by Garren, Jax
Carrie glanced back at the kitchen. “I can’t believe he’s letting a kid help when he’s asked for a review.” Though Brett was great with kids, little fingers tended to get in the way more than help. Did he not take her seriously? She couldn’t give compliments for the sake of being nice; it would damage her professional reputation if he quoted her. Besides, as much as she wanted to give his ambitions a thumbs-up, false praise did him no favors if he was serious about finding the investment capital it took to start a catering service. The competition was fierce, and all the hopeful enthusiasm in the world wouldn’t earn him a paycheck if he couldn’t rock the menu.
“I can’t believe an elf is making us dinner.” Lora said with a giggle. “You know, I don’t think he’s merely trying to impress the food critic in you.”
Carrie unwrapped her scarf and hung it on the back of the couch, as uneasy about him asking her on a real date as she was about reviewing his food. But she didn’t tell Lora that. “Just say he’s not in his costume, and he’s already off on the right foot.”
“Nope, totally normal man attire.” Lora leaned in, her voice hushed. “He’s surprisingly handsome. And TJ already adores him. Your elf’s got a way with kids.” She smirked. “Must be all that hard work at Santaland.”
Just then TJ entered, carrying a tray of mini-roast beef sandwiches garnished with au jus and what Carrie guessed might be chive aioli.
Lora breathed deeply. “Ah, to think of the swill I ate before you became a restaurant critic. I love being your friend.” Brett followed with a tray of martinis, all with red-sugared rims and candy cane swizzle sticks. “Really love it.”
Lora might’ve only had eyes for the drinks, but Carrie took a good look at the man. Black corduroy slacks and a fitted midnight-blue button-down highlighted his lean figure much better than candy-cane striped tights. His hair was still in casual disarray, but in this outfit it looked more rakish than playful. His gaze found hers immediately, and he grinned. “Thought I heard you come in, Princess. Martini?”
Carrie frowned at the “Princess” and eyed the sandwiches. She’d give him one last chance to make this a friendly meal and not a professional critique. In her experience, many people who asked for comments were looking for praise, and a balanced answer—even a generally positive one—didn’t go over well. “You really want my honest, professional opinions?”
His lips quirked. “I’m not sure you have the ability to lie. Not about food, anyway. I’ve been reading your reviews.”
Lora snorted a laugh and raised a martini. “She will rake you over the coals, man. Back out now!”
Brett gave her a friendly wink and returned to the kitchen, calling, “Dinner’s almost ready,” over his shoulder.
Lora poked her in the shoulder. “It’s like he already knows you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Carrie settled in, readying herself to be honest but not vicious. He needed the truth if he wanted to be successful. Plus, doing her job would probably kill his interest in her, which would keep her safe from a romantic entanglement. She wanted to be safe, didn’t she? Honesty was the best thing for both of them.
The meal started off on a decent foot. Nobody guessed that the mini-sandwiches were seitan—turned out Brett was a pescetarian and preferred to cook that way—and they had a sauerkraut dressing that gave them a unique punch. The dish was creative and well balanced, and Carrie relaxed somewhat at the first bite. The meal had promise.
She looked up to find him watching her, his gaze focused on her lips. Well, of course he was watching her. He wanted to know what she thought about the food she was chewing.
When he realized she’d noticed his attention, his smile turned chagrinned and his eyes left her, as if to say, “Busted.” He glanced back, winked then passed the sandwiches to Tom.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly thick. He hadn’t been thinking about her opinion. He’d been thinking about her mouth. Her skin warmed and she couldn’t help taking a glance at his own lips, narrow and pale. Would he try to kiss her again tonight? Did she want him to?
The question made her nervous, and she reached for her drink. She hadn’t even tried it yet. Too wound up she supposed.
Unlike the sandwich, it wasn’t balanced quite right. She set it back down, relinquishing the nervous woman for the professional critic. A much easier persona to take on.
“Something’s off.” Brett made it a statement, not a question. He must’ve seen her reaction.
