The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo

by Michelle Douglas

  She shook her head as she emerged from the car. ‘This really isn’t necessary, you know.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ But it made him feel better all the same.

  Together they walked to her apartment. Her hand shook a fraction when she reached out to unlock the door and his gut clenched. Blowing out a breath, she clicked on the hallway and outside lights. She turned back to him and bit her lip. From her courtyard, Monty started to bark.

  Rico’s shoulders loosened a fraction. Monty would provide another level of protection. ‘I want you to lock the door, throw the deadbolt and—’

  ‘Would you like to come in?’

  The hesitation in her voice reached into his chest to twist his insides.

  She moistened her lips. ‘I’m hungry. I’m going to make a cheese and herb soufflé.’ She chafed her arms and glanced back at the carport and then down the driveway. ‘The recipe I use makes two very generous servings.’

  Darn it! If he ever got hold of Chris... He forced himself to grin. ‘Will you let me whisk?’

  She suddenly smiled, and he realised she hadn’t smiled—not really—since he’d walked into the café this evening. It helped unclench the knot in his stomach.

  ‘You can whisk to your heart’s delight.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘C’mon—I’d better let that loopy dog in before he breaks down the door or does himself an injury.’

  Monty greeted her with all the delight in his oversized heart, whining at her as if trying to speak his love, rolling on the floor at her feet, licking her hands, her arms and her face when she knelt down to pet him. But not once did he jump up on her.

  ‘He’s a different dog.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’ She rose. ‘The dog walker you found me makes a huge difference, though. Especially on a day like today when I don’t get home till late.’ She sent him a smile.

  Her gratitude had him rolling his shoulders. He hadn’t done much. She’d mentioned in passing that she needed to find a dog walker. He’d just happened to know of a local kid who had more time on his hands than was wise and had paired them up. No sweat.

  ‘This dog has more energy than is good for him...and me. Monty—on your mat.’

  The Great Dane immediately moved to a mat on the far side of the kitchen. Neen gave him a giant bone, upon which he set to with gusto as if half starved. Given his condition, he was anything but starved. In Neen’s charge he was thriving. Rico suspected it had a lot to do with routine and consistency and discipline. Maybe she was right—dogs and boys had more in common than he’d thought.

  She washed her hands at the sink and motioned for him to do the same. She brandished a whisk as if she were Eve and it the forbidden fruit, and he couldn’t help but grin. The mischief in her face momentarily banished the lines of strain from around her eyes and mouth. It eased the tension in her shoulders and back.

  ‘Temptress,’ he growled, reaching for the whisk, intent on keeping the moment light hearted and fun. Her laugh was his reward.

  ‘I think Nigella has proved how sexy a woman can be in the kitchen.’

  She swung away towards the refrigerator, nose in the air, and he had to close his eyes. Nigella had nothing on this woman.

  She came back with an armful of ingredients. ‘Have you ever separated an egg before?’

  He gazed at her blankly. ‘Have I what?’

  She rubbed her hands together and grinned. ‘Oh, we’re in for some fun. I think you’d better put this on.’

  She rummaged in a drawer and handed him an apron.

  He did as she ordered, throwing himself into her lesson with everything he had, determined to keep her mind off Chris. But as he followed her instructions and created something he’d never have dared before, it was his mind that was soothed.

  ‘Easy, wasn’t it?’ she said, after he’d put the soufflé in the oven.’

  ‘I... Yes. It...making that...it...’ He didn’t know how to explain it.

  ‘Making food like that feeds something in my soul,’ she said.

  That explained it exactly! Right now, in this very moment, he felt more alive than—

  Louis.

  And just like that everything darkened. What did he think he was doing? He wasn’t here to have fun.

  A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, sending the branches of the grevillea outside scraping against the glass, and Neen almost jumped out of her skin. She tried to cover it by going to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of wine. Rico clenched his jaw. Chris should be strung up by the thumbs for threatening her security like this.

  She poured them both a glass and pushed one his way. ‘Surely you’ve tossed a salad before?’

  ‘I’m very good at slicing cucumbers.’

  He said it so deadpan she snorted in laughter. But the laughter didn’t chase the shadows away, and every time she glanced at the window his hand tightened about his knife.

  He cleared his throat, wanting to make her smile the way she had at the casino. ‘You’re a natural teacher—you know that?’

  She glanced up from tearing lettuce into a bowl. ‘I guess it’s in my genes.’

  ‘Your parents are teachers?’

  A dark cloud settled over her features. ‘No.’ She shook herself and smiled, but he recognised the strain behind it. ‘I was referring to my grandfather. It was him who taught me to cook. He was very patient, and never the slightest bit flustered in the kitchen.’ This time when she smiled it seemed effortless. ‘I’ve tried to model myself on him.’

  ‘He sounds like quite a man.’

  ‘He was.’

  He sensed her grief but was determined not to lose her to it. She’d been through enough for one day. ‘And he’s the reason you want to open your own café?’

  She nodded and suddenly laughed, and he couldn’t help a thrill of achievement. It might not be her casino laugh, but it was better than anxiety and dread.

