by L. A. Fiore
It was true; Nat had offered me her sofa, but her apartment was the size of a closet and the kitchen was nonexistent. These are things I could have learned to adapt to, however her place was a pigsty. I guess working in the field she did, when she got home she let it all hang out. I wasn’t going to change her, but I also knew I couldn’t live with her.
While attending culinary school, I had lived in a small apartment near the school, but the landlords were catering to the students of the school. I had to move out when I graduated. Natalie had offered to subsidize my living, but no longer being a student it was a point of pride that I earn my own way and since I didn’t have a job yet, my current residence was Mom’s. I had someone looking for apartments, but so far no luck. “Not ones that are affordable. I didn’t realize how much it cost to live in Manhattan when it wasn’t being subsidized by the coolest landlords ever.”
Something twisted Mom’s expression, probably thinking about Dad living in Soho. Dolly insisted, even though they could have gotten a bigger place for the same money just across the river in New Jersey. She wanted the zip code.
“You could always commute from here, there are several lovely homes for sale that are very affordable.”
Clearly Mom wanted me here, but our town in Pennsylvania was about two and a half hours from Manhattan by train. Commuting that long held no interest for me. “It’s too far, Mom. I’ll be spending almost five hours every day on the train.” If I didn’t land a pastry chef position, I’d be checking out those homes since I doubted I’d find a job at a bakery in New York where I made enough to live there too. “I’ll cross the housing hurdle when I get to it.”
She touched my hair, tucking it behind my ear—something she’d been doing since I was little. “You’re going to get the job. I’ve no doubt and not just because I’m your biggest fan. You’ve a gift, Avery. I’ve known that since your first time in the kitchen when you added the dried blueberries to the chocolate chip cookies, but only after you reconstituted them. You were six.”
“You’re also my mom, so you’re a bit biased.”
“Yes, but I also love sweets and yours are my favorite.”
“Mine too.” Harold stepped into the kitchen wearing pink, plaid shorts and a yellow polo shirt. His gray hair was thick and long, falling to his shoulders. For a man in his sixties, he kept himself in really good shape. Fun, charming and slightly odd, he complemented Mom’s more serious nature perfectly. He was the butter in a recipe, adding not just flavor but a welcomed lightness. His focus was on the soufflé on the counter. “Tell me we’re eating that for dessert.”
Squeezing Mom’s hand, happy that she found her soul mate the second time around, I turned my attention to Harold. “I’ve got to fill you up now, since you won’t be getting desserts like this on the road.”
Harold flashed me a smile, “That is definitely a strike in the con column.”
Standing outside Everything, Natalie was practically jumping up and down. Unlike my petite five foot two frame, Natalie was five foot ten, long and lean, with blond hair that hung past her shoulders and blue eyes that tended to change color depending on what she was wearing. Me, my hair was auburn and my eyes green; my coloring so different from the rest of my family that Nat often teased that I was the mailman’s. My mom—knowing I used to have an issue with my figure when looking at my svelte sister—called my build hourglass, which was code for boobs one size bigger than I wanted and a perpetually fat ass. I was okay with that though because I enjoyed every calorie I ate to create the curves I had.
“Nat, if you don’t stop acting like you’ve got fireworks going off in your pants, you aren’t going in there with me.”
“I am to. I paid.”
“I am trying to be discreet, to learn a bit about the man I may be working for. I can’t be discreet if you’re jumping around like a deranged Jack in the box.”
“Cute. I can be discreet.”
“I have yet to see that in the twenty-nine years that I’ve known you.”
“I perform brain surgery for a living. I can be cool, calm and collected.”
“Well pretend you’re prepping for surgery. I mean it, Natalie. I don’t want to freak Mr. Montgomery out, have him thinking I’m stalking him or something.” The truth was, the reason I was being a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, I kind of had cyber-stalked Trace Montgomery. It started out innocently enough, wanting to learn more about my possible future boss, but the man was delicious—very easy on the eyes—so I may have been a little gung ho with my Google searches.