His expression was curious, not offended, which was some comfort. Usually she gave critiques from the safety of her computer. It was harder than she’d expected to say something to his face, but she managed it. “It’s a little sweet for my taste.”
“I think they’re great,” Lora interjected.
“Thank you Lora,” Brett acknowledged, but he kept his focus on Carrie. “I want to know what you’re thinking. Drinks are not my strong suit, and I’d like to get better.”
Breathing a little easier, she said, “I know you’ll probably have a bartender to handle this part. I don’t expect a chef to be a mixologist, too, but if the drinks are too sweet, they’ll be considered less refined. It’s easy to make a drink appeal with sugar. But it tends to kill the other flavors.” There it was. She’d said it as nicely as she could. Could he handle the criticism he’d asked for?
He nodded. “Good to know.” A grin. “Give that one to Lora, and I’ll make you another.”
As he left, Lora reached for her glass. “Gimme that.” In a whisper she added, “Food snob.”
Brett turned at the kitchen. “All my favorite people are.” The door closed behind him.
“How did he hear that?”
Carrie huffed and leaned toward her friend in hopes of being unheard. “Oh ye of the complete one-eighty on this guy. A few days ago you were insulting him, and now you’re defending him from my professional opinions? What happened?”
“Back then he was a drunk mall elf ruining your sweater. Now he’s a hot caterer trying to woo you. What can I say, he took my judgment to heart and changed his ways.”
Tom nudged her. “Yeah, sis, I’m sure this is all about you. Have you seen the way he looks at Carrie?”
Lora’s shoulders squeezed in an excited motion. “I know! Isn’t it precious? And he’s a food snob, too! A hottie food snob. They’re perfect for each other.”
Carrie dropped an elbow to the table and rubbed her forehead. “Oh my God.” There was a crazy light in Lora’s eyes. The woman was re-marrying her off already. “We prefer ‘foodie.’”
The door opened for Brett’s return, and they all leaned back in their seats, as if somehow he wouldn’t know they’d been discussing him. A new drink landed in front of her.
“Better?” he asked as he settled into his chair.
She took a sip. The almost candied quality had been toned down and then tempered with the pepper of rosemary. “Much better. Smoother but with more depth of flavor.” She took another drink. It wasn’t Shawn-good, but she could honestly say, “I like this one a lot.”
With a satisfied smile, he dropped his napkin into his lap. “He can be taught.”
Damn. She really liked him.
The rest of the meal went without a hitch, full of excellent food and even better conversation about flavor, texture, aroma and the creative process. There were few things Carrie loved talking about more than food, and Brett shared her infatuation. He could do a lot more than simply talk about it, too. His borscht was thick and hearty, his dill gravlax seasoned perfectly and the meal finished off with a rice pudding that was pungent with delectable hints of lavender and anise. “For the tonttu,” Brett explained as he served dessert and related a funny legend about arctic fairy-folk.
Almost all his food had a story, usually about growing up in a tiny town in northern Canada. If she had a complaint, and Carrie desperately sought something to suppress her rising interest, it was that his self-confidence bordered on arrogance. But he never put anyone else down, and that made it okay.
Besides, he’d need that self-assurance to succeed in the food industry. Regardless of what went on between them, she’d happily hand over whatever contacts she could to help him out.
After dinner, they settled into the living room for coffee, cocktails and homemade nougat candy, and the room turned to her in anticipation. Brett steepled his fingers in front of his face, his gaze steady on her. But she could see the grin. He knew he’d knocked it out of the park.
She laughed, trying to form words that weren’t in the superlative. Usually she had a little time to prep her commentary before public consumption.
His smile grew as he watched her, reminding her of his comment that he loved her laugh. He pushed another martini her way, as if in supplication. True to his teetotaler claim from their unfortunate introduction, aside from handing the martinis out, he hadn’t touched them.
That probably explained why drinks were his weak point.
“Come on, I looked up your column: Martin’s Meals. One to five burners, and you’re pretty stingy with them. What do I have? Three? Three and a half?” He sucked in a noisy breath. “Four?”
