“Sounds good to me.” Torrie took a piece of bread and began buttering it. “But I thought, with you being a chef, that it’s the food that matters most.”
“Food always matters.” Grace smiled, took a discerning bite and seemed pleased. “But it’s the whole dining experience that makes me love the business I’m in. It’s not just food you’re creating for people, it’s memories. And the ambience and the atmosphere is all part of what people take away from the experience. They remember that as much as the food.”
Torrie took a bite of the beef bourguignon and nearly had an orgasm on the spot. The meat was so tender, it melted in her mouth. “My God, this is incredible! If you’re going to make food this good, I think you just lost the argument, because nothing beats this.” Torrie took another huge bite, then reminded herself to slow down.
“You really do love food, don’t you?”
“You’re just figuring that out now?”
Grace laughed. “Not really, no.”
Torrie looked around, pleased with the trouble Grace had gone to. The table and the room did look nice, and the music was perfect. Everything was perfect, even the woman across from her, except for the tiny fact that this perfect woman didn’t want to date her. She forced herself to smile. “I do like the other stuff you talked about too.” Torrie wanted to stay in a good mood. She knew she needed to stay in the moment, to take this evening for what it was—a nice dinner between friends. It was not the time to feel sad or hurt, to lament what might have been.
“How’s the shoulder, by the way?”
“Coming along. I can start exercising it now, and I can probably even try swinging a club in a couple of weeks.”
“Really? That soon?”
“It’ll still be months before I can play on the Tour again. I’m aiming for September.”
“I’m sorry you’re losing so much of your season.”
Torrie concentrated on her food and tried to pick out the individual flavors. She knew she would enjoy food even more if she slowed down when she ate. She could enjoy a lot more things about life if she just slowed down and smelled the roses, as her mother seemed intent on reminding her these days. It just wasn’t that easy, not when her whole life had been about conquering a different golf course every week, about owning that little white ball and making it do whatever she wanted, as if it and the club were an extension of her. She knew she had transferred those same powers of focus and control to other parts of her life, and that it was not healthy for her. It had certainly hurt her ability to forge any real relationship with another woman.
“You know, I didn’t mean to remind you about your injury and make you feel bad,” Grace said softly.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I’m not thinking about it all the time anyway.”
“You’re right. So let’s talk about something more fun, shall we?” Grace’s eyes were gleaming. “Tell me about the first really important golf win you ever had.”
There were so many, but the first…that was easy. “It was the national junior golf championship. All the best high school aged kids in the country. I was one of the youngest invited at fourteen. I was so nervous on the first tee box that I flubbed my drive, big time. It hit somebody standing about forty yards away. Jesus, it was so embarrassing.”
“Did you steamroll the competition?”
Torrie chased another mouthful of food with a sip of wine, which seemed to blend perfectly with the flavors of the beef. She hadn’t thought much before about how food and wine were paired, but Grace obviously had, and she’d managed it perfectly. Torrie had been wined and dined at many expensive restaurants over the years, but this…this was special. Grace had created an exquisite dinner and a warm, charming atmosphere that made her so easily forget there was a world outside this room. For once, there was no rush to get through the meal and on to the next event on her itinerary, no wait staff hovering or autograph-seeking fans lurking. No cell phone chirping. It was just the two of them—no pressures, no expectations, no demands. It was beautiful, like the perfect arc of a ball cutting singly through the air.
“What?” Grace was smiling over the rim of her nearly empty glass. “You’re staring.”
How could I not stare, Torrie wondered incredulously. She loved the way the candle’s flickering flame rose and fell in Grace’s pale eyes, the way those little dimples made her smile look both innocent and playful, how her hands looked so graceful as they expertly maneuvered knife and fork. She looked ethereal taking delicate mouthfuls and modest sips, and it made Torrie crave to see the other side—the wild, careless, demanding, greedy, sexually charged side of Grace. She’d seen glimpses, like when she’d kissed Grace and pushed up against her—Grace so close to losing control. She wanted that Grace, the one without the emotional chains. The one who wasn’t afraid to let go.
“Sorry,” Torrie said weakly, carnal thoughts still consuming her and undeniably turning her on. “I just couldn’t help but think how beautiful you look tonight.”
“Torrie—”
“I know, I know,” she said. She did not need to be rejected again, nor did she want to challenge Grace. Not tonight. She reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. “So. The golf thing. Anyway, I got my act together over the next three rounds and became the tournament’s youngest champion ever.”
“Wow.” Grace held up her glass in salute. “That’s awesome, Torrie.”
“That’s when it all really changed, though. I had to get an agent after that. Colleges came calling. Tournaments wanted me to make an appearance. TV and magazine interview requests. Suddenly there was a lot of pressure.”
“And I’ll bet you hardly batted an eye.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But it worked out.”
“Did it ever. You’ve done so well, Torrie. You must be very proud.”
Torrie fought back a blush. She heard these compliments all the time from people—so often that the words had long ago lost their intended impact. But from Grace, highly successful in her own right, it meant so much more. “What about you? Queen of the culinary world, isn’t that what they call you on TV? Now that’s something for the old scrapbook.”
