Love Around the Corner

by Amanda Weaver

  Kendra huffed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, if you’re going to get hung up on the details. Seriously, though, Gem, you should have tasted some of the samples from these caterers who are charging stupid amounts of money. You could cook circles around them.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she muttered under her breath as she wiped down the bar.

  She should have kept her mouth closed around Kendra. Nothing slipped by that girl. A lascivious smile spread across her face and she leaned across the bar. “By anyone interesting?”

  She considered lying but Kendra would probably sniff that out, too. “Brendan was here,” she said, as offhandedly as she could manage.

  “Oh, was he?” Kendra’s smile grew impossibly wider. “And what did Mr. Flaherty have to say?”

  “Keep your voice down.” Gemma glanced over her shoulder at Jess, but she was absorbed in her spreadsheets, and too far away to hear the conversation. As long as Kendra refrained from shouting it. “He said I was a good cook.”

  “Wait a minute. You fed him?”

  “Just to shut him up.” And to show off. It had worked. He’d been impressed. Somehow she didn’t feel like she’d come out of that encounter with the upper hand, though.

  She didn’t feel like she had the upper hand after tonight either. He’d come in again earlier, and sat next to Frank and Dennis, shooting the shit, barely even speaking to her. When she’d fed Dennis and Frank, she’d wordlessly set a plate in front of him, too, and she still wasn’t sure why. Still looking for ways to impress him, she guessed. Still trying to hold her own in a competition that probably only existed in her own head. He’d eaten every bite of what she’d fed him—savored it, was more like it, lingering over each mouthful, watching her with a look in his eyes that made her feel like she was being consumed.

  For an hour, he’d sat there, chatting to the guys, sipping his beer, and watching her like he was imagining doing a hundred filthy things with her. With each minute that passed, her body grew a degree hotter. She could feel that gaze of his everywhere, and every inch of her responded to it.

  Then, when she felt she might snap under the unbearable tension, he stood up, smiled, left a wad of cash on the bar, and left. He’d cleared out even earlier than Frank and Dennis. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but it hadn’t been that. As a result, she’d been unable to stop thinking about him for the rest of the night, which was probably exactly what he’d intended. Asshole.

  “What are you not telling me?” Kendra said, eyes narrowed.

  Gemma debated, but really, she needed to talk to someone about this, and there was no one she could talk to except Kendra.

  “I think he’s interested,” she said lowly.

  “Interested in what?”

  “Me. Like...” She waved a hand at herself. “Me.”

  Kendra burst into laughter. “You idiot. Of course he is. The only question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  Gemma snapped her bar towel at Kendra. “What kind of question is that? After what he did—”

  Kendra cut her off. “Gem. What he did happened fourteen years ago. You were both still kids.”

  “So I’m just supposed to forget it and let him back into my life?”

  That earned her another eye roll from Kendra. “Geez, it’s always all or nothing with you. Nobody said anything about letting him back into your life, drama queen. Just your bed.”

  “Kendra, he’s buying the DiPaolas’ building.”

  “And if he hadn’t, someone else would have. You heard Maria. She’s done. Honestly, I don’t blame her. At least Brendan’s from the neighborhood.”

  “I can’t believe you’re on his side.”

  “I’m on your side, and you desperately need to get laid. And here’s Brendan Flaherty, back in the neighborhood, looking all hot and edible, and ready to do the deed with you. I say ride him like the Lone Ranger and get it out of your system.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” she grumbled. Could she?

  Because there was no use in denying it to herself anymore—she wanted him. Despite what he did, despite his fourteen-year disappearing act, she still wanted him. Looking at him made her damned mouth water. While she’d been pouring beers and mixing drinks tonight, she’d also been imagining him naked, imagining herself naked, too, and imagining some really inventive sex she’d like to have with him. It was humiliating and she was furious with herself, but she couldn’t seem to stop it.

