“The secret is in the soaked kernels,” she told me as she buttered a large muffin pan. She set it down, satisfied, and began buttering another.
“You seem to use the soaking technique a lot,” I commented, remembering the ham soup.
Delilah nodded. “I find it does enhance the flavors. Fresh herbs added at the last minute to soups, stews, and salads is another one of my favorite kitchen secrets. For example, the bean soup is excellent when I serve it cold with chopped, fresh cilantro.”
Now that was an innovative idea. I asked her if I could mention it in the article, and instead of answering, she told me she would like me to try some. She finished buttering the last muffin pan and quickly prepared a bowl of soup for me. She handled the sharp knife to chop the cilantro with confident skill. With the knife blade she scooped the finely cut herb and dropped it into the bowl. She wiped the blade against her apron. “Doesn’t it smell heavenly?”
I lowered my nose closer to the bowl. “Yes, it does, Delilah. Sometimes I wish that when I write about something, the readers could actually inhale the aromas I try to describe. Writing can be so—limiting, so two-dimensional.”
Delilah nodded. “I understand what you mean. Most of my clients—many of the faithful ones—were drawn in by the mouth-watering aromas from my kitchen or by the guitar playing on the porch. Just driving by they had to stop and see what it was all about.” She grinned over the huge bowl as she scooped the batter out to fill the muffin pan up to the rim. Lost in the sweet memories, she absentmindedly dripped batter onto the floor. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, but I quietly moved her arm so the dripping would continue harmlessly back into the bowl. She regained consciousness and resumed her task. “How do you like it?”
I took a moment to savor the spoonful I had taken. The soft texture of the beans and the freshness of the cilantro exploded together in my mouth. The flavor of the ham stock danced at the back of my tongue.
“Wow, Delilah! I think I like it better cold than hot.” I took another spoonful. Maybe I was afraid the second one wouldn’t be as good as the first, so I hurried before my taste buds would get used to the flavors, but it didn’t happen. I contemplated tilting my bowl in order to get what was left of the delicious soup.
Delilah came to my rescue, handing me a muffin fresh from the oven. “Gerome was right when he told me I’d enjoy talking to you as much as you’d enjoy my food,” she told me.
Still busy chewing, I looked at her for a moment. “Is that what he said?”
“He said you’re special, that you’d be inquisitive but respectful, and a pleasure to watch when you eat a dish you appreciate.”
Aeson chose that instant of perfect timing to walk into the kitchen, sporting a smart golf outfit and a huge grin. He waltzed to Delilah’s side, took her in his arms, and swirled her around to silent music, not forgetting to wink at me over her shoulder. I cupped my chin in my hands and enjoyed the sight thinking about how timeless love is just absolutely beautiful.
He bowed and kissed her hand. She regally curtsied just as Jason walked in from the courtyard door and snapped a photo of them. That would make a great article introduction, I thought. The beginnings of an idea stirred to life, my brain gears meshing against one another like a huge clock movement.
Benedetta walked in right behind Jason, still in one piece, and I asked her if she was ready to go.
I dreaded the thought of having to watch Benedetta and Jason say good-bye to one another, expecting some sort of high drama, but my dear friend handled it pretty smoothly. They’d exchanged phone numbers earlier and were happy enough with that.
Phew!
I thanked Delilah and her family for their hospitality and wished her my best. We exchanged hugs and sincere promises to keep in touch.
*
Benedetta and I spent the late afternoon in downtown Savannah browsing through small, off-the-beaten-path bookstores where we bought several books featuring recipes for me, haunted house and folklore tales for Benedetta. We found a great kitchen store where I bought new spice jars to be delivered to Delilah’s restaurant the same day, as a way of thanking her and helping her replace the spooked ones she was “fixin’ to get rid of.”
