Love Around the Corner

by Amanda Weaver

  Brendan might, though. She looked up at him appraisingly. Brendan had probably eaten at fancy restaurants all over Chicago. He ran in the same crowd as Carlos’s ritzy investor guests. If it passed muster with him, then she could rest assured that it wouldn’t horrify the dinner party guests.

  “Are you free right now?”

  Brendan startled before a slow, sexy smile unfurled across his face. “I can be. What did you have in mind?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. I need a guinea pig.”

  He spread his arms wide. “Whatever it is, I’m at your disposal.”

  That was a fairly generous offer, she had to grudgingly admit. She’d been nothing but hostile to him since his return, but here he was, willing to drop whatever he was doing to help her out, no questions asked. He must be really desperate to get into her pants, she decided. Which was why bringing him to the house was maybe a bad idea.

  It was no big deal. No different than slapping a plate of food in front of him when he came into Romano’s. Except now he’d be in her house. And they’d be alone. Firmly, she told her sixteen-year-old self to stop getting ideas about that. Nothing would happen except cooking and eating. She needed a taster and here he was, willing and able. That was all.

  “Okay. My place.”

  He grinned again, all hot and sexy. “This gets better and better.”

  “Dream on, Flaherty. I’m only interested in your taste buds.”

  “It’s a start. At least they’re in the right vicinity.”

  She flushed and ducked her face. Definitely a dumb idea.

  * * *

  When Brendan ducked into Fig and Thyme to grab some coffee this morning, he hadn’t expected his day to get derailed in such an interesting way. Sure he had work to do, phone calls to make, a bank meeting to set up, but right now, none of that seemed nearly as important as whatever it was Gemma Romano wanted out of him.

  They walked in near silence back to her house. He could feel the nerves radiating off her, but if he wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t just him and their unresolved sexual tension causing it this time. She’d been jumpy as hell about whatever she was buying in the grocery store. Maybe it had been over a decade since they’d been together, but he still knew Gemma well enough to know she was up to something.

  She fumbled her keys twice before getting the front door unlocked and ushering him inside. In an instant, he was assaulted with a wave of sense memories: the faded wallpaper in the entry hall, with its gold stripes and dark green leaves; the coat rack, stuffed with coats and jackets belonging to the entire Romano clan; a pile of snow boots and galoshes by the door, even though it hadn’t snowed in weeks; the old sepia-toned photograph in a gilt frame that Gemma once told him was of her great-grandparents; that little glass wall sconce mounted to the wall right at the foot of the staircase, the stairs that led up to Gemma’s room... Nothing had changed, not a single thing.

  Except for Spudge, who sat in a droopy brown heap in front of him, his tail thumping rhythmically on the wood floor. If she hadn’t told him Spudge was still around, he wouldn’t have known it was him. The last time he’d seen the little guy, he’d been a wiggly, rambunctious puppy. Now he was an old man, with a graying muzzle and watery eyes.

  Crouching in front of him, he rubbed Spudge’s head. “Hey, buddy. Long time, no see. How ya doing, man?”

  Spudge groaned in delight and leaned into his hand.

  Gemma let out a frustrated huff. “First Nick and now Brendan. You’re shameless, Spudge.”

  Brendan straightened and eyed her narrowly. “Who’s Nick?” She hadn’t mentioned being involved with anyone before, but really, why would she share that kind of information with him? She barely spoke to him if she could help it. It would be a crushing disappointment, but not a surprise to find out she was with someone. Honestly, he’d been stunned to discover she wasn’t married. Before he’d left, he’d always felt like guys were lined up to have a chance with Gemma.

  But Gemma missed his uncharacteristic flare of jealousy. She was still frowning at Spudge. “Nick is Livie’s criminal boyfriend. Spudge is irrationally in love with him, too, for no good reason whatsoever.”

  Slowly, Brendan let out a breath. Disaster averted. “You don’t like him?”

  She shrugged and changed the subject. “This way.”

  She slipped past him into the living room and headed toward the back of the house, where he remembered the kitchen was. He stopped cold at the doorway, surveying the carnage. Every surface was covered with food and kitchen equipment. Three cookbooks lay open on the kitchen table, surrounded by bunches of fresh herbs and piles of vegetables.

  Gemma breezed past all of it and cleared a space on the counter for her bag, unpacking it with brisk efficiency.

  “Um, what’s going on in here?”

  “I’m trying out some new recipes,” she said, biting her lip.

  “Is it always an Olympic event like this?”

  Sighing, she turned to face him, a bunch of greens in one hand and a fennel bulb in the other. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  He held up his hands. “Promise.”

  “Kendra hired me to cater a dinner party.”

  He waited for the rest of her confession, the part she seemed to think he’d find ridiculous. “And?” he prompted, when she said nothing more.

  “I’m not a caterer!” she wailed, waving her vegetables in the air. “I’ve never cooked for anybody outside my family. I’m not a professional chef; I just like to cook.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ve eaten your food, Gemma. You’re a chef. You’ve just never been paid for it before. The only thing that makes them professional chefs is that someone pays them for it.”

  “All these rich people are going to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That I’m just some bartender from Brooklyn.”