Grace laughed and took another bite, her plate nearly finished. “It’s not so bad. But I doubt it attracts the rabid fans the way sports does.”
“Are you kidding me? Women love food, and cooking, and celebrity chefs and all that. Your whole world is women. You’ve probably got fifty fans for every one of mine!”
“Hardly.” Grace downed half her glass in one gulp, her face coloring instantly.
“Oh, come on, Grace. You’ve probably had more women than there are peppercorns in that pepper mill right there.”
“I have not!” Grace looked shocked, offended, then broke into a provocative grin. “I might have had a few meaningless romantic liaisons in my time, but at least I grew out of them.”
Ouch! It was Torrie’s turn to look flabbergasted before she mopped up the remainder of the beef bourguignon with a hunk of bread and popped it into her mouth. “Maybe I’ve grown out of them too.”
“So you’re telling me the young, predatory leopard is changing its spots?” Grace finished the rest of her wine.
“Maybe.” Torrie drained her own glass. “People can change, you know.”
Grace considered her seriously. “Some people can, yes.”
On a different day,Torrie would have pressed her to elaborate. But she stood instead, stretching her good arm over her head. “Any more wine in this joint?”
“As a matter of fact, there’s another bottle waiting for us on the counter.”
“Ah, another bottle ready to sacrifice its life for us. I love it.”
They brought their plates to the sink and Torrie opened the fresh bottle.
“Shall we murder these fermented grapes in the living room?” Grace asked.
Too bad she didn’t suggest the bedroom. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They poured the wine and sat o
n the well-worn leather couch, more candles having been lit, the ocean black and indiscernible behind the glass. It was the same easy connection she’d felt with Grace the first time she’d dined with her back in Hartford. She yielded to the familiar allure of mischief. “My turn for a question. Tell me, my little culinary cheesecake. When did you first kiss a girl?”
“Oh, God.” Grace laughed at the memory and shook her hair from her shoulders. “You really want to hear about that?”
“Yes,” Torrie said eagerly. She wanted to know all sorts of things about Grace.
Grace tried to suppress a giggle and failed. “I was eighteen and on my first summer job at a restaurant.”
“Some customer looking for a little lovin’ on the side? A little extra something for dessert?”
“No!”
“Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never had some slutty restaurant patron want to give you a special tip. And I don’t mean money!”
Grace screwed up her face adorably. “I can see where your mind is tonight!”
“Well, we are talking about sex, aren’t we?”
“I thought we were talking about a kiss?”
“All right, all right. The kiss. But did it lead to your first time with a woman?” Torrie leaned closer, wanting to know every last detail of Grace’s romantic past. She hung in suspense, trying not to look too eager, but it mattered to her. Like crazy. At the same time, this curiosity about Grace’s past was so incredibly foreign to her. She’d never wanted to know about her lovers’ past girlfriends before. Didn’t care about their history, what they’d done before or whom they’d done it with, what they hoped to accomplish in the future. Too much information just cluttered a relationship, killed the fun faster than a double bogey sullied a scorecard.
Grace waited, took another sip, then took the bait. “It did, actually.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“The details! Was it your boss? A customer? An older woman? Who?”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Are you taking notes or something?”
“Nope. Just committing it to my steel trap-like memory.”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up teasingly. “So you can sell it to the tabloids later?”
“Hell, no. But I might use it to get another meal like this one out of you.” She wasn’t kidding, either.
“Okay. I can handle that, even without the blackmail.”
It was a simple agreement, like acknowledging it was a nice day, but Torrie was stupidly happy about the prospect of Grace cooking for her again. “You haven’t finished your story yet.”
“My, aren’t you curious.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
Grace laughed and affectionately poked Torrie in the thigh. She looked a little doubtful, like she hadn’t discussed her first romantic interlude—or even thought about it—in ages. “She was three years older than me. We were working together at a restaurant in Provincetown. I was on salad station. She was the grill cook, which was, like, a huge step up from me.”
“Ah, so you were like the ball girl in a tennis match, looking up to the big girls with envy and adulation. You wanted to be just like her some day.” It was getting harder not to slur, but Torrie took another drink of wine, enjoying the thickening alcoholic haze.
Grace looked a little dreamy-eyed, and it produced an unexpected twinge of jealousy in Torrie. “Yeah, I did wanna be her. I also wanted to do her.”
Torrie howled with laughter. “Woo-hoo! I didn’t know you had it in you!”
“Gimme a break. I was eighteen and just learning that I liked girls.”
“So what’d you do, bend her over the counter one night after closing and have your way with her?” That gave Torrie a whole new fantasy to think about. Her heart was like a battering ram in her chest.
Grace gave her a don’t-be-ridiculous look. “Give me some credit! It was a lot more romantic than that, I’ll have you know. Jeez, Torrie.”
“Hey, I can be romantic too!”
“I seriously doubt that.” Grace was looking haughty and imperious, and it made Torrie want to kiss her into submission.
“It’s true, as a matter of fact.” Torrie was pretty much bullshitting, not having discovered her romantic side yet, if she even had one.
Grace shot her a wink. “Then tell me your most romantic moment.”
