Nice as the New Orleans native was, Lori couldn’t help but wonder if Andy’s aunt Bella was slightly off her rocker. In her mid-fifties, she practically oozed grace and charm with a Southern flair—just like her boutique. But trusting a near stranger with her business, on the sole recommendation of her only nephew, seemed a bit crazy. Sure, there was a chef and a college student working part-time at the register a few days a week, and yes, Lori had often chatted with Bella while buying those signature chocolate crocodiles, but was that enough to merit such responsibility?
Lori strode to the front door and flipped the white cardboard sign to read Open. She shouldn’t complain. Less than a week ago she didn’t have a job, and now she was running one of the trendiest boutiques in New Orleans—not to mention total access to those yummy little milk chocolate and caramel crocodiles. She sneaked a glance at the chocolates arranged on doilies in the display case. Even with her discount, she just might end up eating her paycheck. Literally.
The swinging kitchen door splayed open, nearly banging into the wall behind the register. Lori jumped as a tall, olive-skinned man in a white apron strode across the floor toward her. This had to be the chef Bella had mentioned. It would be in Lori’s best interest to impress him, so that any reports going back to Bella would be positive. She offered a nervous smile. “Hi, I’m—”
“Lori, yes. The new manager Bella sent.” He grinned and dipped into a low bow, the white strings of his apron dangling close to the ground. The scent of mint chocolate drifted to Lori’s nose. “I am Edmondo Renardo Rossi, but you may call me Monny.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Monny.” She offered her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine.” He caught her palm and squeezed. “We shall make—what do they say?—beautiful chocolate together.” He winked.
A half snort, half laugh escaped Lori’s mouth, and she tried to cover it with a cough. When Bella told Lori about the chef, she must have forgotten to mention he was the Italian drama king. “Wow, your accent is strong.”
Monny released her hand and straightened his shoulders with pride. “It should be. I am from Napoli, and am here in America to learn Cajun cuisine and desserts. My family owns a business and wanted me to bring new cultures to our restaurant.”
“I see. So you’re learning the ropes on desserts right now, apparently.” Lori motioned toward the streaks of dried fudge on his apron.
“Ropes?” Two brown eyebrows meshed together as one.
Lori pointed toward the kitchen. “Learning how to bake.” She pantomimed stirring in a bowl, then felt ridiculous. He didn’t need sign language; he obviously spoke English. Her cheeks warmed.
“Ah, si.” Monny kissed his fingertips in a broad gesture. “Before Bella hired me, I worked at the Gumbo Shop. You Southern Americans, you like the spices.”
The bell on the door tinkled. Lori jerked. She’d gotten so distracted trying to decipher Monny’s accent, she’d forgotten she was there to work. She hadn’t even opened the register yet. Or fanned the pink paper napkins on the counter as Bella said she did every morning. Or more importantly, sampled a crocodile before they sold out.
“I’ll have my usual.” An elderly, slightly hunched gentleman in a pinstripe suit hobbled toward the counter, a heavy cane accentuating his steps. A cool winter breeze floated in behind him, stirring Lori’s hair. The door shut with a clank.
“Ah, customers. Time to work.” Monny lightly patted Lori’s cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. “Ciao.”
“Wait, what’s his usual?” But Monny was gone in a puff of flour and charm. Lori hurried into position behind the register, shaking her head to wrench back to reality.
“Good morning.” She put on her best smile. “I’m taking over for Bella—”
“Who are you?” the old man barked, lips nearly hidden behind a thick gray mustache. “Where’s Bella?”
“She had a family emergency. I’m Lor—”
“I said what’s your name, dearie? You deaf?”
Lori winced. “No, sir, I said my name is—”
“Ah, forget it. Young people have no manners nowadays.” He thumped one gnarled hand on the counter. “Give me my usual.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know—”
“Don’t tell me you’re out of black coffee and dark chocolate raspberries.”
Lori exhaled for the first time in what felt like minutes. “Of course not. Right away, sir.” She reached for the coffeepot—the empty coffeepot. “Uh, just a minute.” She opened the white cabinet doors under the coffee station. Where were all the beans? And how was she supposed to work that glittering monstrosity of a coffee machine?
