She shrugs. “Well, he was burning up for a while, so I gave him some of the infant Tylenol I keep here.”
Changing direction, I storm up to her. “What do you mean my child was burning up? And you didn’t bother to call me?” I yell.
“Well, excuse me, Miss Thing. I didn’t think you could be bothered in that fancy kitchen you work for since the one time I called you—”
“Mom,” I interrupt. “There’s bothering me at work to pick you up a box of tea bags on the way home from the twenty-four-hour market, and then there’s calling to let me know my child is ill. What was his temperature?”
“Well, around 101, but it went down just as soon as—”
“Did he tug at his ear? Vomit? Cough?” If it weren’t for the fact I have no one else I trust to watch my children other than Elle, I’d tell my mother to shove it in a heartbeat. How dare she not call me?
Something in my expression must let her know how infuriated I am, because suddenly her attitude drops. “A little tugging at his ear, but nothing more serious than that. I called the pediatrician for you. They got you in for an 8:30 appointment tomorrow, Trina.” Her voice is almost consoling, confusing the shit out of me. “Chris hasn’t quite settled down, so I’m pretty certain he and Annie won’t be difficult to get down once you get them back to your apartment.”
Disconcerted, I say, “Thanks, Mom,” before I turn again to get to my kids, knowing I’ll likely just keep them close to me all night out of worry.
It might be my imagination, but I think I hear her say, “Of course. I love them.” Then again, it might be my delirium making me think that.
Soon, I’m carrying my babies past my mother when I grudgingly say, “Thank you.”
She chews on her lip. “Will you let me know how they are?”
“Sure. I’ll let you know what the pediatrician says tomorrow.” Shuffling the three of us out the door, I carry my precious cargo down the hall and somehow manage to stumble in after undoing the locks.
Shrugging off bags and letting them drop, I relock the door before placing them both down on my bed. Stripping off the essentials, I grab my phone before crawling into bed. Using the light, I check their faces to see that while Chris’s hair is slightly matted, his fever is down. Praying it lasts, I check Annie. She looks no worse for the wear, though I know that can change on a dime.
I make a note on my phone to have the pediatrician check them both when an incoming text interrupts my typing. Frowning, I don’t recognize the number, but I quickly realize who it’s from as I read.
In the upcoming weeks, I’m going to take you on a tour of the food true New Yorkers eat. You may be asking yourself why would a man who critiqued Cinq’s halibut for being overcooked and advised my readers to be forewarned about Marie’s infamous Bolognese sauce for being too salty do something so utterly incomprehensible?
It’s because I was challenged to.
In no uncertain terms, I was told my reviews lacked depth. As someone who has critiqued others for so long, I took a hard look at both them and myself, and I found them both lacking. In doing so, I decided to find the hidden gems of New York.
And within myself.
Today, I visited the inconveniently located Louie and Ernie’s in the Bronx. I make that comment because all of my readers should be forewarned that a subway, an Uber, or excellent footwear is necessary for visiting this establishment.
And it should be visited.
Although the flavor of the cheese explodes on your tongue the minute you take that first bite, the sausage is a must for anyone who loves the taste of red pepper melding with fennel. As many New Yorkers have a tendency to reach for those silver-topped canisters of dried red pepper flakes, I plead with you to hold off and just get the sausage instead. It’s a much better option for your palate and for your local business. The sausage used at the pizzeria is procured from a local business — S & D Pork Store.
As I sit in my home office munching on the last of the tangy, cheesy decadence, I have two regrets about this establishment. The first is I didn’t buy more than a few slices of this ridiculously delicious food. I’m already craving more of it. The second is the pizzeria is not located closer to my Midtown location so I can reach it with more ease.
I strongly recommend you take time to make the trek to the Bronx to visit this choice find.
Four and a half stars.
Without thinking I immediately type back, What made them lose the half a star? before I save Jonas’s name and number in my phone.
He immediately writes back, They served my pizza with plastic utensils.
