Culinary Delight

by Lovell, Christin

  CULINARY DELIGHT

  Christin Lovell

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  CULINARY DELIGHT

  Copyright © 2014 by Christin M Lovell

  Cover Image © Viorel Sima

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Culinary Delight

  Plus size Molly discovers her job is in jeopardy the same day her best friend, Rachel, talks her into eating at a new Puerto Rican restaurant. Turns out, the restaurant is failing already and the reason why comes storming out of the kitchen and into her life. He’s tall, dark, dreamy, and the most infuriating man she’s ever met. He pushes her buttons and is soon pushing her to her limits. There’s just something in those fiery brown eyes that keep her abundant curves wound tight and begging for release.

  Can she let go of history and surrender to this sizzling alpha male, or will she leave with regrets? One thing is for certain: the night doesn’t go as any of them expect.

  This is a HFN short with one sassy full figured gal, one deliciously dominant Puerto Rican and lots of culinary delight.

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  Culinary Delight

  I looked around at the upscale restaurant. The décor combined clean modern lines with touches of Puerto Rico in the artwork. The tables and booths were dark, allowing the walls and carefully chosen accessories to stand out. Of course, what stood out most was the lack of customers. It was a ghost town.

  “I don’t know about this place, Rach. No one at the office has ever talked about eating here, and that’s not a good sign.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. I ate here the other day with Roger. We both loved it.”

  I studied my curvy best friend. Her husband, Roger, was a picky eater; that he liked it was a good sign. But, then again, they were gringos. I was married to a Puerto Rican for five years. I knew what arroz con pollo, empanadas and bacalaitos were supposed to taste like.

  Admittedly, shamefully, over the years I’d become a bit of a food snob. I preferred a home cooked meal over take-out, but that didn’t keep the pounds off.

  “Look, Rog knows the head chef. I guess business has been down and he doesn’t want to have to job hunt again. He said the owner is a really nice guy, but this is his first restaurant.”

  I crossed my arms. “I should have known you had an agenda.”

  She pouted her bottom lip. “Please, Mol.”

  I could never deny her. I sighed. “Alright, but if it doesn’t taste good, you can’t hold me responsible for my actions.”

  She grinned, her brown eyes twinkling. “Deal.”

  “Buenos dias, señoritas. How many?” The college aged hostess was fit and perky with a glowing tan, dark features and spoke perfect Spanish.

  “Two.” Rachel tossed me an encouraging smile. Her shoulder length light brown hair bounced as she looked back at the hostess.

  “Of course. Follow me.” She smiled politely at us.

  Rachel’s size sixteen curves led my size twenty-two behind the hostess’ size four. It was just a guess, but she was very petite. I didn’t hate smaller women. I didn’t hate that I was bigger than most. It was merely an observation.

  We sat at a booth near the kitchen. I set my purse near the wall, frowning as the girl handed each of us a menu. No enticing smells permeated the air, which didn’t bode well.

  “Your server will be with you shortly.”

  Before the hostess even walked away, a delicious hunk of a man, dressed in black with a golden tan and muscles you wanted to eat off of, approached. His dark hair was slicked back, giving him a classic Hollywood edge. His chiseled jaw had a hint of stubble. I felt like I needed sunglasses when he smiled; I’d never seen teeth so white up close.

  “Buenos dias, ladies. Welcome. My name is Carlos and I’ll be your server. What can I get you to drink?”

  “I’ll take a coke,” Rachel said. They both looked to me expectantly.

  “I’ll just take a water for now, thanks.”

  “Very well.” He nodded. He was just about to walk away when Rachel touched his arm.

  “Is Rico back there?”

  He was taken aback. “Yes. You know him?” A single brow quirked ever so slightly.

  “He’s friends with my husband.” Rachel beamed with pride. She practically glowed anytime she talked about Roger. They were high school sweethearts that survived the odds. Ten years after graduation, they were more in love than ever. Their two year old son Luca had the best parents…and godmother.

  “I will be sure to send him out before you leave.”

  “Thanks.” Rachel turned her attention to the menu. “They have amazing bread. They call it pan. It’s freshly baked and soft and delish.”

  I pursed my lips. “Did you secretly take a job advertising for them?”

  She narrowed her gaze at me. “You’re awful bitchy tonight. What’s going on?”

  I groaned. “I am. I’m sorry Rachel. It’s just they’re doing more cuts at the firm. I don’t know if I’ll even have a job come Friday, and the pendejo took off with most of my savings, so I’m just really stressed…and bitchy apparently. I am sorry though.” It was hard being an adult sometimes.

  She promptly closed her menu. “Girl, you know my door is always open. Rog and I will always be there for you.” They were great friends.

  I furrowed my brows, dropping my gaze to the table. “I know, but I’m almost thirty. When does the whole financial security piece of adulthood kick in?”

  She laughed. “Never. My parents still live paycheck to paycheck, and my dad’s fibromyalgia is only getting worse. Roger’s parents have a little in savings, but I don’t think it’s enough to retire anytime soon.”

  I expelled a breath. “I know. It’s just frustrating. It’s been over a year, but I’m just now getting back on my feet.”