  He huffed in laughter. “Gemma, you’ve never been just anything. Certainly not just a bartender.”

  “I’m not...” She waved her hands in frustration. “I know what a Meyer lemon emulsion is. At least I’ve seen a picture of it. But I can’t make one! And that’s what they’re going to expect at a dinner like this. Shavings of this and emulsions of that and—”

  “Gemma, stop. So fine, you don’t make food in the form of sea foam. Don’t try to. I’ve eaten at places that served dollops of flavored foam. It’s not all that. Your food is amazing. Trust yourself and just do what you do. Now why did you ask me for help?”

  She watched him apprehensively for a moment, her bout of panic slowly ebbing. “Okay, I need you to taste something for me. And I need you to be honest.”

  He nodded. “Total honesty.”

  Apprehensively, she nodded, and waved a hand at the overflowing table. “Have a seat. I have to put it together.”

  Making his way to the kitchen table, he cleared a stack of cookbooks off a chair so he could sit. As she got busy unpacking ingredients and getting out a knife and cutting board, he took a glance at what she’d been reading. Buried amongst the cookbooks was a small binder full of recipes, all written out by hand.

  “Did you do this?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, no, that was my Grandma Romano’s. It’s all her family recipes. Right after you—” Abruptly, she stopped and cleared her throat. Brendan knew exactly what she’d been about to say. “After you left.” Guilt twisted in his gut once again. In case he ever forgot for a second, he still had a lot of making up to do.

  “After my mom died,” she finally continued, “I found it in the basement. I started teaching myself to cook following Grandma Romano’s recipes. When I’d come up with something I wanted to add, or an improvement I made, I’d add a note.”

  He flipped through the book, papered with a sea of yellow Post-Its with Gemma’s scribbled notes. The thing was like a family bible of cook
ing. He knew she was a good cook. One taste had told him that. But clearly it went well beyond that for her. “Looks like you’ve found your passion, Gem.”

  “It’s just cooking.”

  He didn’t push, even though he disagreed. She’d never been good at taking a compliment. That much about her had not changed.

  “So tell me about Livie’s boyfriend.” He’d momentarily caught Gemma with her guard down, and he wanted to keep her talking.

  “Huh?”

  “Earlier, when we came in. Sounds like you don’t like the guy much.”

  Gemma shrugged. “He’s fine. Wicked smart. Very charming. But the guy had a sketchy past, so I wasn’t his biggest fan when she first dragged him home. And then he broke her heart.”

  “I thought you said he was her boyfriend.”

  “He is. He figured his shit out and came crawling back to her.” Gemma paused and blew out a breath before pouring something else into a little bowl and whisking hard. “Now he seems to adore her, and she’s blissfully happy, so I’m coming around. It was hard to watch her get hurt, though.”

  “Still such a mom to them.” It wasn’t a criticism. Gemma was tougher and wiser than when he’d known her in high school. He was glad to see her heart was as tender as it had ever been, even if she was keeping it well hidden from him. Knowing he’d hurt her was bad enough. If his abandonment had made her bitter—if it had killed the best part of her—he couldn’t live with himself.

  “I can’t help it. When they hurt, I hurt, even now when they’re all grown up. Pathetic, I know.”

  “That’s not pathetic, Gem. It’s love.”

  She made some small sound of acquiescence and turned her attention fully to what she was doing. Brendan leaned back in his chair, happy to be here to watch her work.

  There was something sublimely peaceful about Gemma’s kitchen. The white-tiled walls, splashed with sunlight from the window over the sink, the brisk, rhythmic “snick” of Gemma’s knife against the cutting board as she minced something. And the view wasn’t bad, either. Backlit by the sunshine, her body stood out in sharp silhouette. Her hair was up again today...he hadn’t seen her with it down since his return, unfortunately. His teenage memories were full of that silky dark hair falling all around him as she... Okay, not right now. She’d thawed enough to ask him for help. He wasn’t going to screw it up by pouncing on her.

  The ponytail was good, too, though. It left a long expanse of her neck and shoulders exposed. She had great shoulders, fine boned and muscular, like a dancer’s. The rest of her was just as gorgeous. Her long, slim torso, her narrow waist and hips, and of course, those endless legs. Gemma’s legs were a fucking masterpiece.

  “What are you making?”

  “Tuna carpaccio. I have this idea...” She trailed off as she sliced into a piece of perfect pink tuna with laser precision. How long did you have to practice something like that to get so good at it? “Are you okay with raw fish?” she asked. “I forgot to ask.”

  “Love it.”

  She smirked as she deftly lifted paper-thin slices of tuna on the flat blade of her knife, arranging them on a plate. “Guess you picked that up in Chicago.”

  He inclined his head. No sense in denying it. The intervening years had changed him in many ways, too, some good, some bad. Hopefully he’d come home before the worst of the bad had a chance to take root.

  She paused, staring into a small bowl she’d been adding ingredients to. Spooning out a tiny bit, she dipped a fingertip in and tasted it. He couldn’t drag his gaze away from that finger, those lips, if he tried.