She laughed again, producing an instant grin from him. “Four and a half.” It was hard to separate the fun time from the food, but she felt that was pretty accurate.
He pumped a fist and slid onto the couch next to her. “Yes! Elite.”
Laughter caught her even harder. “I’ll bump it to five if you snag me the last nougat.”
The plate appeared in her lap, and Brett turned a cocky grin to Lora and Tom.
Lora huffed in mock outrage. “Well, I’m off to do the dishes.”
Tom stood to join her. “You win.”
“Huh?” Carrie asked.
“Before you got here,” Brett answered, “we bet the dirty dishes whether or not you’d be impressed.” He waggled a finger at them as they passed. “Never bet against an elf.”
Carrie snorted. She’d thought Lora’s insistence on referring to him as an elf would irritate him. Instead, he’d run with it at the dinner, telling ridiculous stories about the mall and cracking jokes that deflated any attempts to get the upper hand.
Outside of his shyness when he first mentioned his phone number, everything rolled right off Brett in a Teflon way she only wished she could’ve accomplished with Lincoln’s friends. Yet another reason to be impressed. And to wonder what he’d seen in her that piqued his interest so quickly. She hadn’t exactly put her best foot forward with him.
She should change that. Maybe let him in a little bit. Not too far, but enough to give him a chance. The million dollar question was: A chance to do what?
Brett gave TJ a high five. “Good job, sous-chef!” The smile he turned to Carrie had no mockery in it. “Couldn’t have done it without him.”
TJ climbed up onto the sofa beside him, captivated by the side of Brett’s head as only a six-year-old can unselfconsciously be. “Aunt Lora says you’re an elf. Did you cut the tops of your ears off?” The kid pointed to Brett’s right ear.
Carrie glanced at the top of his other ear then did a double take. On his left ear, the one on her side, he indeed had a scar across the top, mostly hidden under his unruly hair. She wanted to look over and check if that was what TJ was looking at, but unlike a six-year-old, she couldn’t be quite that gauche.
Brett sighed, the picture of melodrama. “I got in trouble and they kicked me out of the North Pole, which is why you should always mind your elders. But you see, they can’t have elves with big pointy ears wandering around humans, so they cut mine off!” He made a motion with his hand, showing elongated ears cut down to normal size.
TJ gasped, eyes huge with fascination. “Did it hurt?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Carrie wrinkled her nose. “That’s a little gruesome to tell a first grader, don’t you think?”
Brett lifted an eyebrow. “That? You should’ve seen the video game he was playing when I walked in.” He studied TJ for a moment. “I think he can handle a little Brothers Grimm. Fairy tales may be violent, but at least they usually have a moral.”
She shook her head. “What, like Cinderella? Work hard without complaint and your prince will come rescue you? I’m not sure that’s a moral worth learning.”
His expression turned bemused, but there was an undercurrent of sorrow in his voice. “Blasphemous animation companies that don’t show how it really went down.” He picked up a toy car off the floor to drive it around the couch arm with TJ. The kid made “vrooming” noises for his own miniature truck as they chased down the side of the blue upholstery.
“You know,” Brett continued to her, “in the Grimm version of the story, she and the prince met multiple times, but she kept running away. Finally he spread pitch on the staircase so she’d get stuck, hoping it would let him catch her. Cinderella was smart enough to take her shoe off and escape, but that left him the clue he needed to find her.”
“And what moral do you get from that?”
His slow smile warned her that a serious answer was not forthcoming. “When courting a skittish woman, keep a barrel of tar handy.”
That made her giggle. She popped him on the shoulder. “I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”
“No? How about know your true love’s shoe size? Speaking of, nice silver loafers. Can I see one?” One hand continued the car chase as the other thrust back at her expectantly.
“No! Get away from my feet. That’s not the moral.”
“Hm…getting a woman’s shoes off is the key to a successful relationship? Now I want both your shoes. Hand them over.” He snapped twice then twitched his fingers in an impatient “gimme” gesture. When she didn’t budge he reached for her foot.