We headed back to the car after a light seafood supper that we washed down with a bottle of crisp Sauvignon Blanc. It was such an excellent wine we didn’t even mind the tall African American fellow who chased us from outside the small restaurant for several blocks trying to sell us tickets to a voodoo ritual later that evening. Benedetta finally stopped, straightened her glasses, and told him that if he wouldn’t bugger off, she would ritual him right then and there. He walked away crossing himself.
“You know, you’re beginning to scare me,” I told her, resuming our walk.
“About time,” she said enigmatically.
“You want me to fear you?” I grinned. She couldn’t be serious.
“No, but made you think,” she said, giving me a little shove.
“You’d be good at this voodoo business.”
“You think I ought to quit my job and embrace my true vocation?” She stopped and raised her arms in a voodooist pose, holding her shopping bags aloft. It totally ruined the effect.
I looked at her straight blond bob, her clear blue eyes, and sincere expression. I shook my head. “No way!”
“Let’s go home, Porzia.”
“No worries.” I had a delivery to look forward to.
*
Once back in the car with Savannah behind us and the countryside ahead, Benedetta looked up from her book of Savannah haunted houses and gave me a blank stare.
“What?”
“No worries. You said, ‘No worries’.” She smirked.
“‘No worries’ is something Gabe says a lot,” I told her.
“That’s odd.”
“What’s odd about Gabe saying ‘no worries’? He is Australian. It’s a typical Australian phrase.”
“I’m aware of that. The oddity of the situation lies in the fact that, dating you, he ought to be at least concerned, if not downright worried.”
I recognized the academic tone she usually reserved for her classroom.
“I’m hungry,” she announced suddenly, sitting up. “I could use a snack.”
“Check to see if we have any dried-fruit mix left. I’m getting hungry myself.”
Munching on some pineapple I drove us through darkness. Benedetta was humming softly. I recognized the tune. “So, how about Jason?”
Silence . . .
“Benedetta?”
“He’s something else, Porzia,” she answered dreamily.
“Yes?”
“It’s not only his looks. It’s the way he sang on the porch and didn’t mind my whistling or my goofiness.” Her voice tingled with captivation.
“I love your whistling. And I don’t think you’re goofy. At least not as much as I am. So, if you’d like to tell me more . . .”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She looked out the dark window. “I mean, he’s got such a different life, shooting models and glamorous photos. He could have anybody he wanted. Why would he choose me?” She sighed.
“I’ve never heard you talk like this.” I was stunned at how candid she was about her fears.
“What about you and Gabe? Don’t you worry about stuff like that?”
I was silent for a moment thinking about her question. No, I wasn’t worried about other women or trust matters. I was worried about a past-life-regression soul mate interfering with what was happening in my present.
“I need to tell you something, Bene.”
And I spilled the beans.
I told her everything. I spent the next hour confessing all I had on my mind, all that weighed on my heart, from my promise to Joséphine to the past life regression and what I had seen. I told her of Xavier an
d the love we’d shared and how strongly I felt about it. I told her of Evalena’s advice and how I had met Gabe right afterward. And I told her of the intense physical attraction he and I shared on the plane. I told her of my inability to calm the confusion in my head at first and then finally loving again after Steve. I told her about the magical feeling surrounding the entire escapade: signs, omens, Madame Framboise’s cards, and, finally, my constant wondering if Gabe was or wasn’t Xavier and whether I should even bother with the entire thing or just stand up on my own two feet and surf the wave.
“But I’m not worried about other women,” I concluded as we left Georgia and crossed back into Florida.
Benedetta was silent for a while.
“Are you asleep?” I glanced over.
“No. Would you like me to drive?” she offered.
“I’m fine. But I’d like to know what you think.”
“I think you’re afraid. So this mental jerking-off thing that you’re engaging in is not really because you’re worried about him being or not being Xavier. You’re worried about him not being the one because you’re not ready to be with the one. Full stop.”
What did I tell you about her way of speaking? And she wasn’t even done yet. “You don’t even worry about normal insecurities like other women, like why me? Or is he for real?
