“None whatsoever. In fact, would it be possible for you to give me the number of her store?”
“Certainly. You can call her at 310-555-0429. And Mr. Rourke?”
“Yes?”
“Have her make you a red velvet cupcake – they are heaven on earth.”
Nathan hangs up the phone and concentrates on demolishing the rest of the scone. Complete with clotted cream and jam, he cannot think of the last time he actually enjoyed a tea service.
As a travel writer, Nathan spends entirely too much of his life living out of a suitcase. In a landscape of anonymous hotel rooms, something has finally inspired him to take note. While the suite is nice enough, and he appreciates the effort the hotel has put forward so far, it is the welcome basket full of baked goods that has truly caught his attention. After eating his way through the lighter than air madeleines, he ordered a tea service and is now close to bursting of carbohydrates and sugar.
Dialing the number on his cell phone, he is pleased to her a woman’s husky voice, intriguing him further, answer the line, “Laura’s Sweet Stuff.”
“Can I please speak to the owner of this establishment?” he asks, hoping the person the other end of the phone is the proprietor.
“Speaking.”
“This is Laura?”
“It most certainly is – how can I help you?”
Unsure exactly how to begin, Nathan manages to mumble, “I just had to call and personally tell you how wonderful your cooking was.”
“Thank you – I’m glad you’ve enjoyed whatever it was I made,” she laughs and asks, “Can I ask where it was you are calling from? Call it market research, but I always like knowing what is a hit with the crowds.”
“I’m staying at the Winchester. I think I’ve had almost one of everything,” he admits.
“You’re not a diabetic, are you?”
“Why?”
“Because you would be going into shock right about now. I am not shy about using healthy amounts of butter, sugar, and full cream.”
Nathan isn’t sure if it’s possible to get aroused by talking about food, but his mind starts to wander in a very specific direction. Before he can think through what he’s asking, he questions, “What time does your store close?”
“I’m actually just finishing up. After all, I’ve been up since about 5 A.M. cooking and baking.”
“Are you too tired for an early dinner?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I want to meet you,” he blurts out, hoping desperately that he hasn’t offended her and that against all odds, she’s single.
“Are you asking me out?” Laura’s tone is still playful, but a bit more guarded.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“You’re crazy.” She pauses to collect her thoughts and asks, “How do I know you’re not some mental person?”
“You don’t.”
“Also, I’d just like to point out you’ve never even seen a picture of me. I could be a troll.”
“Troll or not, you seem like a friendly person, you cook like a dream, and I’m looking for a way to get out of dinner with a friend tonight.”
“I’m not convinced.”
Nathan asks, “Do you have an internet connection at your cafe?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ve got a website, you can look me up. Nathan Rourke, travel writer, from Houston – and I’m due to leave tomorrow. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”
Not bothering to question his actions, Nathan spends his five minutes opening his laptop and conducting some reconnaissance of his own. Within a few seconds he sees his intuition is close to perfect. Laura is a beautiful brunette, with sparkling green eyes and hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Some might call her a few pounds overweight, but all he sees are glorious curves. Furthermore, he would be a bit suspect if a chef who created such fantastic dishes was skinny. Nathan doesn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, but is beginning to believe in love at first bite.
He scans through her biography and is impressed by what he reads. Laura Pendergrast skipped college and went straight into culinary training, specializing and working under respected chefs around the country. After gaining experience in a number of respected kitchens, she came back to open her own café in Los Angeles three years ago. Now, approaching thirty, she is a successful restaurateur with connections around the city. On limited occasions, Laura Pendergast had also stepped in to create wedding cakes for A and B list celebrities.
When he looks at the clock, he begins to worry he’s scared fair Laura away.
Nathan, who does have a halfway decent palate when it comes to main courses and various cuisines, has never focused on deserts and pastries. Fortunately, his concern cedes and a smile graces his features when his phone rings and he sees the local area code appear. Answering playfully, he answers with a question, “Is 6 P.M. too early?”
“So sure of yourself, are you?”
“Well, you did call me back.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Listen, I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with. And, if you don’t believe me that I’m leaving tomorrow, I’d be happy to forward you my travel itinerary.”
“I trust you.”
He attempts one last push, “I’d arrange for something the next time I was coming through, but I don’t know when that will be.”
Her pause makes his heart catch, when she finally asks, “Can you promise me ridiculously overpriced champagne?”
“I’ll make sure there are two bottles on ice.”
“I’ll see you at half six.”
“Should I order dinner ahead of time?”
“Let me take care of that.”
“I like a woman who takes charge.”
Laura laughs and says, “Don’t get too excited, Romeo. I just happen to know the chef – let me make a call and see what he can do for us.”
Her enthusiasm excites him and he comments, “Then maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all your pastries.”
“Your choice, but keep room for desert… I’m bringing over something special.”