Panic cramped her stomach in time to the impatient tapping of Grouchy Man’s cane. She was going to fail on her first day of work. Make that her first ten minutes of work. She’d never get to eat chocolate again. Why couldn’t the other girl, the college student, what’s-her-name-with-the-eyebrow-ring, have been working today?
Lori shoved her hair out of her eyes with an impatient flick, then paused. The list. Bella had said she would leave a list of instructions in the register since she hadn’t had an opportunity to train Lori in person. Anything else she needed she could ask the chef or Eyebrow-Ring Girl or could call Bella’s cell.
Lori unlocked the register and grabbed the list with a triumphant hand. Redemption, in the form of neat penmanship and sheets of lined notebook paper. Thank You, Lord. She skim-read until she found the section labeled Coffee.
The instructions were two inches long.
Lori licked her lips, darted a glance at the cappuccino machine staring menacingly down at her and then at Grouchy Man. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll serve you when it’s ready?”
She couldn’t tell if the frown was new, or if his wrinkles were permanently knit that way, but regardless, Grouchy Man stomped his cane toward a nearby table and planted himself in a chair, arms crossed.
Lori turned back toward the machine and drew a fortifying breath. She was so having a chocolate crocodile after this.
Andy tried the handle on the door of the Chocolate Gator. Locked. The hours posted informed him the shop closed at six, and it was fifteen past. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass into the dim boutique. He could barely make out Lori’s sprawled form at a table, one arm hanging limply over the back of her seat. Her legs were crossed, and she rubbed one bare foot with her free hand. Red high-heel shoes lay on the floor by her chair.
He winced. High heels on the first day at a new job? Big mistake—but knowing Lori and her accessory fetish, she’d be back in a different pair of equally ridiculous shoes tomorrow, and probably sporting a matching purse. He knocked on the glass.
Lori waved and gestured at her feet. As in, she wasn’t about to get up. Part of him couldn’t blame her; the other part wanted to point to her shoes and yell duh. He knocked louder.
“Coming!” an Italian accent bellowed through the glass. Andy jumped. The door was flung open to reveal a tall, dark-haired guy about his own age, maybe late twenties. “Ciao.”
“Uh, ciao.” Andy stepped over the threshold, taking in the chocolate smeared on the sleeves of the man’s white shirt and the flour dusting the top of his shoes. “I’m Bella’s nephew, Andy Stewart.”
“Ah, si! You are the one who secured this angel a job.” He gestured toward Lori, who grinned and offered an innocent shrug. Angel? Apparently this guy had never experienced Lori’s temper—or witnessed her reaction to an empty doughnut box.
Andy cleared his throat. “I guess I am. And you are?” The chef, obviously. But Andy wanted a name—and he really wanted the odd twisting sensation in his stomach that began the moment this dude called Lori an angel to quit.
“Edmondo, or Monny. I cook with Bella.”
They shook hands, Andy’s grip a bit tighter than necessary. He forced his palm to relax. “Nice to meet you.” His aunt told him months ago about her new chef from overseas, but failed to mention he was this y
oung—and this Italian. Hopefully Lori wasn’t one of those crazy girls who got all excited hearing a foreign accent….
“Monny, say that thing you said earlier.” Lori flipped her long hair over her shoulder, the light returning to her tired eyes. “About chocolate.”
“You mean cioccolata, mi cara.” He winked.
Andy’s eyes narrowed. Cara? From the look in Edmondo’s eyes, that term of endearment definitely didn’t mean coworker. He pulled out the chair across from Lori and sank into it, the screech against the tile floor interrupting the annoying flow of foreign words from Edmondo. Just his luck, the guy could probably make the phone book sound romantic.
“So, how was your first day?” He scooted a vase of flowers to the side so he could see Lori’s face. She was his friend before this guy’s, and he needed to tell her what happened at the church. Monny could wait.
