”

  “Listen. What’s more important than this woman’s identity is the fact that you suddenly care that Cam Grayson is interested in a woman. What is up with that?”

  I was at the layering point in the lasagna manufacturing process, which I could perform with ease, but I had to stop in order to process this.

  “I don’t know. Do you think it’s just because someone else is interested in him all of a sudden?”

  “I hate to tell you this, sweetie, but you have been talking about him like he’s the boy who dipped your braids in the inkwell ever since he got there. This is not some new attraction.”

  “But I hardly know anything about him! I can’t be attracted.”

  “True. But I think your subconscious mind is telling you that you WANT to know more. Maybe you need to get to know him in general—even if he’s taken.”

  “But Keira, this doesn’t fit into my plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “My three-point plan: concentrate on work, Natalie’s wedding, and my trip home. See, no time in there for getting to know a new guy.”

  “Well, you know what happens when you plan.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Life laughs and has other ideas,” I said, quoting one of her mother’s favorite sayings. I blew my hair out of my eyes. “In any case, I don’t really have time to obsess over this. I have to concentrate on this wedding.”

  “I suppose so. Although if I know you, you have it all worked out to a tee.”

  “I hope so. All I should have to do is come in tomorrow, heat up the Wedding Soup, and bake these pans of lasagna. I’m having the antipasto trays and bread made by Tony’s—”

  “Yum,” Keira interjected.

  “Yum is right. Can’t go wrong with Tony’s Meat Market. The veggie platters are done and in the same refrigerator with the dessert. And, of course, I’m not on the hook for the cake. It should all be set.”

  “Sounds awesome. I’m sorry I’m missing it, but I would just be able to fly in for the ceremony and back. I’d be in the air longer than at the wedding itself.”

  “I know, I know. They understand.” I didn’t, but Natalie and Sam did, and that was all that mattered.

  “Keira, thanks for talking me off the ledge. I really just have to take this a step at a time. First step: get through the wedding. And I think I can do that.”

  “Honey, I know you can do that!”

  We hung up, and I felt a lot better. I cleaned up the kitchen and checked the two coolers one last time to make sure the contents were safe and secure. “At least you’re in a safe place, little lasagnas!” I cooed as I shut the smaller refrigerator door one last time. Then I went home to get cleaned up for the rehearsal and dinner.

  Me and my big mouth!

  I whistled to myself as I strolled into the church kitchen bright and early the next morning, wearing my chef’s coat over comfortable black pants and my most comfortable cooking clogs. I was going to stay in the kitchen finishing prep work until Elliott gave me a buzz on my cell phone—then I would dash upstairs to catch the wedding ceremony, then dash back down to the party room in time to oversee the college kids I had hired to staff the buffet. What could go wrong?

  Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!

  I opened the refrigerator with the lasagna trays and was greeted with the realization that at some point, the appliance had failed in its one most important duty: keeping its contents cold. The lasagna pans were unpleasantly warm. I quickly opened the other refrigerator. Whew. I was met with a chilly blast. The tiramisu, soup, and veggies were safe.

  But the lasagna! The main course! I couldn’t use what I had prepared. It was a definite health hazard. Glancing at the clock, I knew I didn’t have near enough time to start over. I closed the door and sank down backward, leaning against the unit. Natalie had placed her trust in my cooking skills, and I had failed her! I dropped my head to my knees and covered it with my hands.

  “Alex? Ali?” came Elliott’s voice. Huh? Oh. Yeah. He went to the gym. Then he was going to help. He couldn’t help. No one could. Hopeless.

  “I’m down here,” came my muffled voice.

  “Where? What? Hey!” I saw his sneakers on the floor through my arms, along with another pair of feet. Of course, he was with his best buddy Cameron. Great.

  “What are you doing down there, girl?” Elliott asked. “By now I would have expected you to be spinning around here like a top.”

  I glanced up at him, trying to avoid Cam’s eyes.

  “Everything’s ruined.”

  “What? What do you mean ‘ruined’?” He kneeled in front of me at eye level.

  “I’m not sure what happened to this refrigerator, but at some point during the night, it kicked off. The lasagnas inside—gone, baby, gone. I can’t serve them unless I also want to serve a healthy portion of food poisoning. Now Natalie’s wedding is ruined.”

  Elliott, who normally would have been digging at me like a brother, recognized the seriousness of the situation and resisted his normal urge to tease. “Okay, Okay. Let’s think about this for a minute. You are a solution-oriented gal. We can make this work.”

  “How? All I have to offer them is the Wedding Soup and tiramisu in the other refrigerator—luckily that survived—and antipasto and bread from Tony’s. Omigosh! Tony’s! That will still have to be picked up as well!”

  I dropped my head in my hands again.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” That was Cam’s voice beside me now as he knelt down.

  My head shot up. “I’m not going to cry, you idiot!”

  “Oh-kay-ay.” He and Elliott both sat back cross- legged at my display of D’Agostino temper.

