Which meant I didn’t have to worry about her asking me to set Josh up with Kelsey. An eternal blizzard would hit hell before that ever happened.
We didn’t get to talk beyond that. Chef André started the class. After explaining how the class would be conducted, he motioned for us to join him up front for the first demonstration.
“We’ll begin with French onion soup,” he announced. “Because it takes forty-five minutes to an hour to caramelize the onions, I will only demonstrate how to make it. The recipe is included in the package I’ve given you.”
He showed us how to cut the onions and how to cook them. Then he set the saucepan aside and removed another one from the stove, with onions that had been cooking for an hour.
“The next step is to deglaze the pot with the sherry.” He poured the alcohol in and scraped the onions sticking to the bottom with a wooden spatula. “Next comes the beef consommé…” Which he also poured into the saucepan. A delicious, rich aroma filled the classroom. “And then the vegetable stock, apple cider, thyme sprigs, parsley, and bay leaf.” He dumped in each ingredient as he listed it. “I will now allow it to simmer for fifteen to twenty minutes. And while it’s cooking, I’ll prepare the topping.”
He demonstrated how to cut the bread so that it fit the tops of the soup crocks, then ladled the soup into the bowls and covered them with the bread. “And for the finishing touch, we add grated Gruyère and broil for a minute or two, until the cheese is bubbly and brown.” He put the cookie sheet with the four crocks in the oven, and removed it a minute later.
And my taste buds pleaded to sample some.
“That wasn’t too bad,” Kelsey murmured.
“I think we can manage that,” I said, even if I had tortured a couple of innocent eggs in an attempt to make breakfast for her.
Next came mushroom ravioli.
“To make the ravioli, I recommend a pasta maker, but you can also just roll out the dough,” André explained. “For this class, we will be using pasta makers.” He finely chopped a shallot.
Kelsey leaned closer to me. “How does he do that without slicing off the end of his finger?”
“Good question.” The man looked like a martial arts expert with his knife-wielding skills. Mugging assholes, beware!
“Next are the mushrooms. You can use any type you like. I prefer a mix of portobello, oyster, and shiitake.” Like with the shallots, he finely chopped them. Then he sautéed the mixture, along with garlic and other seasonings, and demonstrated how to make the ravioli. It was hard to focus on what he said when the only thing my stomach was interested in was eating. The woody yet robust aroma of the mixture tormented me, and I tried not to look like an idiot by sniffing the air too much. But it wasn’t just the food I could smell. Kelsey’s scent was damn good too.
Once the demonstration was over, we were sent back to our workstations so we could make the ravioli ourselves. Kelsey picked up the knife and studied it for a moment. The way she was eyeing it, you’d have thought she expected it to come alive and attack her.
“Do you want me to do the chopping?” I asked.
“Sure.” She handed me the knife and watched me chop the shallots then the mushrooms. “Have you done this before?”
“Nope.”
“Really?”
I shrugged. “It’s not that hard. You try.”
She took the knife from me and began chopping the shallot. Unlike Chef André’s and mine, her attempt yielded pieces that were far from finely chopped.
The corner of my mouth jerked up to one side. “I’m sure you have other talents.” Then I winced at how that sounded.
To my surprise, she grinned. “You better believe it, chopper boy. Just watch me nail the pasta.”
Naturally my brain and everything south of the equator perked at the thought of getting to “nail” Kelsey. It took everything I had to redirect my attention back to the ravioli.
Now, there’s something you should know about making pasta from scratch…it’s nothing like opening a package of dried pasta and dumping it into boiling water. The mixing of the flour with the egg was a breeze. Kelsey rolled the dough out into a rectangle, but when I tried to thread it through the pasta maker, it was too wide. It took her several attempts to get it narrow enough to slip in.
But then I forgot to flour the counter during the last assault with the rolling pin. When I went to peel the dough off the granite surface, it held on tight.
“Nooo,” Kelsey said in a goofy, squeaky voice as I tried to convince the dough it was better off surrendering to its fate. “Don’t make me go in there.” She giggled.
After some careful peeling and a few patch-up jobs, we finally managed to thread the dough into the pasta maker. She cranked the handle while I lowered the dough in.
“Aaaaaahhhh,” she said in the same funny voice as before.
“You definitely work with kids.”
She laughed. “That obvious, huh?”
I grinned at her. Not because of her goofy voice and not because of her laugh. Her cheek had flour smeared on it.
Unable to help myself, I stepped closer and brushed my thumb against it. Her skin was as soft and as enticing as I imagined it would be. Her lips parted, an invitation for me to kiss her, and her beautiful blue eyes drank me in. If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn she wanted me the same way I wanted her.
The crash of a pot lid against the floor snapped us out of our daze. I dropped my hand from her cheek.
“You had some flour there.” I swallowed hard, pushing my lust back down, and returned to what we’d been doing before, a new tension now peering over our shoulders.
We continued working the dough with the machine until it was thin enough, then made the little ravioli pillows stuffed with the mushroom mixture.
“Wow, that wasn’t so bad,” Kelsey said. “You think our friends will be impressed?”
