At her nod of assent—how could she not find a way to make such an opportunity work—he sighed with relief.
“Well that’s something, anyway,” he mumbled softly into his glass.
It was clear that he was speaking to himself, so she did her best to pretend she couldn’t guess what else he was thinking.
Chapter 7
For two months it was enough. A cool September turned into a cold November and they worked their asses off.
Their every waking thought was consumed by the restaurant. At first, Manuel or Angelo had joined Sam on the daily shopping expeditions in the middle of his night. The restaurant closed at ten, they were cleaned up and out the door by eleven, and except for a few fantasies about Luisa, he’d be asleep by one. Up at six in the chill, predawn darkness to get the pick of the market at Pike Place. Asleep from seven to ten, if he got back to sleep, and then into the restaurant.
Soon, he and Manuel had agreed to alternate mornings and do the shopping for both restaurants. But even on their off days, they were likely to bump into one another at the market, just seeing if there was anything particularly special that day.
Luisa showed up one morning, looking gloriously rumpled in sweatpants, a heavy sweater, and desperately clutching a large thermal mug of coffee. She was good, spotting some possibilities for the Daily Fresh menu that he’d missed. It was soon a routine to shop together and go out for breakfast afterward; watch the late sunrise and the early tourists while someone else cooked them breakfast. He slept less, but in those quiet mornings is when he grew to know his aboyeur.
At first they discussed Angelo’s. But soon they were discussing travels, different chefs and their restaurants, eventually they even wandered into past lovers. At the restaurant it was all business, but for the few hours between the shopping and the start of lunch service, that was theirs alone.
Luisa worked with Graziella on the restaurant operations. He worked with the other chefs and his prep chef replacement. In the second month he started running dish variations by Angelo, who was often found experimenting with a new dish on a small side stove. The new restaurant was going to be Southern Italian, a broad departure from the Tuscan and Piedmont themes of the first two, and that needed a lot of prep. Soon they were collaborating and testing dishes together; Graziella and Luisa offering their own insightful palates to the process of turning dishes into a menu. Sam had never so enjoyed the simple craft of cooking as those moments with Angelo.
At the end of the second month, Angelo sat the two of them down and laid out a chart. He didn’t need to say a thing. Rather than any dip in sales, there’d been a slow and steady increase. Angelo then laid down four new reviews that left no question he and Luisa were doing well as a team.
Angelo had shaken Sam’s hand and kissed Luisa on top of the head before leaving them once again alone at the small table deep in the shadows of the closed restaurant. The silence stretched long after Angelo shut off the kitchen lights and left.
“I like that you still keep me on my toes on the cook line,” Sam finally said to break the stillness. “Don’t stop doing that.”
“Deal,” Luisa grinned at him. “Just don’t stop blowing my mind with your new dishes.” It was practically a caress that he felt right down to his heart. He loved that she loved his cooking.
After another overlong pause, it was Luisa who broke the silence.
“Do you think…” she trailed off.
“I don’t know,” he answered, fairly sure they were discussing the same topic. It had become like a live wire, or perhaps a tug of war across the cook line. The tension had built between them until he wasn’t sleeping that much before the shopping trips either. They’d worked out such a deep cook line communication that it was, well, almost sexual. He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. It was sexual in every way…except the complete lack of sex.
But would that blow apart their working relationship? Since that one brief hug, they hadn’t touched so much as a fingertip: not in the restaurant, not while shopping, and not over breakfast.
“All I can think…” All he could think was how she’d look at the moment of perfect ecstasy and just how much he’d like to be the one to help her find it.
“Yes?” her voice was practically pleading with him.
“We have to try. Because if we don’t…”
“…we’ll both go stark, raving mad,” she finished for him.
Sam could only nod.
Again the long silence. His turn to break it.
“Not to sound crass, but…Your place or mine?”
Her smile quirked at that, “Mine is closer by about a block.”
“All the difference in the world,” he rose to his feet, and held out a hand to help her to her feet.
She looked at his hand, and then up into his eyes, studying him before she took it.
The shock was visceral, though not electric. Neither was it cooking fire hot. It was simply such a powerful feeling of rightness that he didn’t stop there. With the slightest tug, he kept pulling her in until she lay against his chest, her head on his shoulder. He bent down to bury his face in her hair. Her slender form felt so perfect in his hands that he wrapped her tightly against him and simply held on.
“This had better be worth it, Sam Walsh.”
“No guts, no glory, Luisa Valenti.”
“I’m thinking…”
“…that your apartment is too far away.”
A restaurant floor was no place to bed a woman for the first time. Then he remembered a luxurious sofa in the entryway for waiting patrons.
He swept her up in his arms and carried her there. The soft light of the fire reached just well enough that he was able to see that she looked as incredible under her clothes as even his wildest fantasies had thought.
Sam made love to her while the rain storm rattled the front doors.