  ‘When I was little I’d spend hours describing to him in minute detail the café I’d one day own. Mind you, the décor changed every second week when I was a teenager—from a pink fairytale of a thing to a dark, smoky jazz den.’

  The oven dinged, making them both jump this time, but Neen merely smiled. ‘Time to eat. You set the table while I get the food.’

  She’d given him completely free rein in her kitchen and he couldn’t explain why it felt so good—only knew that it did.

  ‘Do you want to eat in here or the dining room?’

  ‘Whatever you’d prefer,’ she said, busy with a salad dressing.

  They ate at the kitchen table. His jaw dropped when she pulled the perfectly formed soufflé from the oven. He stared at it, his mouth opening and closing.

  ‘I made that,’ he said stupidly.

  ‘It’s perfect.’

  He sat up straighter. His shoulders went back.

  ‘Smell it.’ She waved it under his nose before setting it on a trivet. ‘That’s where the real proof lies.’

  Every saliva gland he possessed kicked to life as the smell hit him. Somehow he managed to shake his head. ‘Surely the proof is in the tasting?’

  And he wanted to taste it. Everything inside him clamoured to gorge itself on this soufflé. He seized the serving spoon and then glanced at Neen uncertainly. Maybe she—

  ‘It’s the chef’s prerogative to serve the food.’

  He took her plate and spooned out a serving. He went to give her more but she shook her head. ‘That’s plenty for me, thank you.’ She helped herself to salad.

  Rico served himself a generous amount of soufflé. He ignored the salad. He lifted his fork... Darn it! He set his fork down again to raise his wine glass. ‘Cheers.’

  She raised her glass too. ‘Cheers.’

  He couldn’t delay any longer. He lifted a forkful of soufflé to
his mouth and held it on his tongue for a brief moment. Flavour exploded through him. He stared at Neen, unable to say a word.

  She sampled it. Her eyes closed. ‘Food of the gods,’ she breathed.

  He’d created this. Him. He suddenly had to battle a lump in his throat. It made no sense at all, but it lodged there, preventing him from eating for several long moments.

  Eventually, though, the scent of the food dissolved the knot. He ate and ate. Without a word Neen served him more. He ate until it was all gone and he could hardly move.

  Neen smiled across the table at him and he found himself suddenly ravenous again.

  ‘Feel better?’ she asked.

  He did. He felt better than...than when he’d won a hotly contested government grant. Better than when he’d pulled a kid back from the edge of destruction.

  His lips twisted. Which just went to show how shallow he was.

  ‘Rico,’ Neen chided, as if she could see right through him. ‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying the fruits of your labour.’

  She didn’t understand.

  ‘This—’ she spread her hands ‘—isn’t hurting anyone.’

  Isn’t hurting anyone? He stilled. The churning in his stomach slowed. That, at least, was something.

  In the next instant he clenched his hands. No! It was wrong. Moments like these deflected him from what was important.

  ‘A man like you needs to fill his soul, Rico.’

  Her words chilled him. ‘A man like me?’

  ‘You’re so driven. If you don’t stop every now and again to fill yourself up, you’ll burn out.’

  He knew she didn’t mean fill up in a physical sense, but an emotional one. He pulled air into lungs that didn’t want to work. ‘My job is very satisfying.’

  ‘Piffle.’ She rose and started clearing the table. ‘Do you want to wash or wipe?’

  He shot to his feet and carried the plates to the sink. ‘I’ll wash. You know where everything goes, so you can put away as you wipe.’

  He turned on the hot water with a savage twist of his fingers and water shot all over him. Darn it! He mopped at it and then thrust out his jaw.

  ‘Why don’t you think my job is satisfying?’ He endured enough grief from his family on that front without Neen joining in.

  ‘Because you don’t smile at work. You never smile at work.’

  Her words pierced straight through him. He stared at her and didn’t know what to say.

  She reached over and turned off the taps before the water overflowed. ‘You smiled tonight when you were making the soufflé. And you smiled as you ate it.’

  He seized the plates, dumped them into the soapy water and started scrubbing. ‘My job is important. It’s vital I stay one step ahead of the nay-sayers and grant allocators.’ He stacked the plates in her dish rack and then snatched up a mixing bowl. ‘I have to keep my ear constantly to the ground in case I miss out on funding opportunities.’ He dunked that bowl in the water too, sending up a spray of suds. ‘I have to stay alert for the possibility of corporate partnerships.’ His hand clenched about the dishcloth. ‘And I have to keep those boys out of trouble. I don’t have time to smile!’

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t think you’re good at your job, Rico. I think you’re brilliant at it.’

  He blinked, but her praise didn’t touch him the way it had when she’d told him his soufflé was perfect.

  ‘What I’m saying is you need to do things you enjoy once in a while too.’

  He turned back to the sink with a snort of impatience.

  ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘But I want you to stop and think about the day you had today.’

  She tossed the teatowel over her shoulder and reached into the soapy water to grip his hands and stop him from scrubbing. The movement brought her in close. Her scent teased and tempted. Her lips were so pink they made him think of frosting on a cake.