“Are you listening, Porzia? You’re spending so much energy building insurmountable obstacles that it’s insane! Why not use such ill-spent energy to create an enormous amount of healing magic instead?” She shook her head. “I guess I’m doing the same about Jason, just on a smaller scale, eh?” She pushed her glasses up her nose.
“I am listening!” I said, frowning. “What’s more, I think you’re right.”
Accidenti! She was. “I don’t know how to harness the magic.”
“Of course you don’t.” She smiled. “Magic finds you as soon as you stop building obstacles. Don’t worry. When are you going to see him again?”
“In a couple of weeks, I guess. He’s got some things to take care of and then he’ll be flying over to see me here.” Right at that moment I realized how much I missed him. The distance between us stretched my emotions like vibrating, colored threads extended to their limits, threatening to snap at any minute. And what of the effort he was making, hating to fly as he did and leaving his beloved Australia—to see me? “He told me he’s sending something I should be getting any day now.”
“No wonder you’re hauling ass,” she laughed.
She was right again, I thought as we drove on through the night.
CHAPTER 19
In the company of a breathtaking sunrise, we woke the pet sitter and her charges. We paid her in the midst of warm effusions, wiggling tails, purring, barking, panting, and hugs, recovering Eros and Peridot. They were so relieved to see us they diplomatically ignored one another and continued to respectively purr and pant happily in the small cockpit of my car.
I dropped Benedetta and her beast off and waited until she reached her door. What an adorable sight: my lithe friend in her olive green sundress and her dog, sleek and sinewy, at her side.
On a whim I called after her, “Bene—what’s your favorite fairy tale?”
She spun around and yelled back, “Fairy tale or myth?”
“Fairy tale!”
“The Ugly Duckling!” she yelled back.
A smile stretched across my face as I drove the short distance to my place. The sun slowly spread its arms and reached out to weaken the grip of darkness. Alone at last, I wondered about what Gabe had sent me and sped up.
*
There is no place like home. Peridot agreed with me at once. I dropped him inside and closed the front door with a kick. I set my bag down and followed him into the kitchen. He sniffed at his food bowl, made a disgusted face, and sang protest right by it, giving me a look which I translated accurately: You wouldn’t dare do anything else until after you’ve dumped this old crap and refilled my bowl with something that better be worth my having spent a few days at whatchamacallit pet-sitter purgatory. Thank you very much.
I set aside my own priorities and microwaved a bowl of cream for him, just enough to take the chill out of it. He didn’t even blink; he just dismissed me with a tail flick and sank his nose into the freshly warmed cream.
I leaned against my kitchen counter in silence, lost in thought. I stared at Peridot lapping at his bowl without really seeing him. I felt tired after the long drive and the many adventures and went over to collapse on the couch, falling asleep almost immediately.
I awoke after an hour or so of napping, still a bit bleary but with a feeling nagging at me about the recent culinary experience. I wanted to get the feel of Savannah into words while they were freshly brewing in my mind and got up to make some coffee.
Sitting down with an espresso and a croissant, I worked through my notes, incorporating them into the basic outline for my article. I became so immersed in my writing, the hours slipped by before I finally took a break to unpack my bag and freshen up a bit.
After a quick shower, I laid down again for a while. I didn’t even notice as a very satisfied Peridot curled up at my feet, and the gentle woop-woop of the ceiling fan lulled me into a dreamless sleep.
It must have been early evening when a buzzing noise pierced my slumber. What sort of suicidal idiot could be so stubbornly leaning against my doorbell? Groggily, I stumbled out of bed, not caring that I was in my pajamas. I cracked the front door open, rubbing my eyes, yawning shamelessly, wishing—with every bit of my heart, soul, inner child, and future lives’ personas—this idiot to be felled by one of those fatal lighting strikes that randomly roam the Florida Panhandle beaches.
