by Donna Fasano
He pulled back, sudden doubt making his gaze widen. “Will you have room for us for the summer?”
“Are you kidding me?” She pressed her palms gently to his cheeks. “Of course, I have room. There will always be a place for you and Mia here. Always. I want you to think of this as your home.”
Heather kissed him, digging her fingers into his thick hair.
“There’s so much to think about,” he whispered frantically. His hands trailed over her hips, settled on her waist. “I have a condo there, you have a house here. Heather, I just want to be with you.”
Her quick kiss shut him up.
“We’ll work it out,” she told him, pleased by the absolute confidence she heard in her own voice. This man had changed her. His love had been transforming.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Their long, slow kiss left them both in a fever.
“How long does it take to eat a brownie?” he asked, his breath warm and silky against her mouth.
Heather grinned at the desperation in his tone, delighted to know she was the cause.
“Sara will keep her busy. I have no doubt.”
Their gazes caught and lit when the idea came to them simultaneously.
“We’ll have to hurry,” he said.
“Of course, we’ll hurry.”
Laughing like teenagers getting away with some seriously sensuous shenanigans, they clasped hands and raced for the stairs.
* * *
Sweet Potato Soup (Africa)
Ingredients:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3 medium tomatoes, chopped
1 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes, peeled, chopped
1 carrot, peeled, chopped
4 1/2 cups chicken broth (canned is fine)
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper (optional)
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/3 cup chopped, unsalted dry-roasted peanuts
2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup fresh parsley, minced fine
Directions
Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Sauté the onion until golden, about 8-10 min. Add the garlic, ginger, cumin, coriander, and cinnamon. Stir in the tomatoes, sweet potatoes, and carrot. Cook and stir for 5 minutes.
Pour the chicken broth into the saucepan. Add salt, black pepper, and cayenne pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 25-30 minutes.
Remove the soup mixture from heat. Using a food processor or blender, blend the soup and peanuts until almost smooth. Return to the saucepan. Whisk in the peanut butter, and cook on medium heat until just heated through. Serve warm topped with minced parsley.
Cornish Beef Pasties (England)
Ingredients:
For the pastry dough:
3 3/4 cups all-purpose flour (plus extra for dusting)
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup (2 sticks) cold butter, diced into 1/2 inch pieces
3/4 cup ice water (you might not need all of it)
Egg wash for the pasties:
1 large egg, beaten
1 tablespoon light cream
For the filling:
12 ounces steak (sirloin or strip), cubed into 1/2 inch pieces
2 cups onion, diced
2 cups red potatoes, cubed into 1/2 inch pieces
2 cups carrots, peeled, diced
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried rosemary
Directions:
Make the pastry dough: Place the flour, salt, and pepper in a food processor fitted with the ‘S’ blade and pulse them together just to combine. Add the butter and pulse at 1-second intervals until the largest pieces of butter are the size of chickpeas. Remove the lid, pour 1/2 cup of the ice water evenly over the flour mixture, replace the lid, and pulse a few times. Add just enough of the left over ice water so that the dough holds together when you press it between your fingers. Do not over mix as it will make the dough tough.
Place the dough on a piece of plastic wrap, gently pat it into a large rectangle. Wrap it tightly in the plastic and refrigerate it while you make the filling. Dough can be made several hours ahead of time, or the day before, if desired. Refrigerate until ready to use.
Make the egg wash by beating together the egg and cream. Set aside.
Make filling: Heat the oven to 400°F. Combine the steak, onion, potatoes, and carrots in a large bowl. Sprinkle with the salt, pepper, olive oil, thyme, and rosemary and mix well so that all ingredients are well-coated. Set aside.
Assemble the pasties: Cut the pastry into 6 equal pieces and shape each piece into a flat disc. On a lightly floured surface, gently roll each piece of pastry into a 9-inch circle. If the dough sticks to the work surface or your rolling pin, sprinkle with a little flour.
Place about 1 cup of filling on each round, a little to one side so you can pull the other side of the pastry over to make a semi-circle. Compact the filling to remove air, brush the edges with the prepared egg wash, and then seal the edges together. Use a fork to decoratively crimp the edge of the pasties.
Place the pasties on a heavy duty baking sheet lined with parchment paper, brush them all over with the egg wash, and bake until golden brown, about 40-45 minutes. Serve hot with mustard on the side. Leftover pasties will keep a few days in the refrigerator in an air-tight container.
Hummus (India)
Ingredients:
2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained
2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds, ground
2 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
1 teaspoon salt
2 cloves garlic, minced
Directions:
Process all ingredients in the bowl of a food processor fitted with an “S” blade until smooth and creamy. Place in bowl and sprinkle top with a few sesame seeds and a drizzle of olive oil. Serve with warm naan (Indian bread) or bread of your choice.