  Part of her wanted to do what Kendra was suggesting, ignore the past and just take, be selfish and indulgent, to use him to satisfy her more lurid fantasies and not worry about the implications of it all. Part of her wanted that real bad. But pride was a bitch and there was no way her pride would give him the satisfaction.

  “God, you think too much,” Kendra groused before polishing off her beer. “Now, for the reason I came here—”

  “I thought you just stopped in to encourage my loose morals.”

  “Haha. No, seriously, I’ve got tastings scheduled with four more caterers tomorrow morning and I have so many other things to do...”

  “Kendra...”

  “Please go for me. All you need to do is eat and decide who’s best. It’ll be easy.”

  She sighed. “Fine. But you owe me.”

  “I’m trying to do you a solid by throwing you into bed with Tall, Hot, and Irish, but you’re too stubborn to play along.”

  “You are the worst. Text me the caterers’ addresses and what time I need to be there.”

  Kendra smiled in relief as she slid off her bar stool. “You’re a lifesaver. What would I do without you?”

  That was Gemma. Dependable, reliable, and saving everyone’s lives, just like she’d been doing since she was fifteen. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Jess,” Kendra called out as she left. Jess waved a hand without looking up from her laptop.

  Gemma leaned on the bar across from her little sister. “How’s it going?”

  “Not good,” Jess replied.

  “Got a lot more to get through?”

  “No, I’m nearly done with the bookkeeping. I mean the books. They’re not good.”

  “When are they ever?”

  Jess’s eyes were full of apprehension when she looked up. “Not like this, Gem.”

  A knot of cold, sticky dread pooled in her stomach. “That bad?”

  “There’s not enough to cover Clyde’s paycheck and the invoice from the beer supplier.”

  Bracing her hands on the bar, Gemma drew in a deep breath. They’d been in financial pinches before and come through them. So this one was a little more severe. She’d figure something out.

  “We’ll hold off on paying the beer supplier for a few weeks. We’ve been good customers for years. They’ll give us a little break. I’ll call them in the morning.”

  “And what happens in a couple of weeks when we still can’t pay it?”

  Gem swallowed around the lump in her throat. “If things don’t improve, we’ll just have to let Clyde go. Dad and I will split his shifts.” She wasn’t nearly as disinterested as she sounded. Clyde was a great guy, in his forties and getting his life back on track after running into a little trouble when he was a kid and spending some time behind bars. He’d been working part time for Romano’s for five years while he put himself through college. He only had three more classes to go before he earned his bachelor’s. This might derail him completely. But what else could she do?

  Jess shifted on her bar stool, running her thumb nervously back and forth on the brass rail. “I could ask—”

  “No.” Gemma didn’t even let her finish the thought. “We’re not taking money from Alex.”

  Jess’s fiancé was the son of one of the richest men in New York. Hell, one of the richest men in America. But Jess had her pride, and from the
start of their relationship, she’d refused to take a dime of Alex’s money for herself. Gemma respected her baby sister’s sense of integrity. The last thing she’d ever do was let her compromise herself for the bar.

  “But Gem—”

  “But nothing. Romano’s is a business, not a charity. If we can’t make it on our own steam, then...” She had to stop and take a deep breath before finishing that sentence. Before saying the thing out loud that she’d scarcely allowed herself to think. “When we can’t make it on our own, then it’ll be time for Romano’s to close.”

  Jess went pale, staring at her sister with wide eyes. There was no way the same thought hadn’t occurred to her before. She was the one who’d been keeping the bar’s books since she was sixteen. She knew their financial situation better than anyone. But like Gem, hearing the words spoken out loud felt a little like calling down bad luck. Now that Gem had said it, it was a possibility. It hunkered there on the horizon, a dark black cloud, one that might gobble up everything they’d ever known.

  “But not yet,” she assured her little sister. It was her job to keep this family on an even keel, and she wasn’t quitting now. “I’m not giving up yet. I’ll find the money from somewhere.”

  Her bravado reassured Jess, who smiled and reached for her hand, squeezing tightly. “I know you will.”