“Fine, I’ll behave. Let’s go.”
“I’m going to regret this, I just know it.”
Inside was really cool. Twelve workstations set up with granite counters, Viking ranges and top of the line pots and pans. It was like something you’d see on one of those competition food shows. Natalie wanted to be right up front, I grabbed her arm and led her to the back.
“Discreet remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
She said that as she rolled her eyes at me. Ignoring her, I checked out the place; it was packed. Some workstations had four people at them and every single person in the room was female. Before I could comment on that observation, Trace Montgomery appeared from what looked like the office. The pictures on the Internet did not do him justice and he’d been smokin’ hot in them. Holy shit, he was sexy. Tall, spiky black hair, steel-blue eyes that were cool and assessing and a body made for sin: thick shoulders and arms, wide chest and narrow hips. It really wasn’t a surprise that the room was filled with women, all of whom were staring at him like he was a large—right out of the oven—chocolate chip cookie.
“Holy shit, he’s hot.” Nat’s voice carried.
Even agreeing with Nat, I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks because the woman did not know how to be subtle. Giggles and several agreeing whispers followed Nat’s observation. I had to give Trace Montgomery credit; he didn’t seem at all fazed by it.
“Today’s class will focus on perfecting your knife skills. It may sound unnecessary, but learning to prep your vegetables in a uniform manner aids in a more even and consistent cooking. We’re going to start with onions. I’ll demonstrate and then Carlos and I will walk around to answer questions.”
“I could listen to him talk all day, stare at him too. Is he married?” Nat asked, at least she whispered that.
I watched Mr. Montgomery, the effortless way he chopped the onion. It was almost hypnotic. When done, he gestured for the class to try on the basket of onions in each kitchen.
“Yeah, and happily. At least according to the tabloids.”
“He’s delicious. Oh, he’s coming this way. Let me cut that onion.”
“Given what you do for a living, it doesn’t seem like you need this lesson.”
Her gaze jerked to me. “Really, and you who bakes needs to learn how to perfect your knife skills?”
She had a point, but this was the only class that both of us were available for. “Fine, but don’t show off.”
Her grin could definitely be called a shit eating one.
And then she started chopping, the precision and the control. It really wasn’t a wonder that Mr. Montgomery walked over to watch. I had my hair pulled up into a knot, but suddenly I wished it were down so I could hide behind it. Natalie finished the onion, the pieces were perfectly uniformed and so finely chopped they almost looked minced.
“It looks to me like you should be teaching this class.”
Natalie smiled one of her Natalie smiles that looked as if her brain had dripped out of her ears before she said, “I’ve just got a knack for the knife, love the feel of it in my hand. You know, it’s a rush to have such control over something so deadly.”
Oh my God, did she just say that? I was tempted to nail her in the head with an onion, several in fact. I could only imagine what ran through Mr. Montgomery’s head especially with the twisted smile she flashed him. What the hell was wrong with her? I was going to kill her and then she sai
d, “I’m kidding. I’m actually here for Avery. She’s interviewing with you next week and wanted to get an idea of what you were like.”
“Jesus, why don’t you give the man my pin number too? What part of discreet did you miss?” I may have screeched that and then realized I did so in front of my possible future boss. My shoulders slumped as I dragged my eyes from my sister, who would be dead as soon as we left the building, and settled them on Mr. Montgomery.
“Avery Collins. I’m sorry about Natalie. We’ve tried to have her committed but no hospital wants to keep her that long.”
He chuckled. It was a nice sound.
“She’s actually a brain surgeon, the reason for the skill with the knife. I know that’s hard to believe since she doesn’t seem to have the sense to find her way out of a paper bag, but she’s rather brilliant, especially when her mouth is closed.”
“Sisters?”
“Can you tell?”