She squirmed away from his grasp, laughing. “I’m pretty sure shoes are not the typical thing a prince tries to divest his heroine of.” She shot TJ a guilty glance, but the joke had gone way over his head.
It was a good thing a kid was in the room. Nothing could happen with TJ there. They had to behave like responsible, intelligent adults.
Who chased each other across the couch over a pair of discount-rack loafers.
Brett caught her gaze and an undeniable desire shone from his eyes. “True, but this is clearly not your typical prince.”
Her breath caught and heart picked up speed. She wanted to shield the need from her own eyes, to stop him from seeing how he affected her.
She couldn’t. The edge of his mouth curled up. “But I do like the way you think.”
Tension filled the room so thick and warm Carrie wanted to fan herself. Where to go from here? Other than the obvious.
Lora hustled in, dish towel still in hand. Brett relaxed, his sunny grin back in place as if the world hadn’t just spun off its axis. Had Lora been listening? She probably had, the little rat.
Her rodent friend scooped the child up. “TJ, it’s time for bed. Let’s go.” To Brett and Carrie she mouthed, “Sorry.”
“Noooooo!” he said.
“Yeeeesssss!” Lora answered as they disappeared upstairs.
When the child’s voice ceased, the silence expanded for several uncomfortable seconds as Carrie’s brain blanked for anything talk about. Brett just studied her from across the couch, seeming content with silence.
The quiet was dangerous. Finally she managed, “You’re good with kids. Bet you plan on having a truckload.” One way or another, this topic drove every man away. If she sent him packing with it now, she could miss the blissful interim that led to deeper disappointment.
Brett smiled a little sadly. “I love children. But I probably won’t have any.”
“Why not?”
He considered her for a moment with a wrinkled brow and puckered mouth, all of his previous joviality gone. His knees knocked together in an agitated rhythm that made her consider withdrawing the question. It was too personal a topic, considering how little they knew each other. But instead of protesting, he gave a shrug that was too casual. “I can’t.”
She scooted toward hi
m, just a little. “What does that mean?” Surprise sent the words from her before she thought about it. She didn’t need to ask. His resigned posture told her exactly what he meant.
But instead of the depressed glower that would bring from her, his eyes widened in panic and his posture shot straight up. “Oh, no, I can still—” A blush turned his pale features scarlet as words burbled from his mouth, breaking the seriousness of her mood. “Everything works. At least enough to—We could still—I’m going to quit talking now.” With a visible effort he shut his lips. “Smooth, Vertanen.”
She should reassure him. Instead, she found herself laughing again. “I’m sorry…” What a typically male response. I’m still good for sex! She tried to stop, but it spilled out louder until she was holding her side.
Instead of getting angry, he stopped his ramble and managed a sly grin. “Let’s just say that elves can’t father human children. But we can do everything else.” That set her off again, and he smiled at her continued laughter as she tried to get it under control.
But she finally settled down as she realized that they had something damn huge in common. She reached over to pat his knee and realized he, too, had scooted closer until they were right next to each other. “It’s okay. I get you.” She said it lightly, like she just meant that she understood his meaning, not like she knew on a deep level exactly how that felt. He may ask questions if she did, and she wasn’t ready to be as open as he was. Not about that, anyway.
He slid his knuckles between hers and squeezed, warming her fingers against his smooth palm. “I’d love to adopt, but it’s hard to meet somebody else who’s interested in that, you know?”
Given her situation, the question seemed a statement of solidarity, like she’d given herself away again despite her best face forward. Fear and pain squeezed inside her so hard she took her hand back and changed the conversation. “What really happened to your ears?”
“You mean other than an elven clan lopping them off?”
“Uh, yeah. Seeing as I’m getting to know your deep dark secrets, I was hoping for the real story.” Was she chattering? “If you don’t mind my asking.” Really, this wasn’t a great topic, either. When did she become so nosy?