“I’m in room 702.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Nathan ends the call with a large smile on his face and decides he needs to quickly clean up and dashes into the shower. With the steam heating up the space, he wraps a towel around his waist and looks at himself in the bathroom mirror and decides to forego shaving, leaving his five day growth of facial hair, neatly trimmed, in place. For the moment he finishes his toilette by splashing on some Hugo Boss on his pulse points. Still clothed in a towel, Nathan moves through the room to look through his bag to try and find something to wear. As a man who cares about his appearance, Nathan has always preferred to look good. Given he frequents high end hotels, he wants to fit in, wants to think there is something more to life than ratty flip flops paired with cargo shorts. More often than not, his approach to clothing resonates with women in the various establishments he visits.
Tonight he decides on a pair of dark wash Joe’s Jeans and a classic white button down shirt. He holds up numerous ties in the mirror, but thinks the silk might be a bit over the top. Digging through his carry on luggage, he finds socks and shoes and then calls the front desk to have to bottles of Veuve Cliquot delivered on ice, with immediacy. Glancing at the clock, he wonders how else he can set the mood. Calling back down to the front desk, he begs to see if there are any flowers on the property, and taking a calculated risk, presses the staff to see if there are any roses available.
Pacing nervously, he sets to slightly rearranging the furniture, then plugs in his iPod, pulling up a set of pre-selected songs he hopes will set the mood. Realizing he still has at least twenty minutes, and that is generous considering the traffic in the city, he decides to call a local friend of his, Keith Nolan. The two had been college roommates some years ago and keep in touch occasion
ally. Although Keith is oblivious and rather hopeless when it comes to women, Nathan is looking for someone to abate some of his nervousness through.
“Hey there. Where are you?” Nathan asks, glad his friend picks up.
“Still at work.”
“Of course.” Keith is a notorious workaholic.
“Aren’t you in my neighborhood today?”
The pair had tentatively made plans to catch a drink, but Nathan knew Keith kept ridiculous hours and didn’t think their plans would hold. Keith is more the type to put in a good appearance at a bachelor party or a wedding, but rarely in between.
“Yes, actually, I was calling to cancel on you.”
“Really? Why’s that? Get a better offer?”
“Something like that.”
At that comment, Nathan senses Keith mentally flip his switch and give the conversation his full attention. He asks, “What’s she like?”
“Ever been to Laura’s Sweet Stuff?”
“I’ve heard of them. In fact, I think we got the last birthday cake from there. It was unbelievable and I don’t even like sugar.”
“I’ll have you know, I have a date with the fabulous Laura Pendergrast herself.”
“And how is that?”
“After eating practically every pastry in sight, I got her name from the front desk and just called her up. She’s on her way over now.”
“Don’t screw it up.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Do I need to bring up the air hostess?”
“Hey now – I’d like to think I’ve managed to improve my cool factor in the past ten years. She’s only going to be here for dinner. Furthermore, like I should be taking advice from you.”
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Have you made any progress with that blonde from—”
“Shhh!”
“Is she around?”
“She’s on a conference call upstairs.”
“Dude, you have a serious case of denial. Also, in case someone hasn’t told you, just get over yourself and go for it. I did and look where it’s getting me!”
“Hold up, bro, she’s not even there yet.”
“I don’t know, Keith, I have a good feeling.”
“I get it. Anyway, regarding my…situation…I don’t want to get into it at work. I should’ve never told you.”
“It was Rashad’s bachelor party and you’d consumed enough Jaegermeister to kill a small child. It’s one of the reasons I love the drunk version of you. Inebriated Keith gets all honest.”
In response, his friend sighs loudly.
Nathan continues, “Fine, I’ll cut you some slack, but are you ever going to make a move? From what it sounded like, she was, how did you say it, ‘more than just a nice ass?’”
“If we must talk about this, I’ll have you know that she is still my colleague, which makes her off limits.”
“Says who? Your company HR lady? Aren’t you someone important over there?”
“Maybe.”
“Then who gives a damn?”
“Weren’t we talking about you?”
“Fine, ignore me. I wondered if there was any sort of local info you had on Laura.”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not up to date on the pastry and cupcake market in L.A. Anyway, where do you expect things to go with the lovely Laura? You live in another city and she’s a busy small business owner.”
“Always the optimist, huh?”
There is a knock on the door and Nathan says, “That’s probably the champagne.”
“I hope she puts out!”
“Shut up.”
Ending the call, Nathan puts down his Blackberry and opens the door. The bellboy walks through with two ice buckets and champagne. Stephen also produces two flutes and asks, “Do you want me to open the bottle?”
“No, I’m waiting for my guest to arrive.”
“Say no more,” Stephen winks and leaves the room.
“Great,” Nathan says, not wanting a reputation of a man who uses a hotel room for sex with an ‘escort.’