Tabbouleh Salad (Greece)
Ingredients:
1 cup bulghur wheat, also called cracked wheat
1 1/2 cups boiling water
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice, about 1 large lemon
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon black pepper, or to taste
1 cup fresh parsley, minced fine
1 cup unpeeled cucumber, chopped
2 cups cherry tomatoes, sliced in half
1/2 cup jarred black olives, drained, sliced in half
Directions:
Place bulghur into a large bowl. Cover with the boiling water, add lemon juice, olive oil, and 1 teaspoon of salt. Stir, cover and set aside for 1 hour.
Once bulghur has absorbed the water, add the remaining teaspoon of salt, the black pepper, parsley, cucumber, tomatoes, and olives. Stir to combine. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours so the flavors can develop. This recipe can be made a day ahead and kept in the refrigerator until needed.
Lemon Ricotta Pie (Italy)
Ingredients:
1 9-inch deep-dish pie shell, unbaked (store-bought works fine)
Filling Ingredients:
2 cups full-fat ricotta cheese
6 tablespoons heavy cream
2 large eggs
1/2 cup white sugar
3 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
3 tablespoon all p
urpose flour
1 1/4 cups amaretti cookies, crushed
Directions:
Place the pie shell into a 9-inch glass deep dish pie plate and flute the edges. Set aside.
Make the pie filling: In a large bowl, add the ricotta cheese, the heavy cream, eggs, sugar, lemon zest, cinnamon, vanilla, almond extract, and flour. Stir until well combined.
Sprinkle the crushed cookies evenly over the bottom of the pie shell. Gently spoon the ricotta filling over the crushed cookies and smooth evenly. Place the pie in the refrigerator for 20 minutes.
Preheat over 350° F. Place the pie on a baking sheet and bake until the filling is firm when giggled, about 1 hour and 15 minutes (could be a little less, so check pie at 1 hour). When filling is firm, turn off oven and leave pie in the oven with the door propped open a little. If pie is cooled too quickly the top will crack. Cool completely before slicing.
Maple Cookies (Canada)
Ingredients:
1 cup butter, softened
1 cups brown sugar, packed
1 large egg
1 cup real maple syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
Directions:
Preheat oven 350° F. In a large bowl, cream together the butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg, maple syrup and vanilla. Stir to combine.
In a second bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt. Add the flour mixture to the creamed mixture and stir until combined.
Shape dough into 1 inch balls and place on baking sheets 2 inches apart. Flatten balls slightly. Bake until golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Remove from sheets and cool on wire racks.
Wild Hearts of Summer
Original Copyright
Copyright © 2017, Donna J. Fasano
All Rights Reserved
Wild Hearts of summer
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-939000-40-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-939000-41-5
This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond that copying permitted by U.S. Copyright Law, Section 107, “fair use” in teaching or research, Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpt), without written permission from the author.
The Inheritance Letter
Layton, Felder, Bach & Moore
Attorneys-at-Law
58 East 42nd Street, Suite 1800
New York, New York 10016
Bradley D. Henderson
13 Cormorant Street
Ocean City, MD 21842
Dear Mr. Henderson,
I am acting as the executor of the estate of Mr. Harold Hopewell, whose Last Will and Testament was entered into probate in the Surrogate’s Court, New York County, State of New York. I write to inform you of certain assets bequeathed to you pursuant to Mr. Hopewell’s Last Will and Testament, to wit:
The miniature golf and arcade center located at 1 Stargrass Avenue, Ocean City, MD, all contents located on the property, as well as the land the business sits on.
I have enclosed a deed to the property, the business license which has been transferred into your name, and an inventory of items in the buildings and on the grounds.
You may be wondering why Mr. Hopewell would name you in his will. I will do my best to explain. Nearly twenty years ago, Mr. Hopewell happened to see your interview in the documentary entitled OceanCityBeachPatrol: Then and Now. Even though you were just a teen at the time, Mr. Hopewell was impressed with your earnest enthusiasm for beach safety and ocean rescue. About ten years later, Mr. Hopewell and two youngsters were involved in a boating accident and were saved from drowning by a member of a water rescue team. The incident reminded him of you, and he visited Ocean City for a Beach Patrol tour, requesting you as his guide. He was greatly affected by the fact that your dedication to saving lives has never faltered over the years and he wanted you to know he not only noticed but highly respected your chosen profession.
Please do not hesitate to contact me with any questions.
Regards,
Frederick Bach, Esquire
Prologue
Blazing summer sunlight beat down on Brad Henderson’s head as he loped along the sweltering asphalt pavement. Sweat saturated his t-shirt and his legs felt lead-heavy. Less than a quarter mile to go. All he could think about was the cool shower and the icy pitcher of water waiting for him at home. He glanced over at his running buddy, Jack Barclay.
Seven years Brad’s junior, Jack ran with his shoulders back, his chin up, and… hell, the guy was actually smiling. Brad would have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on dragging air into his lungs.