  Privately, Gemma didn’t feel the least bit reassured. She feared summoning money out of thin air wasn’t going to be as easy as summoning bad luck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The chicken was overcooked, with a dry, stringy texture that stuck in her molars. The pasta was overcooked, too, losing all its firmness and bite. And as for the sauce...would a little flavor hurt? Even some salt?

  Gemma set down her fork and nudged the tasting plate of chicken piccata away from her.

  “Delicious,” she lied.

  “Our bacon-wrapped asparagus is a real client favorite,” the catering rep said, shoving a plate of it under Gemma’s nose. The asparagus was so over-steamed it was almost gray, and the bacon was dark brown and charred in some places, but rubbery and pink in others.

  The catering rep smiled encouragingly and shoved the plate closer. It wasn’t her fault. She was a chipper girl in her early twenties, who’d cheerfully admitted to being a disaster in the kitchen. The cooking wasn’t her job, she’d said airily, waving a hand. That was all done at some industrial kitchen somewhere else and the trays of food were delivered here for refrigeration and eventual reheating and delivery. None of that was the least bit surprising to Gemma. Everything she’d tasted had the texture and flavor of a frozen dinner.

  “I’m sure it is,” Gemma said diplomatically. “But I can’t eat bacon. The sulfates give me migraines.” A lie, but there was no other way to get out of eating that horrible wilted asparagus and unevenly cooked bacon.

  “Oh.” The girl made a sympathetic face. “Poor you. I couldn’t live without bacon. Let’s move on to desserts!”

  Gemma couldn’t face it. Watery custards, congealed chocolate mousse, and half-frozen “whipped cream topping.” Nope.

  “It’s a birthday party,” she said quickly. “So there’ll be a birthday cake for dessert.”

  “We do those too!” she countered brightly.

  “It’s already ordered.”

  “Oh, well then. How many guests should we put you down for?”

  None. Gemma wouldn’t serve Spudge this food. But she smiled pleasantly. “I have to talk to my boss about final numbers. I’ll call if we’re going ahead.”

  The girl shrugged offhandedly. “Okay.” It made no difference to her if the job got booked or not, which was good, because it was not getting booked.

  “Okay, well...” Gemma pushed to her feet. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Sure thing!” Miss Chipper chirped.

  Outside on the sidewalk, Gemma sighed and pulled out her phone to call Kendra. Time to issue her less-than-stellar report on the caterers Kendra had sent her to.

  Kendra answered on the first ring. “Okay, they’re all pretty bad, but I suppose, if you’re desperate, I’d go with the first place. I’m reasonably sure they won’t give you food poisoning, and I can’t promise that about the others.”

  “We’re not going with any of them. I’ve got someone so much better lined up.”

  “You could have let me know that, Kendra,” she snapped. “I wouldn’t have wasted my morning choking down substandard chicken piccata for you.”

  “I just figured out how to land this other caterer a few minutes ago.”

  Gemma blew out a breath. “Great. Glad you’ve got it sorted out.”

  “It’s you.”

  “Kendra, I already told you I can’t do it, even if I wanted to. There are all kinds of health and safety regulations, and I don’t have one of these fancy industrial kitchens.”

  “Yes, you would need all that if you were going into business as a caterer.”

  “And I don’t have any of it, so I’m not going into business as a caterer.”

  “No, you’re not. But you are getting hired as Carlos’s personal chef for the night.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you come cook in Carlos’s kitchen, you’re not running your own business, you’re working for him. None of those regulations apply. He can hire you to come cook dinner for his guests. That’s totally fine. I am such a genius for coming up with this.”

  “But—”

  Kendra cut off her protest. “How much do you want to do it?”

  An unexpected influx of cash, just when she was desperate for it. She still thought Kendra was crazy, but she really needed the money. It was only one night. A dinner party wasn’t all that different than cooking Thanksgiving dinner for the Romano clan, right? If she could feed twenty-five Romanos, she could feed twenty-five dinner guests.

