9. Kelsey
Soft lips ghosted over my collarbone as a familiar hand stroked down my side, setting every nerve on fire. Reaching his long arm around to the small of my back, he spread his hand and pulled me closer as his hips thrust forward.
My head was cradled in his hand as I gasped and breathed out his name. His hard length nestled between my thighs, and I reached my hands to pull his roaming mouth down to my aching breasts. His teeth nibbled and teased me as my hands tangled in his hair. Suddenly his mouth was on mine again, and he drew away to look into my eyes. I could see his lips form my name, but the sound didn’t reach my ears. Startling blue met my gaze as he slowly inched?—
Beep Beep Beep.
I woke up gasping, my arms flailing to hit the alarm on my bedside table. I rubbed my eyes and fell back on my pillow, staring at the mottled reflection of a rare early-morning sun on my bedroom ceiling.
I could see the shadows of the plum tree in front of my bedroom window as the leaves danced and fell in the morning breeze. I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.
Unlike the soft dreams of the past few nights, my dreams of Oskar the night before were hot and needy. I was exhausted, and it wasn’t because of the bottle of wine I had consumed with Talia last night while we were talking on the phone.
Like Felipe had said, she was not pleased that she had to hear gossip from her husband first, who apparently heard it from Josh after his lunch with Oskar on Tuesday.
She was not pleased at all.
I put up with the tongue-lashing because I’d have been pissed too. Mostly though, there was a lot of squealing and sighing as I gave the abbreviated version of the weekend. Unlike past affairs, Talia claimed she did not want too many details about Oskar’s and my time together because “it would just make dinner parties super awkward.”
I understood where she was coming from. God knows, there came a point with details about her and Kurt where I just had to hold up a hand and call “too much information.” The man was like my brother, after all.
Thank God for Felipe; he always wanted details.
“So Kelsey has volunteeredthat the chef at Mesa is a friend of her family, which means she will not be doing a review.” Octavia looked up at me from a yellow notebook where she was scribbling. “But he’s an important new voice in that area, so what do you think about a longer profile at some point? As long as you’re up-front about the connection, I don’t think it will compromise the profile.”
I glanced at the other writers around the table at our regular Thursday meetup, and none of them looked put out. “Yeah, I think that’s fair. I could just mention it at the beginning.”
Wally James, one of the older writers on staff, nodded. “The food scene is insular anyway. We all know each other after a while. Personal connections are expected.”
“And he’s got a big profile internationally.” Sinit Girma, a writer from Oakland, chimed in over the computer. She hadn’t been able to make it in. “We need to cover Oskar Olson, and you’re most familiar with the Central Coast. You’re a natural fit.”
“Maybe better with the personal connection,” Octavia said. “After all, you know the area. You could mention what he’s bringing to the food scene that might not have been there before.”
“Okay, cool.” I nodded at Octavia. “I’ll look at my schedule and come up with an idea for you. I do think he’s doing something really cool there.”
Like much of California, the Central Coast had drawn people from all over the world to live there over the years. Unlike the cities, however, the traditional mindset of the smaller agricultural towns allowed many traditional foods to flourish. The fusion of those ingredients was partly what made the Central Coast such an interesting place from a culinary perspective.
Wally said, “Interesting that a chef with his profile picked Arroyo Grande.”
Octavia said, “It’s a growing market, and the wineries have matured.”
“Agreed,” Sinit said.
Was that the only reason? It occurred to me that Oskar had almost seemed evasive about it when I asked, but maybe he’d misunderstood the question. I really didn’t want to pry, but the reporter in me was having a hard time letting that one go.
That afternoon, I was doing some background research on a new chef in San Rafael. I was still a little wary about getting distracted at my home office, so I decided the main office would be the best place to stay focused.
As the afternoon wore on and the sun started to dip in the sky, I grabbed my purse, said goodbye for the rest of the week, and made my way down to the parking lot, wishing for the millionth time that taking BART up to Marin was an option. On the bright side, I could hit the farmers’ market in San Rafael on the way home.
There werepiles of grapes and persimmons, a few pomegranates, and lots of almonds, pistachios, and walnuts. Fall had turned the corner, and there were pears everywhere and a few apples starting to show up. I picked up produce here and there, saying hello to familiar vendors and exchanging nods with other regulars.
I thought about how much fun it would be to wander through the stalls and pick out food with Oskar if he were here. I sort of liked the idea of cooking for him since he always cooked for other people.
As I grabbed a handful of garlic and eyed a bundle of chard, I thought about calling him. I figured he was probably at the restaurant, so I sent him a quick text and expected him to text me back hours later.
What should I do with this chard I’m buying?