A travesty. I press Send and am about to add a laughing emoji when I have to stifle my outburst of laughter lest I wake the kids tucked in on either side of me.
Right? I donut understand. He sends that with a winking emoji.
I hesitate, but then my thumbs fly. Was that a typo? I mean it’s not possible that the great Jonas Rice sent me a pun, was it? And about food of all things?
I see dots move, then stop. Then they start again before I get a Crap. I meant to send that to my brother.
I pounce on it like someone just told me I could create my dream dessert menu with no limitations. You DID send me a punny!
I get a face palm back. I don’t suppose there’s any way we can forget about that can we?
My No is immediate.
I didn’t think so. Yes, Chef. I actually have a sense of humor. Surprised?
My fingers pause for a moment before I type slowly, Since you can actually make jokes about food, let’s make it Trina. Okay? Pressing Send, I hope I didn’t just make a mistake.
A minute, maybe two go by with no response. I shrug. All I did was try to ease the formality between us. If he wants to keep calling me “Chef,” I can revert back to call him “Mr. Rice.” “It makes no never mind to me,” I reach for the cord to charge my phone, which dangles off the shelf above my head. Setting the alarm for six, I place my phone on the shelf and snuggle down between my two miracles.
Glancing to my left and right, I make sure Annie and Chris are tucked in snugly. Fortunately, with the day bed and pillows tucked in, I’m not worried about them falling off. Reaching over, I feel Chris’s forehead to make certain his temperature hasn’t gone up. I let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully it was just a quick bug and not something more serious. Wrapping an arm around each of them, I quickly fall asleep.
Five hours later, my phone beeps. I grope for it, complaining, “I hate mornings.” I rip the phone down and slap Snooze for an extra eight minutes of sleep before I know I have to drag myself out of the cocoon of love we’re all tangled in.
“Mama?” Annie asks, confused. “Why in your bed?” Chris still is sleeping, which isn’t unusual.
“Grandma said Chris wasn’t feeling too well, so we’re going to see Dr. Bradshaw this morning, baby girl,” I tell her on a yawn.
Her response is to snuggle back against me, content to be right where she is. Chris rolls over and rests his head against me at that exact moment. Secret twin communication? Realization their mother simply adores them? I don’t know. All I know is I want to capture this with a picture before it’s too late.
Lifting my phone up, I use the phone app to take several quick selfies in succession. But when I bring the phone down to unlock it so I can look at them, I notice there’s a text. Frowning, I open my phone and go to my messages.
My heart trips when I read, Only if you keep calling me Jonas. Then we have a deal.
It was sent ten minutes after my last message before I fell asleep.
Chapter 9
Jonas
I try to clear my head as I turn left on Metropolitan Avenue in Parkchester to make my way to Shecan’s Diner. Apparently from all my local research, this is the place to go to with over 5,000 positive reviews on social media. “How is it all these little gems are tucked away where no one will find them?” I wonder aloud.
“Probably because the locals are afraid of the tourists com
ing in and ruining the experience?” a familiar voice mocks me. Spinning around, I’m faced with three identical sets of blue eyes. Only two of them are red-rimmed.
“What happened? Is everything okay?” I ask Trina immediately.
Her face softens, and I swear I wish I could paint when I see her nuzzle first Chris, then Annie’s heads. Her face glows with the pride of motherhood despite the fatigue lining her face. “Nothing a teeny, tiny s-h-o-t won’t take care of.” I must be wearing a confused expression because she clarifies, “Double ear infection in this one.” She brushes her lips over Chris’s head before saying, “And this angel has the beginning of one. So, the pediatrician gave her a poke just to prevent it.”
“Poor little things,” I empathize.
Trina smiles. “And the poor doctor, who was kicked not once, but twice in places he shouldn’t have been. His ‘little things’ may take a while to recover. Fortunately,” she continues, as I choke down my laughter, “he assured me he doesn’t need them.”
“Oh, my God. But they look like angels—both of them.”