  ‘Rico!’

  He snapped back to attention to find her breathing was as shaky as his.

  ‘I want you to go over the day in your mind—the meetings, the running around, whatever else you did today.’

  And because there didn’t seem to be anything else to do—at least nothing safe—and because she still gripped his hands, he did as she bade. He closed his eyes to block the temptation of her lips and thought back over his day.

  It had started with a seven o’clock meeting with the manager of an ice cream factory. It had gone well. The man had agreed to sponsor a traineeship through his factory. Only one, but at least it was something. Then there’d followed a series of bureaucratic meetings in which is had needed dotting and ts crossing—a waste of time that could make a mortal man with things to do want to explode. Next there’d been a round of endless paperwork, a call from a youth worker looking for advice on a particularly challenging case and the routine roundabout of worries and concerns that his job entailed.

  A weight settled across his shoulders. He opened his eyes to find Neen watching him.

  ‘Now I want you to think about making that soufflé.’

  He opened his mouth, but she released his hands to hold up a finger.

  ‘It was fun, right?’

  Sure, it had been fun. He had no intention of denying that. He didn’t want to deny it. But making soufflés wasn’t important like—

  ‘Close your eyes and think about it!’

  To humour her, he did as she said. Making the soufflé had been... Well... He rolled his shoulders. Learning how to do something new had fired him up. The feel of the ingredients as he’d whisked and chopped, their scent and the way he’d felt so at home in Neen’s kitchen...it had all been...pleasant.

  He opened his eyes and gazed back at her. What? Did she expect him to have had some great epiphany about changing the course of his career?

  ‘Now tell me how you feel about facing your day tomorrow.’

  He blinked.

  ‘Do you feel heavy with care and tired at the prospect of all that endless red tape you’ll have to wade through?’

  He rolled his shoulders. Yes. The answer was yes. But... But it wasn’t as bad as he’d felt this morning or yesterday morning.

  ‘I think I’ve made my point.’

  So much for having a poker face!

  His heart started to thud. The thing was she had made her point. And now he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge.

  ‘I want to thank you, Rico.’

  When he glanced at her she wiped her hands on the teatowel and then tucked her hair behind her ears.

  ‘Chris showing up like he did spooked me, but you being here for dinner tonight and just hanging out has helped take my mind off it...helped me find my centre again. I feel much calmer.’

  Mission accomplished. ‘Anytime, Neen.’

  Her gaze shifted to his mouth. She stared for a long moment, a sigh rippling out of her and parting her lips. She moistened them and hunger roared in his ears.

  And then she snapped away and he was left clenching the soufflé dish and breathing hard, as if he’d run a race.

  * * *

  ‘When are we planning to go to seven-day trading?’ Travis asked the next afternoon.

  The lunch crowd had long since been dispelled and they only had a few late-afternoon customers in, enjoying coffee and cake while the rain turned the day grey outside the windows. Today the weather had kept most people indoors.

  Neen glanced up from polishing cutlery with a half laugh. ‘We haven’t even been open a full three weeks and yet you’re eager to expand our operations, huh?’

  He ducked his head, scrubbing harder as he cleaned the coffee machine. ‘I... It’s just we seem to be doing so well, and...’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I really like this place. I like
working here.’

  Travis wasn’t given to chatter, so this was almost garrulous for him. ‘You didn’t expect to like it?’

  He glanced up quickly. ‘I was really grateful for the job.’

  Her heart went out to him. ‘I know you were, Travis. That was never in question. But we poor foot soldiers have to work. We don’t have the luxury of sitting at home with our feet up. But it doesn’t always mean we love our jobs. And I don’t think there’s any shame in that...as long as we do our jobs to the best of our ability.’

  ‘But you love working here.’

  She frowned. She did, actually. She’d expected to enjoy it, but not to love it. She’d thought the delay to opening her own café would chafe at her constantly. But it hadn’t. ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’

  ‘And I do too. I love it.’

  Travis’s skill set was growing beyond all expectation. His skills had been pretty good when he’d started, but each week they’d improved, and kept improving. If he kept going at this rate one of the big tourist hotels would snap him up.

  It hit her how much she’d miss him. Still, this was the purpose of the programme Rico was implementing—to provide the boys with training and then send them out in the big wide world. But...

  ‘What are your dreams, Travis? Where would you like to see your career go?’

  She waited to hear him say he’d like to be the next Jamie Oliver, or become head chef at some fancy five-star hotel in the city.

  ‘I want to do what you’re doing, Neen. I want to manage a café.’

  She stopped polishing cutlery to stare at him. ‘If the manager of Wrest Point Casino came in here with an offer to train you as a chef...?’

  His face clouded. ‘I’d take it.’

  Because it was what was expected of him!

  She straightened. ‘I’m here for twelve months, Travis, and then I’m hoping to open a café of my own. If the Wrest Point Casino offered you the position I just spoke about and at the same time Rico offered you my job, where you’d be earning half the money, which would you take?’