Another chuckle and then he leaned against the counter and crossed his very nice arms over his equally nice chest. I could see the part of a tattoo on his left arm under his long sleeve. “So how am I doing?”
My focus was on his arm, so I wasn’t quite following his question. “I’m sorry?”
“You came to check me out. How am I doing?”
“You’re doing very nicely, very, very nicely.” Natalie said. I kicked her.
“She has Tourette’s and doesn’t even know what a filter is. I think maybe this backfired because now you realize I have mental illness in my family.”
He laughed out loud in response. “I think I’m looking forward to your interview.”
“You won’t hold it against me that she and I share blood?”
“No.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
He moved. “It was nice meeting you, Natalie.”
“Likewise.”
“See you next week, Avery.”
“Thank you again for the opportunity.”
“You earned it.”
I waited until he was out of earshot. “You are so dead.”
“Yeah, well now you’ve one foot up on the other interviewees, he’s met you.”
“You did it on purpose?”
“Of course I did it on purpose.”
I couldn’t lie; it was nice to have the introduction over. “Next time share your plans with me.”
“And miss seeing you in misery, no way.”
“You suck.”
“I love you too.”
“Let’s talk about this, Aidan. You don’t want to do that.”
Two eyes, like chocolate drops, stared me down from across the counter. If it was a battle of wills he wanted, so be it. Narrowing my own eyes, I shook my head. “I’m telling you, you really don’t want to do that.”
And then he really did it, scooped up a ladle-full of batter and hurled it in my direction. My cat-like reflexes kept me from getting a face full of chocolate, and while I congratulated myself on my quick moves, he attacked again. This time, I was not so lucky. As chocolate batter dripped down my forehead toward my eyes, I studied my opponent. He was covered in almost as much chocolate as me, but his had been self-induced.
“We need to clean this up before Mommy comes home.”
Aidan immediately started giggling.
And then I heard Jessica Brighton, my best friend from grade school, calling a greeting.
Busted.
I turned in time to see as she stepped into the kitchen and then stopped dead. Her eyes went from Aidan to me and back again.
I, being the mature adult, pointed at Aidan. “He started it.”
Jessica’s hands went to her hips “He’s four.”
“Are you sure because he’s got a hell of an arm for a four-year-old and his strategic thinking is down-right diabolical.”
“You were bested by a four-year-old?”
“Bested, no, that’s too strong a word.” But I totally had been, had my ass handed to me by a toddler.
Jessica breezed into the kitchen and scooped up her son. “Let’s get you all cleaned up while Auntie Avery cleans my kitchen.”
“Gween the kiwin, gween the kiwin” Aidan started chanting as Jessica gave me the stink eye.
“And there better be cake with all this batter everywhere.”
I heard her laughing, Aidan too, as they disappeared up the stairs. They were probably even now talking about my lack of prowess on the battlefield.
The cake had just gone in the oven when I heard the sound of the garage door opening a few minutes before Kit walked into the kitchen. Jessica and Kit were high school sweethearts, married after college and as in love now as they had been then. His blond hair was cut short, his suit tailored around his muscular frame and he always had a smile on his face. I supposed when you were living your dream, you smiled…a lot. As branch manager for one of the larger banks in our town, Kit was known around town, trusted and liked. He was a good guy, like the brother I always wanted.
He flashed me his smile as he dropped his keys in the tray on the counter. “Smells good.” Reaching my side, he kissed my cheek. “Where’s Jess?”
“She’s giving Aidan a bath. He and I sort of had a battle.”
Kit’s eyebrow rose, as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Battle?”
“With batter.”
“Who won?”
Blowing a rogue lock of hair from my face, I tried to ignore the question and Kit caught on immediately. “Bested by a four-year-old. Oh, Avery.”
Bested, Kit and Jess even sounded alike. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I can understand why.”
He wasn’t even trying to control his laughter. It was instinct, lifting the whipped cream covered whisk. Kit moved, backing up from me, his hands up. If he was going for fear, his uncontrollable laughter kind of ruined the effect.