The next knock comes and Nathan hopes it’s the flowers and not Laura. Luck is on his side and someone from the front desk produces an obscenely large bouquet of pink roses. Taking one last look around the room and his reflection in the closet mirror, he arranges everything until he hears a new knock on the door. Nathan manages to blurt out, “Coming!” then cringes at his comment and runs to the door.
Trying to regain credibility, he forces himself to wait a beat and then opens the door. Smiling broadly, he asks, “Laura?”
“That’s me.”
They look at each other a moment, sizing the other up. He is very glad to see her in a casual black skirt (and wonders what’s underneath said skirt) and a deep teal top which clings in all the right places. Her hair is up, her cheeks are glowing and even though he is 6’2”, she must be close to his height in her 2 inch heels. Nathan asks, “Would you like to come in?”
Laura scrutinizes him another long moment and answers, “Listen, I want to think you’re a nice guy, but I’ve also told the front desk I’m here. Dinner will be here in half and hour and if they don’t make contact with me, they have specific instructions to call the police. And you know what?”
Nathan chuckles nervously and says, “What?”
“Cops love my store. I know people.”
“Sounds like you’ve had some bad dates before.”
“Don’t get me started.”
“Well, if you’ll follow me, per your instructions I found us some ridiculously overpriced champagne to share.”
She rewards him with a radiant smile and says, “Thanks, I’d like that.”
Conversation flows naturally, and the pair trade traditional small talk. Nathan loves listening to Laura talk about cooking. She’s so animated and passionate. He watches her mouth as she speaks, fixated on her delicate lips – the dimple on her right cheek as she tells a funny story from the kitchen. Dinner arrives and even though the food is lovely, Nathan barely remembers what they are eating.
Daintily wiping her mouth, Laura puts her napkin aside and moves to her bag. Pulling out a logoed square box, tied with an elaborate emerald bow, she opens the object with a flourish. Green eyes sparkling, she says, “This is one of my special recipes.”
Nathan, having wanted to kiss the smile off Laura’s face for at least the past hour, gets up to steal the box away from her and maybe make his move. Gently placing her hand in the middle of his broad chest, she says, “No, no – let me feed you.”
This thought seems incredibly erotic, so Nathan immediately sits himself back down. Laura leans herself (and her ample chest) close to his head and whispers in his ear, “Close your eyes.”
“I…”
“Trust me. This will be all about your sense of smell and taste.”
“Okay.” This close he can smell her perfume, something floral and feminine. He’s rather glad to be sitting at the table, where at least his lower half is partially covered by the tablecloth. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe normally.
“Open your mouth.”
Nathan complies and when does something sweet and creamy fills the space. He closes his mouth and lets the flavors wash over his tongue. There are hints of vanilla, cinnamon and then, just barely, he detects zucchini. Unsure what to do or what will be the least offensive gesture, he whips the napkin from his lap and spits the whole mess into it. With his eyes flying open, he asks, “Is there zucchini in this?”
Alarmed, Laura answers, “Yes, why? If you don’t like it, you just could’ve told me.”
With his throat already swelling, Nathan calmly instructs his date, “Go to the bathroom. Look in my dop kit. There is an epi pen. I’m going to pass out soon, but I need you to give me a shot in my upper thigh. If this doesn’t bring me back to consciousness, call the front desk and have them call for an ambulance.”
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“I had no idea – it’s my secret ingredient!”
Gasping for breath, Nathan says, “Hurry!” then slumps down on the floor.
Laura springs into action and scrambles for the bathroom. Sighting the dop kits she upturns the small case and lets the items scatter on the counter. Seeing the epi pen, the grabs the medical device and while running, cracks the packaging open.
Throwing herself at Nathan’s side, she doesn’t hesitate, but decisively thrusts the pen into his upper right thigh and pushes the epinephrine. With adrenaline still coursing through her system, she doesn’t wait to see what Nathan’s reaction will be, but runs over to the desk and immediately dials zero on the phone. Breathlessly, she shouts, “There’s a medical emergency in Room 702. You need to call and ambulance and send someone up here now.”
Running to the front door, Laura throws the deadbolt into the doorframe so that whoever is coming up will be able to enter without her being there. Sprinting back to Nathan, Laura kneels next to him and, after putting her ear near his chest and airway, notices he isn’t breathing. First Aid certified, the young woman has always made sure safety is an important part of her kitchen and the restaurants she’s worked in. While the closest she’s ever come to a medical emergency is occasional cuts and burns, she has no choice but to deliver CPR.
Covering his mouth with her own she tilts back his head to clear his airway, then gives two breaths and moves to give his chest compressions. She delivers five sets and is starting to sweat heavily when Nathan begins to breathe on his own. He coughs heavily, and in a low voice wheezes, “Did you call?”
“Yes.”
“Paramedic!” There is a knock on the door and then someone comes through the door. Two medical professionals with gear rush to their side.
“Miss? Can you explain what happened?”
“It was an allergic reaction…” Laura, relieved to have some additional help, tries to put a coherent sentence together.
Room 702 Page 23