Trina shakes her arms as she climbs the steps to Shecan’s. Quickly, I follow to grab the door since her arms are full of toddlers. Her head snaps in my direction. “Shit, I didn’t mean to get too much in your personal space? I soda thought I could help you out.” I then clamp my lips together as I realize I both cursed in front of her kids and yet another pun escapes.
But it causes her shoulders to shake. “What are you doing here…Jonas?” The way my name rolls off her lips causes my fingers to clench on the metal handle.
I nod inside before explaining. “Another review. Shecan’s keeps coming up as the best place to eat in the Bronx.”
“No,” she declares resolutely.
Confused, I usher her aside so an elderly couple can exit. “What do you mean, ‘no’? It’s not good?”
“I mean there’s no way I’m going to let you review Shecan’s. It’s bad enough you’re about to ruin the wait time for the best pizza in the area, but if you ruin my capability to occasionally get breakfast at the best diner that I can afford to treat my kids to by telling the world about it, I swear, I’ll…”
Stepping closer, I get close enough to smell the scent of her. Unlike that first day where it was a mix of scents marking her as the professional baker she is, today it’s a mix of baby powder, rose, and jasmine. It smells better than what I know came at me from the kitchen from Seduction, the food being slung not too far behind us. “I’ll make you a deal,” I propose.
“What’s that?” She shifts Chris in her arms.
“First, are you diametrically opposed to company?”
“What do you mean?” Trina’s voice becomes guarded.
“It means I’d enjoy sitting with you. As long as you don’t think it would upset your children. Is that a problem?”
A blush stains her cheeks. “Oh. It’s…I…” Taking a deep breath, she admits, “Actually, Jonas, I’m not sure how the kids will behave in public. I wouldn’t want to ruin your meal by either Chris or Annie…”
Despite not feeling well, Chris hears his name. His little tow head pops up. Recognizing me, he whimpers, “Nono,” and holds out his arms.
I step forward, but before I take him, I ask, “Do you mind?” to his mother.
Chris doesn’t wait for Trina to answer. He launches himself from Trina’s arms into mine. “Whoa, buddy. Warn a guy next time.” I hold him much the same way I hold my cousin’s tanker of a boy—with great care and respect for gravity.
“Nono, I hurt.” Chris snuggles down against me. I rub my hand up and down his back. A squeak gets my attention. Trina’s eyes are round, but she’s not angry.
She’s shocked but doesn’t have a chance to say anything as the hostess plucks two menus and four place mats. “I have a corner table available, but it might be tight,” she warns us, not even for a second presuming we’re not together.
Helplessly, Trina glances at me as I gesture for her to follow the waitress. Soon we’re packed into the corner booth which is almost a two-seater with just enough room in the front for two high chairs. “Why don’t you have a stroller?” I ask her as she settles Annie in.
“The last one was too small. I ordered a new one, but I haven’t been around to sign for it. Hopefully they’ll deliver it today before I go to work otherwise I’m sure it will be shipped back to the distributor. Again.” She scans the menu quickly before asking her children if they want pancakes, which is greeted with much enthusiasm.
Turning her attention to me, she asks, “What’s the second thing?”
“Tell me what you recommend. If I can’t share this little gem with anyone else, I want this to be an experience.” I hide a smile when Trina reaches over and pulls my menu away from me.
“Just no apples, right?”
“That’s my only stipulation,” I agree.
“Coffee?”
“If you have a heart beating in your chest.” Unconsciously, my eyes drift down to where her full breasts push out her light sweatshirt. I drag my eyes away and fiddle with my wrapped silverware. “I mean, please.”
Our waitress comes up with a pot of coffee. I quickly flip over my mug while Trina hands hers back over. “No, thank you,” she informs her politely. “I’ll stick with water. And could I get each of the children water in a covered to-go cup with a straw.”
“You got it. Are you folks ready to order?”