“Thanks for the job, Bella. You can’t train me in the shop? No problem, I’m a quick learner. I can figure it out, Bella. Of course I can make coffee, Bella,” Lori mocked, her hands covering her face.
“That good, huh?”
“Yes.” She peeked through her fingers at Andy and smiled. “But I loved every minute of it.”
He laughed and tugged her hands down to the table. “You’ve got flour in your hair.”
“Thanks for that, Monny.” She pulled free and patted at her head.
Monny flipped the lock on the front door and grinned. “Just be glad it wasn’t the raspberry crème.” He paused at their table. “I’ll leave through the back so you won’t have to lock the front door again. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” Lori wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Maybe tomorrow will be easier since I’ll have help at the front.”
“You did a wonderful job.”
“Only because of your help.” She smiled.
Andy’s stomach rolled. Was Lori flirting back with this guy? The fake charm practically oozed from Monny’s tanned skin. Lori couldn’t be actually falling for it…right? He wadded a stray napkin into a ball and clenched it in his fist as Monny disappeared through the kitchen doors.
Lori met Andy’s gaze with a slight frown, gesturing at his white-knuckled grip. “Are you okay?”
He dropped the napkin and opened his mouth, and then hesitated before answering. If okay included his job being all but threatened, and this sudden burst of jealousy over one of his best friends, then sure. He shook his head to clear the random thoughts. Pastor Mike’s talk on marriage must have put crazy thoughts in his mind.
“Earth to Andy.” Lori waved a hand in front of his face. “I thought I was the one who was worn out. Don’t make me put you in the ring with that cappuccino machine.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “You might not come out alive.”
He leaned back in his chair, away from her teasing and the suddenly overpowering scent of her fruity perfume. Combined with the aroma hovering in the shop, she smelled like a chocolate-covered strawberry. What was wrong with him? This was Lori, the girl who passed hastily scribbled notes to him during church with smiley faces asking where they were going for lunch. The girl who ganged up with his youth group to spray him with Silly String one summer morning on his way into the office. The girl who knew most of his secrets, brought him back to reality when he got prideful and encouraged him when he felt like a failure.
The girl who’d been so close to his side for so many years that he’d failed to see what was directly in front of him.
Andy stared at Lori as if for the first time. Long brown hair swept into a partial ponytail. Eyes twinkling with laughter despite the fatigue lining the edges. A few freckles spattered across her nose that she never tried to cover with makeup. Lori. His best friend…and the woman who just might make the senior church staff—and him—very, very happy.
His lips spread in a slow smile. “Actually, yes. I think I am all right now.”
Chapter Three
Lori drew a deep breath of chocolate-scented air and closed her eyes. Tuesday. A new day, a fresh start, a second chance to succeed.
Or fail miserably.
Her eyes popped open. She had to think positively—surely her second day would be better than the first. The part-time worker, Summer Pierce, would be there after noon to help run the register and bag orders. Besides, Lori now knew what Mr. Grouchy’s “usual” was, and she’d won more rounds than she’d lost with the coffeemaker. It couldn’t get any harder than that, right?
The sound of Monny’s melodic humming from the kitchen lightened her mood, and Lori swayed in rhythm as she fanned Bella’s signature pink and black napkins on the counter. She’d taken interior-design classes in college, and she really appreciated Bella’s decorating skills. Everything in the shop blended, but didn’t match. That was important in drawing the eye and creating an environment.
Lori’s eyes narrowed as she took in the room. Had Bella ever considered selling other coordinating products in her store? The setup was perfect for merchandise. Pink and black mugs, for example, or mini stuffed animals carrying bags of chocolate. Even logo purses would probably sell, if done in the shop’s signature colors.
She reached for a pad of paper under the register and a pencil. Maybe she could jot down a few ideas to mention once Bella came back. Or better yet, create a pro/con list to show Bella how well her ideas would work.
“Lori, mi cara!”
Lori jerked at her name, still not used to it being followed by Monny’s ever-present “my dear” tag. “Coming!” She dropped the pad and pencil and pushed through the swinging kitchen door. Much as she hated to admit it, Monny’s attention the last two days had soothed the raw spot left from Jason’s betrayal, and the ache from Andy’s lack of interest. If a cute Italian chef was possibly attracted to her, who cared what her ex or her best friend thought, right?