I smelled lavender. A second before I opened my sleep-cemented eyes, struggling to focus on the idiot, I smelled lavender.
“Hi, luv. You forgot this back home.”
Omadonnasanta!
Gabe waved a sprig of lavender under my nose, and my stupor evaporated. I leaped at him, straddling his waist with my legs crossing behind his back, kissing every exposed bit of his skin I could reach.
“Wow! What a welcome!” he said, kissing me back, laughing through that lethal, crooked grin of his. “And who’s this?” he asked, looking down behind me.
My eyes followed his gaze to land on my cat. Peridot stared up at us, an amused look on his face, his tail flicking to an invisible rhythm.
“Micio, get back inside,” I ordered my cat, thinking that if I were he, I wouldn’t listen to me either. I wasn’t in any position to impose disciplinary rules at the moment, precariously hanging from Gabe’s waist.
But who cares what my cat was thinking? I was dangling from the waist of my beloved. His strong hands cupped my thighs, holding me firmly against his solid body. I finished drowning him in kisses and now inhaled his delicious masculine scent. My limbic brain reacted swiftly to his pheromones, sending one single, solid pulse through my feminine channels. Reaching deep down it lit a flame, melting me from the inside out. Liquid need, pulled like a high tide, glazed my eyes. I lowered my eyelids to whisper against his mouth, “I want you so bad it hurts.”
His sharp intake of breath, followed by a smooth, stealthy move, brought us inside. With a kick, he shut the door and landed us on the sofa. I closed my eyes and plunged into the kiss. His indecently sexy lips devoured me with a hunger that matched and incited my own.
Oh, the pleasure! To taste him again was overwhelming.
I couldn’t believe it. I kept running my hands all over him, making sure he wasn’t some sort of conjured manifestation of my frustrated need. “Gabe, amore mio, you’re for real?” I said softly, dreamily.
“Yeah, luv, real—,” he answered. His voice, a beckoning caress thickened by yearning, his hands quick against my shorts, pulled and tugged, tearing the thin material away from my hips. I kicked my legs free and hurried to pull his shir
t up from his jeans and above his head. I felt material rip and his fresh breath on my exposed nipples a second before I screamed his name out loud as he took my breasts in his hands and captured the aroused tips with his mouth. My hands caressed his neck and crawled up his hair—thick, luscious silk beneath my fingertips. I yanked hard when his mouth sucked along that thin line between pleasure and pain, weaving me in and out. I felt every shade in between; from one extreme edge of pleasure to the opposite, red tips dipping in ache, matches waiting to be stroked, latent fire waiting to ignite.
“I missed you so bloody much,” I heard him say through the dense cloud of pleasure fogging up my senses. I blinked and found myself drowning in his deep blue eyes, liquid pools of ever-shifting, stormy waters.
“I missed you too, Gabe,” I said as I lowered my hands to unfasten his belt. “I want you inside me.” I lifted my hips and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. I saw him grin, pleased with my feral urgency. His arms swept me up and the world spun upside-down for an instant. He stood, turned, and laid me back on the couch. I settled against the pillows and watched him, holding my breath. He kicked his shoes off and got rid of both his jeans and boxer shorts in one single move.
Dear gods, thank you for creating such a masterpiece. He lowered himself onto the sofa and pulled my legs around his waist. With a sinful light twinkling wickedly beneath his dark lashes, he held my gaze.
“This is how real I am,” he whispered. I felt him enter, slow and hard, working his way deep within me, radiating pleasure pulses so intense I couldn’t help but moan his name as I raised my back and pulled him down to me. I kissed him deeply. My hips pounded against his in a hot, passionate rage that involved all senses. Swept away in the blissful moment, I was barely aware of my surroundings. His eyes, locked into mine, showed me how much he needed me. His arms wrapped around my body held me, shifting me ever so slightly to intensify the already unbearable pleasure. He slowed his pace, withdrawing almost completely, coming to a full stop.
Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) Page 20