“Not until you finish your big story that I’m sure will be very hard to top.”
Grace stuck out her tongue, and Torrie laughed. Grace looked so damned cute, teasing her like this, and Torrie had the sudden fantasy of pushing Grace fully onto the couch, pinning her from above, showing her who was boss with ravenous kisses and relentless tickles. She had to practically sit on her hands to keep herself from doing it.
Grace took a long drink of her wine, growing coy. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Torrie lied.
Grace undoubtedly knew full well Torrie couldn’t be trusted, but she gamely went on. “We actually had a day off together at one point. So I borrowed my cousin’s motorcycle and went and picked her up and took her for a picnic dinner on a private beach. It was right around sunset, and we had a bottle of Chardonnay and corned beef sandwiches and these really spicy pickles I’d made from scratch. Oh, and candied apples for dessert.”
“And what else did you do for dessert?” Torrie waggled her eyebrows.
Grace gave her a smack on her good arm. “Do you want to tell the story, or do you want me to?”
Torrie put on a pout. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Well, after I filled her with wine and food, I finally worked up the nerve to tell her I had a crush on her.”
Torrie grinned wickedly. “And then you made mad passionate love on the beach?”
“No! She sat there kind of stunned, and I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and peeled off my clothes and ran into the water for a skinny dip. I was hoping the water would swallow me up right then and there, figuring I’d just made a horrible mistake. But the next thing I knew, she was running naked into the water too.”
“And then you made mad passionate love on the beach?” Torrie’s heart was thumping like a runaway train. She couldn’t imagine any woman in her right mind turning down a naked, propositioning Grace Wellwood. She certainly wouldn’t.
Grace smiled slyly. “Actually, yes.”
Torrie expelled a long, fluttering breath. “So that was your first time, huh?”
“Yup.”
“And how was it?”
“It was pretty cool, actually. I mean it reaffirmed my choice to be with women. But…”
“What?” Torrie asked anxiously. She loved the way Grace pushed and pulled her, coaxed and teased, lifted her up or dropped her with a look or a few words, or even the curve of her smile. She was like a book that never ended, each page yielding new surprises, each chapter veering off into a new direction.
Grace shrugged. “In retrospect, it wasn’t the best sex I ever had. But that’s okay. At the time I didn’t know any better.” She laughed cynically. “I thought she was the best lover in the world.”
“And did she break your heart?”
“Nah. Not really. We both had college to go back to in the fall. We promised to keep in touch and all that, but it never happened.”
Torrie reached for the bottle and emptied it into their glasses. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“What about you, Casanova of the golf world? Tell me about your most romantic experience.”
Torrie groaned. Most of her flimsy relationships had been the antithesis of romantic. More like a race to get into bed and see who could come first. She was embarrassed by it, but she owed Grace an answer. “All right. I was seventeen. My golf coach at the time announced one day that she had plane tickets to Paris for the two of us for a weekend. We had dinner in the Eiffel Tower, lots of wine, an evening stroll along the Left Bank.”
“Wow. That’s romantic.”
“Then she took
me back to her room and…” Torrie batted her eyes playfully. “Made a woman out of me.”
Grace shook her head in admiration. “Okay, jetting off to Paris definitely trumps my first time. How much older was this woman, anyway?”
“Oh, twelve or thirteen years I guess.”
Grace gave her a look of shock. “Isn’t that kind of icky? I mean, unethical at least, since she was your coach?”
Torrie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, now that I’m older, sure. But at the time, I thought we were madly in love.”
“And did she break your heart?”
Torrie thought back to the time when she thought she was a woman, but really she was just a kid still, and love and sex were interchangeable in her mind. “Yes, she did. Five months later, she took up with another protégé. A girl who was a year younger and only half the player I was.”
Grace looked aghast. “I guess she liked them young, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. She was pretty much a predator, I realized later. I was pissed off for a while at how she’d used me. Unfortunately, I kind of decided to take a page out of her book as some sort of revenge and began screwing any woman who would have me.” Torrie had picked up some bad habits with women over the years. She’d just never traced them back to her first love affair and the crushing of her tender heart.
Grace reached over and traced her fingers over the back of Torrie’s hand. Her touch was tender and sympathetic. It sucked the breath out of Torrie, and she knew she wanted more of Grace’s touches, even if it was under the guise of friendship.
“Sorry,” Torrie squeaked, her voice reedy. “I don’t really have any romantic stories beyond that. And that was pretty sick, as far as those things go.”
“Maybe you just need to meet the right woman to bring out that creative, romantic streak in you.”
Torrie stilled the gentle ministrations of Grace’s fingers and held her hand tightly. She wanted to kiss each of those soft, capable fingers, but didn’t. Grace was more right than she could possibly know, because Torrie wanted to do romantic things with Grace. She wanted to ply her with expensive champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, dance with her under the moonlight to Ella Fitzgerald, jet her off to Paris or Rome for their own romantic interlude. It’s you, Grace, Torrie wanted to say. You’re the woman I want to do romantic things with. Only you. But the prospect of getting rejected again was too much to bear.
Side Order of Love Page 15