  “Sorry,” I began again. “It’s just that you men always assume—oh, never mind. I have to think of a solution.”

  The three of us sat silently for a moment.

  “What if you got something from a restaurant?” began Elliott, helpfully.

  “I know you mean well, Elliott, but I’m not sure that any establishment would have lasagna for seventy-five prepped in time to sell me. And honestly, passing off restaurant food just doesn’t feel right.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “I know, El, but that’s not it.” I patted him on the knee.

  “Well, if I might suggest ...” began Cam.

  “Go on. I’m not going to snap at you again.” I gave him an apologetic look.

  �
��Well, it seems like the only problem is the entrée. Since a long-cooking entrée is out, can you substitute something that takes less time?”

  Hmmm. He had something there. But what would work?

  “I like your idea,” said Elliott. He turned to me.

  “What about the lemony chicken you made that night for Keira’s birthday? Can you make that?”

  “Chicken Piccata?” Well, that actually could work, served over pasta. The lemony sauce with capers would work with portabella mushrooms for the vegetarian option as well.

  “Elliott! You are a genius!” I grabbed him and kissed him.

  “A well-known fact,” he replied, with a cocky tilt of his head.

  “Ahem.”

  We both turned to Cam. He pointed to himself.

  “I believe the idea was mine?”

  “Oh, let’s not quibble with taking credit here,” I said as I jumped to my feet. I pulled a notepad from my pocket and started talking to myself as I created a plan.

  “Let’s see, I’ll need chicken breasts, portabellas, lemons, capers. What kind of pasta would hold up well? I need to see if they have enough pans here to hold things, and if not I can borrow from St. Agnes’s hall—what?”

  I looked at Elliott and Cam.

  “Oh nothing,” grinned Elliott. “It’s just that when you get ‘on task,’ you remind me of Bugs Bunny in the cartoon where he’s playing baseball and zips around playing all the bases.”

  I punched him in the shoulder.

  “I need to draft your services, if you don’t mind. Do you think you can help me prep the chicken to cook? And Cam, since you want to be part of this, can I send you to Tony’s to pick up the antipasto trays?”

  Elliott gasped in mock horror. “Me? Oh, Alex, you know I’d love to help you prep, but these hands are not what one might call surgically precise.”

  “Come on, Elliott, I can teach you.”

  Cam stepped in. “If I may. Elliott, why don’t YOU do the antipasto run. I’ll help prep.”

  I looked doubtfully at Cam.

  “Have you cooked before? I mean anything other than a TV dinner or ramen noodles?”

  “I am going to ignore that. If you were going to teach Elliott, why don’t you think you could teach me?”

  That was true. Actually, given what I knew about both of them, Cam was probably the better choice. Elliott had a tendency to lose his focus on any task that wasn’t art related.

  “Okay. If you guys are up to it, I really appreciate the help.”

  “Ali, you know I’d do anything for you—and Natalie,” said Elliott.

  “I’m in,” confirmed Cam.

  “Alrighty then. Operation Chicken Piccata starts right now.”

  I made a list for Cam and a list for myself, and we went our separate ways. Elliott went home to change, then to Tony’s to pick up the prepared trays, and returned to supervise the kids in setting up the buffet. I was hoping to delay telling Natalie about any change in plans until the last possible moment, to avoid burdening her with any undue stress, so I swore both of them to keeping all this on the down low.

  When I returned to the kitchen, Cam had returned before me and—still dressed in his gym gear and covered with an apron that must have been left in the kitchen by one of the ladies of the church—was chopping lettuce and other vegetables for an impromptu green salad to augment the menu. I stopped for a moment to watch his technique. He had obviously been around a kitchen before, because his economy of motion with the knife was admirable. And where did he get that knife, anyway? It was a Gunter Wilhelm, not one of the standard knives provided in the church kitchen. I had salivated over a set of those professional blades.

  “Hey there, doc, where’d you get that scalpel?” I tried to come off light and airy and ended up sounding like a bad lounge act.

  He glanced up and smiled. “Oh this? Um, just a knife I had at home. I’m used to using it.” He returned to his task and shrugged.

  At home? I doubted that. No one just randomly has a Gunter Wilhelm knife at home. Hmm.

  “Okay. Let me unpack my bags, and we’ll get started on the chicken.”

  “I pulled a couple of pans to be ready for dipping and dredging, but I didn’t put the flour in them. Also, I sliced lemons and juiced some, so we’re ready there. Oh, and I have a meat pounder ready to go for the chicken as well,” he said as he continued to chop, without looking up.

  What the—? Where did some of these things come from? This kitchen didn’t have these hotel pans, and I know there weren’t two meat pounders, and there certainly wasn’t a lemon juicer. And where did those other large frying pans come from? Did Cam rob a restaurant supply house? And how was he so familiar with these techniques?

  “Uh, Cam? … Cam? … CAM!” He stopped. “What?”