The early August sky was a clear, azure dome, the sun a white-hot disk overhead. The intense heat rolling up from the roadway made breathing difficult. He and Jack ran after sunset when they could, but Jack had a beach wedding to set up later and Brad had a meeting to finalize the plans for the Beach Patrol fundraiser that would benefit a local boy who was battling a rare form of brain cancer.
They turned onto Cormorant Street and both of them broke stride. Brad gasped and wiped his brow with his forearm as he walked toward his bungalow at the end of the street. Sweat dripped from his hair, running in rivulets down his neck.
“It’s hot as an oven today,” Jack said.
“And I’m a fully roasted turkey.” The run had winded Brad to the point that he could barely get the words out. “Stick a fork in me already.”
Jack laughed. “Hey, you’re not gettin’ old on me, are you, pal? You know, thirty-five is almost middle aged.”
“I kept up with you, didn’t I?” Being razzed about his age was nothing new for Brad. With the majority of his team being under twenty, he was used to it.
“You did.” His friend nodded. “You matched me stride for stride.” Then Jack gave Brad a backhanded tap on his upper arm and asked, “Can we get inside? I need to whiz like a race horse.”
In one smooth motion, Brad pulled the lanyard holding his house key from around his neck and tossed it to Jack. “Let yourself in the back door. I’m going to grab the mail.” His friend jogged across the yard, and Brad called, “There’s filtered water in the fridge. Beer, too, if you’d rather have that.”
Jack lifted his hand in thanks and disappeared around the corner of the house.
Brad paused at the mailbox which, thankfully, was shaded by a leafy crepe myrtle that should have been cut back last fall, but he’d never gotten around to it. Several bees buzzed among the profusion of brilliant crimson blooms. He rested his hands on his hips and gave himself a minute to catch his breath. The expanse of bay behind the house looked smooth-as-glass. Several sailboats, a couple of pontoons, and a dozen or so jet skis were too far away for their engines to be anything more than low, wobbling rumbles. And he counted six parachutes floating on air behind tow boats.
No doubt about it, the summer tourist season was in full swing.
Ocean City, Maryland offered plenty of fun in the sun. People from all over the northeastern United States felt it was the only vacation destination for beach-loving folks.
It was days like this one—clear-skied, full-on sunny, fiery-hot scorchers—that chased the boaters out onto the water and had the sun-worshipers crowding the sandy beaches. Brad had been born and raised in this tourist town; he’d grown up in the same little house on the bay he now lived in. Ocean City had provided him and his parents with a good life. Hardly a summer day passed that he wasn’t swimming in the sea, surfing the waves, paddle boarding on the bay, or sitting in a lifeguard stand, keeping watch over vacationers. He felt fortunate that he’d turned his love of the water into an occupation he could devote himself to, body and soul.
The piercing cry of a gull nudged him out of his reverie. He tugged open the mailbox, scooped up the pile of envelopes that had been neatly wrapped in a grocery store flyer, and then jogged toward the back deck. His thoughts on a glass of cold water
to quench his thirst, he caught the toe of his running shoe on the topmost wooden step, and a couple of the envelopes slid from the pile. He balanced himself and caught the letters before they tumbled to the ground.
The official-looking return address on one of the envelopes captured his attention and halted his forward progress.
Layton, Felder, Bach & Moore. Attorneys-At-Law. New York, New York.
His brow furrowed as he stuck his pinkie under the envelope’s glued flap and ripped it open. He pulled out the bundle of papers, and after scanning to the second paragraph of the cover letter, he stopped reading. His stomach fluttered strangely, and his knees went so weak he moved to the patio chair and sat down.
Adrenalin shot through his body; his ears rang and his heart thudded in his chest. He glanced across the bay. Surely, he’d misread the words. Or opened someone else’s mail. He flipped over the manila envelope.
There it was. As plain as those pesky phragmites growing along the shoreline of his backyard.
Bradley D. Henderson.
The sound of the heavy glass door sliding open caused Brad to look up just as Jack stepped out onto the deck.
“Hey, I brought you some water.” Jack took several steps toward Brad, holding out his offering. “Dude, what’s wrong?” He set both glasses on a nearby table. “You look like somebody died.”
Brad blinked and glanced back down at the letter. “Yeah. Apparently, somebody did.” He paused to swallow, but nerves had turned his mouth to cotton. “I didn’t know him. I don’t think I did, anyway. But he left me a flippin’ fortune.”
He lifted the letter so Jack could read for himself. Brad could barely believe what he’d read.
Who was this Harold Hopewell? And why would he leave Brad an arcade?
“Whoa!” Jack exclaimed, his excitement barely contained. “Would you look at that? You’re rich! The arcade on Stargrass Avenue! Dude! The land alone must be worth a million dollars.”