  “Here you are, ladies.” The sexy Spaniard set down our glasses as well as a full loaf of pan, piping hot from the oven. The smell alone made my mouth water. It was the first and was a welcome one at that.

  It was common practice for Puerto Ricans to go to the local bakery every morning and get a fresh loaf to eat throughout the day. It’s what I’d done with the ex when we were in his native country.

  Carlos cupped his palms together. “Did you have any questions about the menu?”

  “Nope.” Rachel set her menu aside. “I’ll have the beef em-pay-nah-days.” She tried to sound it out as she spoke.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle at her incorrect pronunciation. I could only imagine how I sounded before I was immersed in the culture and language.

  Carlos merely smiled. “Of course.” He turned to me. “And for you?”

  “I’ll have the arroz con gandules y carne.”

  His grin widened. “Muy bien. I’ll put your orders in right away.” He collected our menus and left us alone.

  “Did I tell you about Lucinda?” Rachel tore off a chunk of bread and bit into it.

  I followed her lead. The bread warmed my fingers. “No. Is that the girl you were having problems with at work?”

  “Yes! Oh my gosh, but it gets so much better.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Okay, so she was having lunch with this guy she’d apparently been dating for a couple months at the café in our building. I just so happened to be there and hot damn am I glad I was.” She
was practically glowing with enthusiasm. “The guy and her ate at the table flirting, showing off, feeding each other, the whole nine when guess who walks in? Her boyfriend! She’d been two-timing them both!”

  “No!” I crammed another bit of bread into my mouth, listening closely.

  “Yes! I felt so bad for the second guy because he’d bought flowers and take-out from that nice Italian restaurant down the street.”

  “Poor guy.” Why did the mean girls always get the good guys?

  “That’s not even the worst part. They both turned on her. She ended up with soda all over her outfit when the first guy slammed his fist on the table. They left her sitting there balling her eyes out in front of half the employees in the building. She spent the rest of the day with her tail between her legs and she’s called out every day since.”

  “Can’t say I blame her. Talk about having your dirty laundry aired.”

  “She brought it upon herself,” she snapped. “These last few days without her snarky, back-handed comments have been delightful.”

  “Delightful?” I knew humor lit my expression.

  “Delightful, amazing, wonderful, and all the other synonyms. I never realized how much stress she caused me until now. She’s half the tension in my shoulders.”

  “But now you don’t need to take out your stress in the bedroom every night. Poor Roger must be walking around with blue balls not getting his daily fix.” I puckered my bottom lip, feigning sympathy for him.

  Her lips curled into a devilish grin. “Trust me, he’s being taken care of.”

  “At least one of us is.”

  “Two of us.” She shoved a hefty piece of bread between her lips, averting her gaze.

  “I have a feeling my drought is just beginning.” It was lonely being the only single in your group of friends.

  “What about that guy from the club a couple weeks ago?”

  “He was into some major kink. I mean, I’m all for a little dominance, but I’m not a child and you’re not my dad. I’m not calling you daddy and I don’t need a spanking, to be crucified or whipped.” I grimaced.

  “Rog and I tried some of that stuff, but the only thing that stuck were the cuffs on occasion.”

  “It’s pretty sad when Roger as a partner is sounding even remotely appealing.” I scrunched my nose. Roger was like a brother to me, and not of the secret incest desiring variety either.

  She rolled her eyes. “You just need a steady bedmate.”

  I considered her words. “I think that’s part of the problem. I’ve never able to just let go. If strings aren’t attached, I’m not in.”

  “Well, you know Rog and me started as a one night hook-up.”

  I laughed. “Once and he was hooked is more like it. I’m shocked you two didn’t end up pregnant way sooner.”

  She grunted. “You’re tellin’ me.”

  We fell into amicable silence. I looked around the restaurant. They did a good job decorating it; it was reminiscent of a few of the restaurants in Old San Juan. The feel was there, but without the crowds, the atmosphere was lacking.

  A glance at the hostess station showed the girl engrossed in her cell phone. She must be bored out of her mind.

  Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen any other employees aside from Carlos and her. I knew Rico was in the kitchen. Three employees and two customers; I was a little sad for them. The menus had been beautifully printed on heavy cardstock, a large sign hung over the entrance door that was visible from the street. They’d put time, money and effort into the basics. The service was good so far as well. Carlos continually peered over at our table to ensure we didn’t need anything.

  As if on cue, he appeared with two healthy sized plates of food. The steam rose up into my face as he set mine in front of me.

  Seeing my order, I cringed inside. Immediately I knew it wasn’t going to be good. The color wasn’t there.

  I glanced at Rachel’s dish. Three large empanadas sat on her plate. They looked overdone though, as if they’d dropped them into a deep fryer rather than pan-frying them on a lower temp.

  “Can I get you anything else, ladies?” Carlos’ hands were clasped a bit tighter this time. His knuckles were taking on a white hue, as if he was on edge.

  Rachel lifted a brow in my direction. “You good, Molly?”

  I knew my features were twisted, showcasing my unease. “Um, is this authentic?”

  Carlos’ brows turned down. Concern clouded his expression. “Of course. Always. We are authentic.” He shook his head in assurance.