Kit was saved from getting his hair streaked with whipped cream when Jessica and Aidan returned. I’d seen it before, countless times, and every time I got that ache in the center of my chest. Kit’s face softened, his eyes just soaking up his family. I envied them. I never had someone who made me feel that. I’d had dates, had lovers, but I never had what Jessica and Kit had.
Kit walked to Jessica and kissed her, long enough that I looked down at my shoes. He took Aidan, who squealed with laughter.
“Hey buddy.”
“Dadwe.”
“I’m going to get changed. I’ll take little man with me.”
“Okay. Want a drink?”
“Yeah, a beer. Thanks, babe. I’ll be down in a few.”
I watched Jessica as she watched Kit and Aidan. “You’ve got an awesome family, Jess.”
“I really do.” She turned to me. “Let’s get dinner on.”
After dinner, Aidan had a small slice of cake before Kit and Jessica put him to bed. I cleaned up the dinner dishes, put the coffee on and was serving the cake when they returned arm in arm, whispering like schoolgirls. Kit’s attention shifted to me, well the cake I was cutting.
“That looks fantastic.”
He pulled Jessica’s chair out before he settled next to her.
“Chocolate raspberry cake with a whipped chocolate icing. It is good, if I do say so myself. Hey, I’m sorry about earlier, the kitchen, but Aidan did start it.”
Two sets of eyes turned to me, both thinking exactly the same thing, a sentiment Jessica spoke out loud. “You’re blaming a four-year-old.”
“Yeah. A freaking military genius four-year-old, who distracted me with assault number one so he could nail me with assault number two.”
“You’re silly.” Jessica said.
Followed quickly with Kit’s reply, “That’s my boy.”
“The cake isn’t the only overly sweet thing at this table.” I muttered.
“Jealous?”
“You know very well that I am jealous of the two of you, Jessica.”
Kit forked up nearly half of the slice I had cut f
or him and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Can you even taste it?”
He grinned, chewed, swallowed. “Oh, yeah, so fucking good. Are you ready for the interview?”
“Nervous, but ready. Even as crazy as Nat is, I’m glad I’ve met Trace Montgomery because some of the pressure is off.”
“And if you get the job, what’s the plan?” Jessica asked.
“I’ve got my Realtor looking for places in and around Manhattan as well as in New Jersey. Commuting from here is just too far.”
“Agreed, I’m going to miss you. I just got you back and you’re off again.”
“I haven’t gotten the job yet.”
Kit slid his plate over to me for another slice. “If they don’t hire you, they’re idiots.”
“Can I tell them you said that?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Standing outside of Clover, my stomach performed a gymnastic floor routine. Even having already met Mr. Montgomery—thanks to Nat being a nut—I was still racked with nerves. I had spent the better part of two weeks perfecting the dishes I planned to make today. The first was an olive oil and lavender cake with a citrus glaze. The oil olive added not just a unique flavor but also tons of moisture. The second was strawberry ice cream, but the secret was to macerate the strawberries—my preference was a liqueur made of elderflowers—before oven roasting them. The punch of flavor was unreal. And last my twist on a classic, jalapeno/chocolate torte with a ganache drizzle.
Making the desserts wasn’t my concern, being good enough for the caliber of restaurant like Clover, I wasn’t so sure. Francois Moree’s sous chef, Terry, had contacted me asking for the supply list I’d need for the interview. I had my own pans, knife, offset spatula but I worked mostly with my hands, so I didn’t need much.
Squaring my shoulders, I pulled open the door of Clover. The place was exquisite: walnut paneling, crystal chandeliers, hardwood floors and a stone fireplace. The kitchen was in the back, partially visible to diners. A man worked at the bar—tall, broad shoulders, messy dark hair and pale blue eyes that locked onto me as soon as I stepped inside. He moved from behind the bar to greet me.