Chapter 8
Luisa felt thoroughly ravaged and pleasantly trashy. They’d made it back to her studio apartment around three a.m. and passed out. The shopping alarm had gone off at five-thirty. They’d been half dressed by the time they remembered it was Monday and the restaurant was closed for the next two days. They hadn’t gone back to sleep for a long while. The chill November rains gave them every reason to stay inside. So they did.
Now it was Tuesday mid-afternoon. Delivery pizza and Chinese cartons were scattered in among their discarded clothes. And the most amazing chef and lover of her life lay draped across her like a man dead. They hadn’t even gotten dressed—other than a quick robe for the food deliveries—in the last thirty-six hours.
Sam mumbled something unintelligible in her ear, rolled onto his side, then scooped her back against his chest and buried his face in her hair. He couldn’t seem to get enough of that. He’d charmed her in so many ways that she could easily get lost in it.
She rubbed a hand along the back of his arm where it curled around her waist and held her tight. Her studio apartment had little going for it, other than a bed, a chair, and a dresser. It hadn’t mattered to Sam. She idly wondered what his place was like. Did he have a masterful kitchen or did he care just as little for what lay beyond the restaurant as she did? No, Sam Walsh would have a one bedroom, maybe even a two. It would be messy around the edges, but the kitchen would be immaculate. He’d cook for her there.
Luisa didn’t want to be charmed, not really. She wanted a hot man in her bed and a challenging career. She had dreams, restaurant dreams. She knew how a restaurant should run—had learned an immense amount running Angelo’s—and could easily imagine being aboyeur to a whole chain of them. But she couldn’t imagine a chef-lover in that picture. Or at least she never had, which didn’t make it any easier now.
Perhaps it didn’t matter, her lovers never lasted long. They’d cross some line and she’d throw them out. Or they couldn’t handle one of her caustic quips and they’d be gone.
Maybe that had already been dealt with. The blinders were definitely gone after what sh
e and Sam had done to each other in the last day and a half.
“It’s morning,” she said even though the afternoon light—the first break from rain in days—was streaming in her west-facing window and warming the bed deliciously.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted in her hair.
“So?”
“What?”
“So, do you still respect me?”
“I,” he nuzzled the back of her neck. “I respect your prowess in bed no end. If I live through the afternoon, I’ll upgrade that from respect to worship.”
It was hard to argue with that. Sam was a perfect blend of gentle, creative, and sheer stamina. His body was built to order by any woman, but what he could do with those strong chef’s hands of his had to be classified as pure glory.
Even as she gave herself to his splendid attentions, she couldn’t help wondering how she’d be messing this up.
She knew it would be her.
Sam was far too nice a guy to take care of that for her.
Chapter 9
“You what?” Sam strangled painfully on the last word and grabbed his throat to stop himself from grabbing Luisa’s right across the cook line.
“I got a job offer,” she repeated more calmly than she ever called out an order.
Sam looked up and down the line. Marlys was staring at Luisa while searing a piece of mahi-mahi for table fourteen. He pointed to get her attention back on the fish before it burned.
Valerie, Tony, Vic, even Marko the dishwasher had all ground to a halt.
He looked down at the empty plate in front of him and for the life of him couldn’t remember what went on it. He looked back up at Luisa.
“And you tell me now?”
She shrugged as if his world wasn’t falling apart. They were practically living together. For three months they had been together every night, usually at his place because he had a kitchen and a decent sofa.
“Where?”
“L.A. at first; maybe Vegas and overseas after that. Wolfgang Puck wants an experienced aboyeur to vet and enhance the operation of two of his high-end restaurants at the Bel-Air and the Ritz-Carlton. If that works out well, I’d expand into Spago and Cut.”
It was the entire fine dining line with one of the leading restaurateurs in the country.
“It’s just talk at this point,” she finished prepping a plate and turned to hand it off.
But her timing was off; neither Graziella nor the other waiters were anywhere to be seen. It was his only clue that she was not nearly as calm or cool about this as she was pretending. Luisa never missed her cues, not once in the last three months since they’d become lovers had she eased up on pushing him for perfection in the kitchen. She’d also trained someone for Manuel and was helping Angelo do interviews for his Southern Italian Hearth over in Bellevue at the top of one of the towers.
“Just talk? You said you had an offer.”
She shrugged negligently and he knew she was gone.
He wished to heaven he knew why.
He did his best to focus back on the service, managed to get the mahi-mahi with the right sauce and vegetables, even if it was on the wrong type of plate. He didn’t change it and she didn’t say a word before dressing it with a truffle oil finish.
All Sam knew was that there was small box in his pocket that had been burning a hole there for two days since he’d picked up the ring. And his plans to give it to her tonight, when they’d have the next two days off to celebrate, had just been burned past recognition.
Chapter 10
Luisa hadn’t been prepared for her own pain when Sam had shut her out. Not that she could blame him; it had been one of her least smooth exits in history. But this wasn’t working for her. He was too close, too real, too important. She’d sworn no man would ever get in the way of her dreams. The Old Boys Club of restaurant chefs would never limit her options. She’d prove—
But the scar that she’d just sliced across Sam’s heart was so visible; she’d never imagined anything that bad.