  I looked back down at the pale rice. The pigeon peas were mixed with it, but there was no ham, no onions, nothing that might boost the flavor power. Sadly, the pork chop didn’t look any better. It was a greasy puddle of pale brown.

  “If you don’t like it, we’ll remake it or replace it with something else on the house.”

  I looked up at him. He was trying.

  “Just try it, Mol.”

  “Okay.” My shoulders tensed as I grabbed my fork. I felt their eyes on me as I took a medium sized bite. Just as I’d suspected, it tasted like unsalted white rice mixed with un-sweet peas.

  Guilt rammed my chest, clutching my lungs as I met Carlos’ gaze. He earnestly wanted me to like it. I bit my lower lip. “I’m really sorry, but it’s just not there.”

  “No problem.” He appeared ready to cry for a split second before masking it. “I will have Rico rush you a new plate.” He removed my plate and seemed to brace himself as he focused on Rachel.

  Rachel gave him a quick smile before lifting the empanada to her lips. Her first attempt to bite into it wasn’t fruitful. The outside was extra crisp, creating a hard outer shell, but the inner part of the dough was probably not fully cooked.

  She went in a second time with more oomph and tore off a bite that was exactly as I feared. They’d been cooked too fast at too high of a temp.

  Yup. Total food snob here.

  Rachel plastered a smile on her face and overzealously ate the piece.

  Carlos winced. “I’m terribly sorry, ladies. I’ll see that your orders are remade.” He grabbed Rachel’s plate and rushed towards the kitchen.

  Rachel and I both frowned. “I feel bad for him,” she said, glimpsing back at the kitchen.

  “How long have they been in business?”

  “A couple months. Business was good at first Rico said, but it didn’t last. And now the owner, his cousin I think he said, is in the red big time. He can barely pay his employees and he stands to lose his house and the business if it fails.”

  “Yikes. That’s rough.”

  She nodded her head emphatically.

  Twenty-five minutes later Carlos returned with a fresh set of plates.

  “Again, my sincerest of apologies, ladies.”

  My body seized with anticipation, with fear as he came towards us. God please let it be decent this time.

  My hope plummeted the moment he set the plates on the table. The color still wasn’t right. A glance at Rachel’s food showed it may or may not be cooked right.

  This time she cut into it. The dough still wasn’t full cooked.

  “I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing.” He scrubbed his face. “Rico!” he yelled. This time when he looked at me, I saw the stress in his otherwise handsome features. His cheeks were sunken in a tad; there was discoloration beneath his eyes and his brows never fully relaxed. “Please try yours.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can already tell without trying that it’s not right.”

  “No you can’t.” Arrogance was in his every step, every stride of pure muscle and hotness moving towards me. His head was held high; his brown hair was tied back, intensifying his features. His chiseled jaw hinted at a five-o-clock shadow. Pouty lips that made me bite my own were the only thing soft about him. Dark eyes pierced me as he approached, challenging me cockily. He believed he would win any argument I gave.

  As much as I hated to admit it, he looked more delicious than this food, but I wasn�
�t going there. I turned my focus to Rachel. “You agreed I wasn’t going to be held responsible.”

  She groaned. “Put up your dukes, Rico. Molly hits hard.”

  He grunted, looking me up and down. “I can take her.”

  “Rico,” Carlos snipped.

  “Relax, cuz.” He pressed past Carlos and leaned into me, one hand resting on the table, his other on the back of the booth, keeping him suspended before me, up close and personal. He slit his gaze. “Tell me from appearance what this tastes like, Molly.”

  Damn my body for reacting to the way he said my name. He revved my engine, warming my intimate bits, enticing my prowess and infuriating me all at once. He needed some woman to come along and burst his ego bubble.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, meeting his gape head on. “The rice will taste like over salted white rice with un-sweet peas. The color you added this time around was with seasoning salt. And the pork chops probably started out with seasoning but it disappeared in the pan of oil you cooked it in. You have too much oil in the pan and the temp isn’t high enough to properly sear the outsides and hold the flavor. You’ve served me a greasy lump with a side of taste bud killer.”

  His lips quirked just enough to tell me I amused him. “Nena, you’re a gringa. What do you know about cooking my people’s food?”

  My blood boiled, burning through my veins. I clamped my hands into fists. I wanted to smack the smugness right off his face. “Is the owner here?”

  He snickered. “You’re right next to him, gringa.” He jutted his chin towards Carlos.

  No wonder he had paled every time something was wrong.

  “Mind if I use your kitchen, Carlos?”

  He opened his mouth like he was going to object. He scanned the room, his forehead creasing. With a sigh, he conceded. “Mi cocina es su cocina, Molly. But please, be careful. I shouldn’t be allowing this. Health codes, worker’s comp if you get hurt…” He scrubbed his jaw and neck in one fluent motion of discomfort.

  “I’ll be careful. I just need to show Rico-wanna-be-suave over here what his people’s food should taste like.”

  Rico stepped back, throwing his arms up in a challenge manner. “Let’s go, gringa.”

  “Oh no. This is a contest. Everyone needs to try your monstrosities before they taste mine, including you.”