“Yes. He’ll take the gyro omelet platter. Hash browns, seasoned. Toast and ham,” Trina announces, making my mouth water.
The waitress grins even as she scribbles. “Good choice. And for you and your children?”
“The Breakfast Sampler for the three of us. If you could also bring two extra small plates, that would be appreciated. Eggs scrambled.”
“Got it.” The waitress collects the menus before disappearing.
“What did you just order? Because I thought I was merely hungry. Now, I’m starving.”
Trina only smiles mysteriously before saying, “Wait and see.”
“Okay, so part three.”
Her eyebrows wing upward. “This is a three-part favor? Wow, maybe I should have let you review the place.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “It may extend depending on how good the food is.”
Instead of answering me, Trina turns to Annie and says, “Jonas is very greedy. What should we do about that?”
“Stop Nono,” Annie tells me firmly, a crinkle forming between those sweet eyes.
“God, you’re going to have to lock her up when she’s a teenager.”
“For such an astute comment, I’ll help you. But that’s it. Once the food arrives, no more favors,” Trina barters.
I take a sip of some damn fine coffee and am hesitant to agree. “Okay, fine,” I give in reluctantly.
Trina holds up her hand to Annie and says, “That’s called negotiating, sweet pea. I’ll teach you more about that later in life.”
With a groan, I turn to the other male at our table, who’s presently using the unused creamer to make a tower before knocking them down. “I think I’ve been had, buddy.”
Chris merely grunts before turning his attention back to stacking all the creamer in one straight line. He pouts when they fall. I offer, “Can I help?”
He very definitely says, “Mine, Nono,” before gathering the creamer closer.
Trina’s droll “I think he’s going to grow up to be an architect, maybe a barista. Or possibly a dairy farmer. I still haven’t determined which” has me grinning.
“What about Annie?”
“I’m not sure yet. Possibly an activist. She loves provoking her brother at the oddest moments.” And proving her mother’s point, Annie reaches over and plucks one of the creams from Chris’s tower, causing them to all fall down. “Case in point,” Trina sighs as she firmly takes the creamer from Annie, hands it back to Chris, and scolds them both gently but firmly for acting up in public.
I’m impressed as
hell at the insight I’m gaining into this woman. “What made you want to be a pastry chef?” I blurt out.
Trina stills before looking me right in the eye. Memories flash in her eyes that cause me to suck in a breath unobtrusively. “Is it okay to say I’m not ready to share that yet? Maybe after we’ve figured out”—she sits back against the booth and motions between us—“this and what you want from me a little more definitively?”
“It is.” Just as I open my mouth to say more, two enormous platters of food and extra dishes are being laid before us. “There’s no way a single person can eat all of this!” I exclaim.
“Welcome to Shecan.” The pretty smirk on Trina’s face begs to be wiped off. My fingers itch to tangle themselves in her loose blonde hair and tug her forward, but I restrain myself. It might have something to do with the knife in her hand that she’s using to cut the stack of four pancakes into bite-size pieces. “Chris, Annie, hands,” she demands sternly. After giving them both a quick wipe with a wet nap, Trina sets the plates in front of them.
“You’re a good mom,” I inform her just as I put my fork to the side of the amazing-smelling omelet.
“Thank you. I’d do anything for them.” Glancing around the restaurant, she murmurs softly—so softly that maybe she thinks I won’t hear, “Even live in New York again.”
Then we’re both eating, and for the next few moments the only sound we make is mutual groans of appreciation. “Sweet Jesus, this is amazing,” I rasp as I fork another bite of gyro meat into my mouth.
“Best-kept secrets sometimes need to remain that way.” Trina winks before scooping a bite of eggs into hers.
My fork clatters to the table. All three of my tablemates look over, though the two young faces go back to smearing pancakes over their lips quickly enough. “Sorry, slippery fingers.” But there’s something happening right here sitting in a greasy diner in the middle of a borough I’ve never spent much time in.
And it has nothing to do with an apology for a mistake.
Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel Page 7