He didn’t say another word to her. Instead he returned to creating perfect food like an emotionless machine. She hadn’t had the heart to offer a single prod or nudge—he didn’t give her cause to, except that one plate. His part of the service was perfect. Machine perfect.
As the last plated dish crossed the line, he turned to Marlys, whispered something to her, and was gone out the back door before she could think what to say. Marlys began cleaning up his station without looking at her once.
No one else on the line was talking to her either.
Luisa cleaned up her station amidst the echoing silence and retreated as quickly as she could.
She entered her apartment too weary to turn on the light. She also couldn’t bear seeing one of Sam’s forgotten jackets over the back of a chair or the silly mobile he’d bought at the Pike Place Market and hung in her window, made entirely of twisted vintage forks and spoons.
Two days and nights later she was still sitting in the dark when an envelope was slid under her door. She’d hurried barefoot to the peephole, but there was nothing to see and she couldn’t bear to open the door. She slid down until she sat beside the envelope with her back to the door.
Inside there was a check. It was two-week’s severance pay, plus an extra month’s pay for bonus. Signed by Angelo.
A post-it had been stuck to the front of the check.
Two words, no signature, but she’d recognize the handwriting anywhere.
“Good luck.”
She caught the next flight to Los Angeles and wore sunglasses the whole way to hide her bloodshot eyes.
Chapter 11
Sam finished the last serving of the night and began cleaning up his station. He bantered a bit with Marlys; let the line see he was fine—after two months, he’d better be.
Graziella came up to him as he was finishing the cleanup on his station.
“I know,” he told her. “I know. I’ll put out an ad tomorrow for a new aboyeur. I just couldn’t face doing it before. But I really want to thank you for covering, Graziella. You’re amazing.”
“I am amazing. Thank you for noticing.”
He managed a smile. Her quick hug was surprising and kind.
She then nodded toward the front of house. “Someone waiting to see you.” And she was gone.
Sam double-checked the kitchen. He was the last one, so he flipped off all except the safety night light and pushed out into restaurant.
The lights were out. The fire was still going and a single candle burned on the table for two close beside it. A lone woman sat at the table facing away from the kitchen.
For a moment he wondered how Graziella had circled around so fast, but then he knew. His stomach clenched so hard that he couldn’t breathe and had to hold onto the door frame to remain upright. He considered moving back through the door, but Luisa sat so still. Even the sound of the swinging door behind him didn’t cause her to turn, as if she’d shatter at the least movement.
He circled the long way around the fire so that he didn’t approach her from behind. Her face was as frozen as the rest of her. She was normally so animated that she looked unnatural in her stillness.
Sam wanted to yell at her; spit out all of the hard hateful words that had rattled around inside him but never found any target. But the candle picked up the tracks of the silent tears that she made no effort to brush aside, if she was even aware of them. At a loss for what else to do, he sat down across from her.
He saw her swallow hard, several times, but blast it all if he’d be first to speak. If he was, he couldn’t trust what would come out.
She nodded once, twice, as if trying to confirm something to herself, then began in a soft voice. Not quite looking at him, as if she didn’t dare.
“My parents threw me out when I was fourteen. Boys and drugs and never going to school and junk like that was what they said. Maybe. But I know they also couldn’t afford to feed me. I learned fast what cold and hungry were like. Got pretty desper
ate. Finally tried to hustle this chef coming out of a sleazy restaurant. Offered to trade what I had to give for some food.”
Sam wanted to close his eyes. Didn’t want to see the hard memories that were crossing Luisa’s lovely face, but he couldn’t look away.
“Instead he fed me, helped me get a fake ID because I already looked like this, and gave me my first restaurant job. He paid me in food and a place to sleep on his floor. No money for the first six months because he didn’t trust me to not buy drugs until I’d been clean a while.”
Sam had heard stories like that. Except the offered payment was usually accepted. She’d gotten lucky.
“I don’t have the palate to be a chef. But I’m smart. I earned my GED in two years even though I was missing four years of school. And I saw how restaurants worked; as clearly as a child’s game. I cooked, cleaned, waitressed, did it all. But I was always fascinated by how it all worked. How things flowed.”
Sam nodded. He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her just how good she’d been at her job.
“I always dreamed of running a chain. A big group of restaurants, making them function the way…” her voice stumbled and she took a deep gulping breath not far from a sob but continued. “…the way that we functioned. It was almost as good as sex. Better than, until I met you. Those months with you were the best of my life.”
“Mine too,” Sam managed his first words and she nodded rapidly in response.
“But I didn’t understand about boys, men; about a man. About you. I didn’t get that what we had wasn’t like anything I’d ever had before. I did the job. I worked for Wolfgang in amazing restaurants. And people listened. I was good.”
“Best I’ve ever seen,” Sam finally admitted. He didn’t tend to think ahead, but he found himself trying to second guess this conversation. He wasn’t having much luck. There was a thin thread of hope, but it was blended with memory of a pain so intense that it was utterly blinding.
The Complete Where Dreams Page 109