  “It needs something,” she muttered to herself. “Red pepper? No, not heat. It needs...” Another fingertip dip and another taste. “Umami. It needs umami. Oooh, maybe a splash of colatura di alici. And a little honey, to mellow it out and offset the daikon.”

  She didn’t seem to be looking for input from him, so he kept quiet, just watching her work and try things out. Finally, she seemed satisfied and turned to present him with a plate.

  It could have been set down in front of him on a snowy white tablecloth in a Michelin-starred Chicago restaurant and he wouldn’t have blinked. It looked fantastic, perfect slices of pink tuna, with a pale golden, glistening drizzle of something, and sprinkled with bright green sprouts.

  She set it in front of him and shoved a knife and fork in his hand before backing away to lean against the counter to chew on her thumbnail.

  He took a bite. Like everything else she’d served him, it was delicious, but this was a serious step above. What she served at the bar was comfort food. Mouth-watering, for sure, but basically family meals crafted with finesse. This...this was sublime.

  “Jesus, Gem...”

  “You promised. Be honest,” she warned him.

  “Honestly, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.” He took another bite. “I taste something... What is that? And what did you do to this tuna? It melts in my mouth.”

  When he glanced up at her, Gemma was fighting back a smile. “Okay, so it’s not bad, then.”

  “Not bad? Gem, this is amazing.”

  “Don’t go overboard, Flaherty,” she said, turning back to the counter and beginning to clean up. “These are rich people, and they know good food. I’m just trying not to embarrass myself here.”

  “This is no embarrassment. Taste it yourself if you don’t believe me.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t judge my own food. I’m too close to it.”

  He stood up and moved in behind her. “Gem, look at me.”

  She turned back and startled when she registered his nearness. He set his plate on the counter and lifted a bite onto his fork. Then he reached up with his free hand and covered her eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you some perspective. Now forget everything you’ve done in this kitchen for the last half hour. You don’t even know how to cook.”

  She huffed in laughter and closed her fingers around his wrist, tugging. “Brendan, come on...”

  “I’m serious,” he said, keeping his hand over her eyes. “You know nothing about food now. You just know what tastes good. Are you with me?”

  Letting out a sigh, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes.”

  “Now clear your mind and open up.”

  Her lips parted and Brendan lost himself for a minute, staring at the sensual shape of her lips, the glint of her white teeth, the slick pink of her tongue...

  Swallowing back a wild flare of desire, he lifted his fork and slipped it into her mouth. Her lips closed around it, and slowly, he slid it out, reveling in the sensual suggestiveness of it. Gemma had gone still, and the air around them had gone brittle with tension. He stayed utterly silent as she savored the bite, and with each passing second, the electricity crackling between them surged higher.

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. He remembered running his tongue along that throat, digging his teeth into her as she shuddered and moaned around him. Her tongue darted out to lick the last of the sauce from her lips and his dick throbbed.

  “Well?” His voice was ragged with lust.

  “It—it’s good,” she whispered. “Really good.”

  Slowly, he slid his hand away from her eyes and down the side of her face. Her eyes fluttered open and fastened on his.

  His chest contracted with sudden longing, like it was something swirling in the air and he’d just taken a deep breath of it. He could see it in Gem’s eyes the second it hit her too, an intoxicant they’d both just inhaled. Her smile faded, but her eyes never left his.

  Tentatively, he took another step closer, until they were toe-to-toe. Plenty of time for her to slap him, to shove him away, to just say no. Gem said nothing as he edged closer. He licked his lips, too. That fucking aphrodisiac she’d just fed him still lingered there. Her eyes darted to his mouth and she drew he
r bottom lip between her teeth. That tightening in his chest sank lower.

  As he was scrambling for words in his addled brain, trying to figure out how to ask if she wanted this, her eyes lifted to his. Then her hand snaked out, wrapped around the back of his neck, and hauled his head down to hers.

  Their mouths clashed together in an explosion of heat and lingering deliciousness and lust. Her lips parted under his and he wasted no time taking her up on that invitation. His hands found her hips just as his tongue found hers, and he moaned at the fucking perfectness of it all. Gemma arched, bringing the long, gorgeous length of her body up against his, and his hands slid north, his arms wrapping around her, wanting to hang on to every inch of her. Up on tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself in tight, so tight he could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest.

  He’d imagined kissing Gemma again would be like stepping back in time, but it wasn’t. Despite the setting—how many times had he snuck over to her house after school and made out with her right here in this kitchen before her family returned home?—this was nothing like high school. Because as good as that was, this was a thousand times better. No teenage fumbling and uncertainty. Now they were two grown adults with full knowledge of what they wanted. And what he wanted was Gemma, every way he could possibly have her.

  Suddenly she wrenched her mouth from his, panting and aroused, cheeks flushed. Her eyes flicked between his, assessing, and then she pushed herself back. He waited, breathing heavily himself, to see what came next.

  “Umm...” she said, eyes dropping to her feet.

  “You kissed me.”

  “You caught that, huh?” She refused to look up at him.

  “Damned hard to miss.”

  “Okay,” she said briskly, stepping to the side and turning back to the counter. “Thanks for your help today. I appreciate it.”