  I gestured around. “All this?”

  “Alexandria, we don’t have a lot of time here, and I need you to get to the point of what you’re talking about.”

  I was dumbfounded. Cam Grayson, tech guru. At ease in the kitchen. Was my world turning upside down?

  “My point is, Cam,” I started with exaggerated patience, “how do you know all of this?”

  He shrugged as he tossed the salad ingredients by tossing the entire giant bowl without spilling so much as a leaf. “Oh, you know, I just picked it up.”

  I grabbed his forearms.

  “No, no, no. No one just ‘picks up’ the techniques of a professional chef. And this equipment—where did you get it? And this knife.” I lifted it and turned it from side to side. “This is a top-of-the-line knife. You don’t just buy one at Bed Bath and Beyond.”

  “All right, Alexandria, I’ll tell you. But then we have to get going here. I have a relative who ran a restaurant, and I helped out sometimes, okay? Look, I’ll tell you the whole story, but after the wedding, okay?” He kissed my forehead. “Come on, boss—you’re supposed to be in charge here!”

  Oh … so many thoughts! He worked in a restaurant! He knew food! He knew how to work with food! And what was with that kiss? I’m pretty sure his redhead wouldn’t appreciate that!

  Stop it, Alexandria. Get on the task at hand. Plenty of time for thinking and analyzing (and overanalyzing) after the wedding. I shook my head to clear it and began.

  “Okay, Cam. I’ll take the chicken breasts out of the packages and butterfly them. While I do that, can you work with the portabellas?”

  He nodded.

  I looked around the counters, took another breath, and gave some other directions, and he nodded at each one, occasionally responding or asking a pertinent question. Elliott came in with bags of bread.

  “Whoa! It looks like you guys are really kicking it in here. Gosh, Cam, you are an amazingly fast learner.” Elliott stopped to admire Cam’s slicing technique.

  “Turns out this isn’t his first rodeo,” I said with a rueful smile.

  “What? Get outta here! Say, Alex, maybe there is a reason you are so attracted to him. He’s a food guy, too!” Elliott clapped his hand over his mouth.

  Cam suddenly became very interested in his task. Hopefully he didn’t hear.

  “Elliott, I’m sure you have much more to bring in from the car!” I said between gritted teeth and gave him a kick on the rear. He retreated.

  Great. That’s all I needed was for Cam to think that I had any interest in him at all. I’m sure that he and his gorgeous girlfriend would get a great laugh out of that.

  Elliott made more trips to finish bringing in the bread and platters. In that time, my college students arrived, and he assigned them tasks in the dining hall.

  Cam and I continued preparing the chicken and mushrooms, keeping an eye on the clock as to when to set the pasta boiling.

  “We’re going to want to be very careful and make sure the pasta is al dente,” I told him. “There’s nothing worse than mushy noodles.”

  “Aye aye, captain.” He saluted.

  Elliott ducked his head into the kitchen. “The cake guy is here. Where sho
uld he set up?”

  “There should be a small table in the corner near the bride’s table. Have him put it there.”

  Elliott walked fully into the kitchen. “You mean that jacked-up little card table? No, I won’t allow it.”

  “What do you mean?” He pulled me into the dining hall and pointed toward a scarred oak table devoid of any decoration.

  Great. In all the minute details of this wedding planning, it looked as if Natalie’s mom had forgotten that the cake table needed adornment. I looked at Elliott.

  “If you’ve got the kids under control for the buffet, do you think you can pull something together for that mess?”

  “Madam, you insult me. Why I could take a toothpick and a discarded napkin and turn it into a work of art. I could—”

  “Fine, fine, Picasso. Less talking, more doing.” I shoved him in the right direction. I wasn’t concerned with how he accomplished it. Elliott was one of the most artistic individuals I knew. It would be fabulous. I wiped my brow with the towel in my pocket and went back into the kitchen.

  “What’s the time estimate, Ally-Cat?” asked Cam.

  “Well, if I’m hearing the music correctly down the stairwell, we’ve got about twenty-five minutes. I’ll move the entrees to the warmers out in the hall, and you drop that pasta in the water.”

  Ally-Cat? That was a term of endearment reserved for my family, but I didn’t have time to correct him. Besides, it gave me kind of a warm feeling hearing it from this perplexing man.

  I looked around the kitchen once again. We were working together with an elegance and ease that I hadn’t been accustomed to outside of cooking with Nonna. I couldn’t believe it—this was actually going to work!

  Later, I peeked into the dining hall and watched the dinner guests returning again and again to the buffet tables, either for more pasta or cold cuts. Some had even started on dessert. Natalie’s mother, dressed in a shantung silk mother-of-the-bride suit in a flattering shade of champagne, flitted from table to table, preening as she received compliments for such a unique wedding reception meal. She saw me and waved me over to her.

  “And this is our caterer, Alexandria.” She introduced me to a group. “She is simply the best!”