She hurried into the kitchen. Monny stood over a giant pot of churning ingredients. “I’m making fudge. Will you stir this while I check on the sponge cake? Prego?”
“Sure.” She took the long wooden spoon and ran it through the white mixture. “What’s in here?”
Monny donned an oven mitt. “Sugar, milk, vanilla…and a secret ingredient or two.” He yanked open the oven door with a smile. “Bella would not be happy if I told.”
Lori stirred the thickening concoction faster, trying to ignore the twinge of hurt in her stomach. She couldn’t exactly blame Bella for not trusting her with the shop’s secrets. It was enough she trusted Lori with the store itself. Besides, it wasn’t Bella who refused to tell her, just Monny doing what he thought was the proper thing. Right?
Her thoughts trailed off. The oven door shut, and Monny called instructions over the sound of the kitchen’s whirring exhaust fan. “And add the chocolate, in the bowl to your left.”
Lori jerked back to attention. She grabbed the mixing bowl, full of chopped chocolate pieces, and added it to the boiling mixture in the pot. She stirred harder, hoping Monny hadn’t noticed her zoning out. Not that she was trying to impress him—was she? She chewed her bottom lip, the spoon slowing in her hand. She hadn’t been on a date in so long she’d forgotten the rules of flirting. It was all Andy’s fault. If he’d just paid attention to her in the way she wanted him to, instead of being such an oblivious guy, maybe they could have—
“Watch out!”
Monny’s warning cry came too late. Thick chocolate bubbles popped. Lori shrieked. Chocolate sprayed, barely missing her face. She stepped back, wielding the wooden spoon. The thick mixture dripped off the edge of the spoon and onto her clothing. She shrieked again as the warmth seeped through her thin sweater.
“Hot!” Lori fanned her shirt away from her body. The spoon clattered to the floor. Monny ran toward the pot as more bubbles popped. He ducked as one splattered the oven backsplash, and reached for the burner. Another bubble burst and sprayed his wrist. He mumbled in Italian and turned off the burner. His other hand with the oven mitt moved the steaming pot away from the heat.
Monny turned to
Lori, chocolate coating his apron. He slowly took off the mitt, his chest expanding as he drew a deep breath. “Mi cara, I said to remove from heat before adding the chocolate.”
“Oops.” Lori felt a flush creep up her neck. Or maybe it was just the result of her hot-chocolate dance. “I must not have heard that part. I’m sorry.”
“No problem. It will be—what do you say?—Saveable.”
“Salvageable?”
“Si.” Monny picked up the spoon from the floor and tossed it into the deep stainless-steel sink. The corners of his lips crinkled into a smile. “One disaster averted. Let’s see if we can make this fudge—”
“The cake!” Lori gestured wildly to the oven behind Monny, where smoke started to seep from the edges.
Monny grabbed the oven mitt again and wrenched open the door. Smoke billowed. He hefted the pan from inside, and it landed on the counter with a clatter. The chocolate batter had bubbled over onto the oven rack and burned. He stared listlessly at the hardened, crusty shell of what was supposed to be one of the Chocolate Gator’s best-selling products.
Lori waved one hand at the dissipating smoke and coughed. “Maybe we can still sell it and call it Cajun?”
Andy stared at the pen in his hand, willing it to obey. “Write. Something, anything—just write!” But no words formed on the card lying on his desk. Big surprise. Penning thoughts to your good friend turned best friend turned love interest wasn’t exactly easy.
He dropped the pen with a groan and flopped back in his office chair. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Last night, sitting in his recliner and flipping channels on the TV, the concept of sending secret gifts seemed ingenious. Surely it’d break the ice between him and Lori and warm her up to the idea of being more than friends. Hey, it worked for the guy in the Lifetime movie, didn’t it? But now it just seemed ridiculous. Lori said herself a year ago that she was through with the dating game after her ex-fiancé hurt her so badly.
A Valentine's Wish Page 2