“Surprised might be a better word. We’re not exactly world renowned for our cooking skills.”
One corner of her mouth twitched up. “Good point.”
“So is now a good time to ask why you spent the past few years avoiding me?” I casually asked as we prepared the creamy mushroom sauce while the ravioli was cooking. We’d been fairly close as kids. But ever since that incident with my sister’s crazy friend, she’d seemed to go out of her way to avoid me. Whenever we had shown up at the same family events, Kelsey had kept her distance, then came up with a lame excuse so she could leave early.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never tried to avoid you.” She kept her attention fixed on the sauce I was stirring on the stove. Not once did she look up at me.
“Really? So all that time you said maybe twenty words to me, that was you at your yappiest?”
She shrugged, her face growing flush. “Maybe I didn’t have anything interesting to say.”
Did you buy that? I sure as hell didn’t. She’d never had issues talking to me before, even about the most mindless topics, but I also knew I wouldn’t get anywhere with her when it came to finding out the truth. Fort Knox could learn a thing or two from her when it came to keeping secrets locked away.
“Mmmm. That smells so good,” Kelsey said, eyes closed. I had to agree with her there.
I poured the creamy mushroom sauce over the cooked ravioli, grabbed a fork from the counter, and pressed it into a square, cutting it in half. Then I speared a piece with the fork and offered it to Kelsey.
She opened her sexy lips to welcome it in—and for a second, I forgot it was the food and not my tongue that she wanted in her mouth. I caught myself before I had a chance to lean in and suck her lower lip into my mouth.
She closed her mouth around the morsel and moaned a sound that made my cock take notice—craving for her luscious lips to wrap around it. “Oh, God,” she said with another moan. You’re not helping me here, Kels. “That’s amazing.”
I ate the other half. Christ, she was right. The ravioli was amazing.
The final
demonstration was for a French apple tart. Like with the soup, there wasn’t enough time for us to make it in class. Chef André showed us how to create the pastry, then removed a previously made one from the fridge. He rolled it out, prepared the dessert, and popped it into the oven, then removed one he’d been baking while we were working on our ravioli. The sweet aroma of baked apples wafted through the room.
“The final step is the glaze,” he said. “Take a cup of apricot jam and heat it so that it melts into a liquid.” He demonstrated how to do this and brushed the liquid onto the baked apples. He then cut the tart into pieces and passed them around the group. Like everything else today, it tasted heavenly.
I must admit that when I first registered for the class, I had only done so to keep an eye on Kelsey. I hadn’t expected it to be fun, especially with Kelsey by my side.
I also hadn’t expected to be so turned on by it. Although that might’ve had to do with the new fantasy parading in my head—one involving Kelsey in her thong and black lacy bra.
And possibly a kitchen counter.
14
Kelsey
Remember when you were a kid and Santa didn’t bring you the one gift you had really hoped for? The one gift that would change your life (or so your seven-year-old mind would’ve had you believe)?
That was how I currently felt.
I’d enjoyed learning to make the dishes, and I looked forward to cooking them again with Trent for our friends. But as I took the last bite of the dessert, I realized the spark I’d hoped for still wasn’t there. I wanted to find something I was passionate about—and cooking fancy dishes wasn’t it.
So now what? There had to be something beyond Trent that got my blood pumping.
I squirmed at the effect he still had on me, evident by my reaction when he’d brushed the flour off my cheek. At least that was better than the panic attack when he’d asked me why I had ignored him for all those years.
I would’ve rather had my head waxed than have that conversation.
For one, it meant telling him about the feelings that I’d had for him back then and still had. Guys who put their career first and avoided having girlfriends weren’t interested in hearing things like that.
Only women like Holly could handle him being a workaholic, especially since she wasn’t much better. But what about the commitment part? Was she okay with being only a short-term girlfriend? Or maybe once they got together, Trent would realize she was the right woman for him and would be eager to settle down.
Pain worse than having an elephant step on your foot taunted me at the thought. I quickly reminded myself it shouldn’t matter that I was falling for him all over again. Trent’s happiness? That was the trump card when it came to my heart.
Besides, I wasn’t interested in dating until I had my life figured out.
But Trent isn’t just anyone.
I ignored my heart’s lovesick mutterings.
We cleaned our workstation, the odd tension that had sprung up between us when he’d brushed the flour off my cheek still lingering in the air.
“So?” Trent asked as we exited the room.
I waited for him to elaborate.
“What did you think of the class?”
“It was fun, but I don’t think cooking really does anything for me.”
“Any other ideas then?” He pulled the main door open for me. I stepped out into the cool evening air.
“I’ve always wanted to surf, but my balance isn’t great.” Not to mention it was spring and I was more of a hot-tub-temperature-type person. The cold ocean at this time of year didn’t appeal to me. “And let’s not forget the sharks,” I added. “Knowing my luck, a great white would decide I’d make a tasty lunch.”
“You know, the odds of being attacked are pretty much zero.”
“And you know this for sure?” At his quick shrug, I said, “Yeah, I thought not. Maybe I could do something craft related.”