  Holding her breath, she named a figure, what she needed to cover the liquor distributor’s invoice and Clyde’s paycheck this month.

  Kendra burst out laughing. “Oh, girl. Thank God I’m here to hustle for you, because you’re hopeless. We’ll triple it, and Carlos covers all the ingredients and any special equipment.”

  “Kendra! You can’t do that!”

  “Gem, I’d pay even more than that to hire one of these shitty outfits you visited today. Look, if you do this, you get money I know you need and I get a dinner party to brag about for a bargain. It’s win-win.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Carlos won’t even flinch at that invoice. Not that he’ll see it. So, will you do it?”

  There were a million reasons she should say no. She’d never cooked professionally before, and not for anyone outside family and friends. She would be flying by the seat of her pants, and there was a pretty good chance it could all end in disaster. But that tantalizing promise of money...enough to solve all her problems—at least for this month—was too much to resist.

  “Okay, God help us both, but I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Fig and Thyme, a pricey gourmet grocery store, opened in Carroll Gardens two years earlier, Gemma had loudly railed against it as yet another harbinger of doom for the old-school businesses in the neighborhood. How was Kim’s Grocery, the family-run Korean grocery a few blocks away, supposed to survive that kind of competition?

  For the better part of a year, she refused to even step foot inside Fig and Thyme. Then, last Thanksgiving, she’d been in the middle of prepping the bouquet garni for the vegetables when she realized she’d forgotten the chervil. As much as she loved Kim’s, their fresh herb selection extended to some basil, chives, and only occasionally, a little rosemary.

  So she’d swallowed her pride and slunk into Fig and Thyme, only to find a cook’s wonderland inside. Produce so fresh she wanted to weep. Spices she’d ordinarily have to hike all the way to Atlantic Avenue to find.
Over a dozen kinds of honey. Grains imported from France and Spain. She still hated herself a little bit each time she went in, but she couldn’t stay away.

  And now, as she furiously prepped for Carlos’s dinner party, trying out recipes and honing the menu, she was in there twice a day ferreting through the vast assortment of fresh greens and herbs, looking for interesting new ideas.

  She’d thought to finish off the tuna carpaccio appetizer with some fresh chives, but her eye was caught by a bunch of daikon radish sprouts. They had such a fresh green color and distinctive shape. They’d make the plating so much more appealing than a sprinkling of chopped chives. Pinching one off, she gave it a taste. All the powerful flavor of a radish, but with a bright peppery finish. What could she do with this? Maybe punch up the savory, and add a hint of sweetness, something for the daikon to cut through—

  “Hi there.”

  She spun around, only to come face-to-face with Brendan, looking stupidly attractive in his charcoal gray suit, standing in the produce section of Fig and Thyme.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He held up a bag of coffee. “Ran out of coffee this morning.”

  It was that Hawaiian stuff that cost thirty dollars a pound, of course, because Brendan might have started out as another working-class neighborhood kid like her, but he clearly swam in a different tax bracket now.

  “So what’s for dinner tonight?” He peered curiously into her basket to see what she had.

  “This isn’t for dinner.” She resisted the urge to hide her basket behind her back. Catering for Carlos wasn’t a secret. She was just self-conscious about it, afraid that anybody who heard what she was about to do would burst out laughing at her audacity.

  He hiked one golden eyebrow. “So that’s just a snack?” He indicated the bunch of daikon radish sprouts she was still clutching in one hand. The water from the roots was beginning to drip down her forearm. Nice.

  “I’m trying something new.” And she had to hurry. She was due to start her shift at the bar at noon, and she really wanted to make a stab at this new idea for the carpaccio before then. Of course, even if she finished it, she had nobody to try it out on. Dad wouldn’t touch raw fish unless it was dangling at the end of a fishing pole, and the midday patrons of Romano’s weren’t exactly going to warm up to her fancy appetizers either.