“Good idea. I’m sure your brother would get behind it more than you surfing in shark-infested waters.” He chuckled and I punched him in the arm.
“Ha! Very funny.”
As I drove home, the idea of learning a new craft started to appeal to me more. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I couldn’t wait to see what I could find. I went online and studied the arts and recreation catalog for the local community college. Erin had gushed last year about the jewelry-making class she had taken there.
Belly dancing. Hmmm I wasn’t too sure about that. It might be fun as a class, but I couldn’t see myself doing it as a long-term hobby.
Drama. My 2.5 in high-school drama said that was a no.
Bookbinding. People did that for a hobby?
Drawing for Beginners. That might be fun. I had always wanted to learn to draw.
The next session started in a few days and the class wasn’t full yet. I registered for it and studied the list of supplies I needed to pick up before the first class.
My cell phone pinged. Trent: Have you considered bull riding as a hobby?
Haha! I’d fall on my butt before the bull even left the chute. And knowing my luck, some hot cowboy would witness my disgrace and tell all his hot cowboy friends about it.
I texted back: I just registered for a drawing class.
Can you draw?
No, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to by the time I’m finished.
We texted back and forth a few more times, organizing the upcoming dinner for our friends.
Holly phoned me the next evening. “Trent told me you guys are having a dinner party. Is there anything I can bring?”
“No, just you. I thought…” My throat squeezed tight, like a Shrinky Dink picture shrinking in the oven. Holly and I had become friends, and I wanted to help her win her man—even if the man was the same one I was falling for. “I thought I could help you with Trent.”
Maybe then I could finally move past my feelings for him.
Or not.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, he’s asking his friend to join us and Erin’s bringing her husband. It will almost be like couples night.” Only I wasn’t planning to hook up with his friend.
I told Holly to do whatever she could Saturday night to steer the conversation away from work. And I would do what I could to create a romantic atmosphere—for Holly and Trent’s sake.
The annoying voice at the back of my head pouted and acted like a petulant four-year-old over my plan.
I mentally locked it away in one of my colorful little owl boxes and threw away the key.
15
Trent
Normally I was a confident man. I had to be for my job. And when it came to women, I had long since learned from the time I turned sixteen that it didn’t take much for them to be interested in me. A smile here. A compliment there. A brief touch.
But as I waited for Kelsey to answer the door, my confidence took a hike. Why was it that the one woman who wasn’t interested in me was the only woman I wanted?
On the positive side, thanks to Liam, I got to spend more time with Kelsey now than I had since returning from New York City. Maybe I could send him a card. Would porn be too much, to thank him for making it easier for me to hang out with his little sister while fantasizing about her?
Yeah, I thought so.
Kelsey’s front door opened. “Do you have everything?” she asked, then bit her lip.
Did she look adorable? Damn right she did—and I wasn’t talking about how whenever she did that my cock tightened. No, it was the rest of the package that did it for me too. She was wearing black yoga pants and a tank top that showed off her sexy curves. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. She looked ready to attend a yoga class instead of cooking a three-course meal for our friends.
She looked perfect—other than her eyes, which were red and watery. Panic plowed through me, almost knocking me onto my ass. “What’s wrong? Is it Liam?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why
are you crying?”
“I started chopping the onions before you got here.”
I stepped into the house, carrying grocery bags filled with what Kelsey didn’t already have. I’d gone into the office this morning and bought the fresh mushrooms for the ravioli on my way here.
She closed the door behind me and I followed her into the kitchen. “Did you cut them face down on the cutting board? Like Chef André told us to do?” I asked.
She scrunched up her nose. “No, I forgot that part. God, I must look a mess.” She wiped her fingers under her eyes, which probably wasn’t such a bright idea given she might’ve had onion juice on them.
“No, you look good.” As always. I placed the bags on the counter.
She went back to chopping the onions while I unpacked the groceries. This time she made sure to chop them like we’d been taught to do.
I dumped what she had cut into the large saucepan and retrieved my own knife from a bag. Impressive, huh? I thought so. I’d bought it when I picked up the food. Because I hadn’t bothered to do much cooking before, my knife supply had been woefully lacking.
Not anymore.
Now that I’d had a taste of how much fun cooking could actually be, I’d already watched a few shows on the Food Network and was eager to try out the recipes.
Of course, I didn’t plan to tell Josh this. Otherwise he’d accuse me of trading in my nuts for a pair of ovaries.
“Nice knife.” Kelsey looked at the pitiful thing she was using and then back at mine. “It’s so big.”
“Well, you know what they say about the size of a man’s knife,” I said, unable to resist.
Her blush? Totally made the comment worth it.
A comfortable silence blanketed us as we focused on slicing the vegetables and not our fingers. But despite that, the air sizzled with the same energy that had crept up between us during the class. And it was taking every inch of inner strength not to lift her up onto the counter and show her how I felt about her.
To taste her skin.
To explore her.
While the caramelized onions and the rest of the ingredients simmered, Kelsey and I got to work on the ravioli. Neither of us owned a pasta maker, so we had to roll the dough out the hard way.
Decidedly Off Limits Page 8