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I smiled when I saw Oskar’s name. Actually, I’d put him in my phone as Hot Chef, but I should probably change that. “Shouldn’t you be cooking right now?”
He didn’t play around with small talk. “What kind of chard?”
“Just regular Swiss chard, nothing fancy.”
“Where are you right now?” He sounded amused. Come to think of it, he sounded like he was someplace really crowded. It didn’t sound like a kitchen at all.
“I’m at the farmers’ market in San Rafael. Where are you? It doesn’t sound like the restaurant.”
He laughed. “Victor’s covering dinner tonight. I’m at the farmers’ market in San Luis.”
“No way.” I had to smile.
The farmers’ market in San Luis Obispo was a local event. It was a combination farmers’ market and huge street party. All the businesses stayed open late, the farmers set out their stalls, artists and craftsmen set up shop, and most of the restaurants had stands in front, offering street food to the masses. It was one of my favorite places to go growing up, and everyone from college kids to retirees showed up. There was almost always live music of some kind, though it wasn’t always good.
Oskar sounded like he was smiling. “I can’t believe we’re both at the farmers’ market tonight. And by the way, I know you’re jealous right now, because I was just about to go get a tri-tip sandwich for dinner.”
I eyed the chard in my hand. It had suddenly lost some of its green allure.
“You’re right. I wish I was there.”
“Me too,” he said quietly.
Ugh. Why did I suddenly feel down? Irritating man. Why did I have to like him so much?
“Hey, Kelsey.”
“What’s up?” I paid the farmer for the chard and tossed it in my basket.
“If I ditched your brother and Kurt, would you go on a phone date with me at our respective farmers’ markets?”
I smiled. “Oskar, ditch my brothers; that sounds like the best offer I’ve had since I had dinner with this hot chef last weekend.”
“Really? You’ll have to tell me about that.” He said hi to someone on his end of the phone. “I’m going to call you back in about five minutes. Get some food, find a spot, and we’ll people watch.”
I grinned. “Okay, I’ll talk to you in five minutes.”
“It’s a date.”
I wandered over to the Thai booth and bought a bowl of curry before heading up the street, far enough away from the kids smoking weed under the giant magnolia tree, and found a spot along a planter where I could sit.
Just as I sat down, my phone buzzed again. “Oskar?”
“I think Josh and Kurt are on to us. They tried to steal my phone, but I beat them back. It’s a good thing I’m taller. Have they always acted like twelve-year-olds?”
“I think they’re getting worse in old age. Josh was horribly responsible as a child and didn’t really get goofy until I was out of the house.” I opened my box of noodles, and the smell made my mouth water.
“So what are you eating on our phone date?”
“I got some chicken curry from a pretty good Thai place here. How about you?”
“As threatened, I am eating a McClintock’s tri-tip sandwich. It’s very good. Here, I’ll hold it up to the phone and you can breathe deeply.”
I laughed and took a bite of noodles. I could hear people shouting in the background. “Where are you in the market?”
“I’m sort of hiding from the guys, so I left the food-and-beer area and I’m sitting in the vegetable market by the Kobayashis’ stand. I think the grandmother is yelling at the younger kids running around.”
“Do they still have those long, twisty Japanese cucumbers, or are they done for the year?”
“I don’t see any, but they have a lot of chard. Did you really call me for a chard recipe, or did you just want to talk to me?”
I smiled. “Since you asked me out on a phone date and everything, I’ll confess that I really just wanted to talk to you. Though if you have any good chard recipes, I’ll take those too. I never know what to do with chard.”
“Text me your email when we’re done and I’ll send you some. I’m glad you called. And not just about the chard.”
“I’m glad I called too.”
“Hey, Kelsey?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me about the market there. What do you see?”
I leaned back and looked around. “Well, the downtown farmers’ market is really more like a street fair. The really good one for produce is at the civic center on Sunday, but I wanted to stop by on the way home since I had to be in the city for work today.”
“And what did you do at work?”
“Told my boss that I probably shouldn’t review Mesa because I knew the chef.”
“In the biblical sense,” he mumbled. “We need a review from your magazine though. We haven’t gotten one yet.”
“How about a profile? I could write one that would be more personal about why you came to the Central Coast. With a profile you could promote the restaurant, and a personal connection wouldn’t be a big deal.”
“Uh…” He mumbled something under his breath. “Yeah. I’m sure we can work something out. What else do you see?”
I scanned the crowds. “It’s pretty busy, though it’s not as bad as during tourist season. The music is really good tonight actually. I don’t know if you can hear it or not.”
“No, I mostly hear voices.”
“Well, it’s not always good, but it is tonight. There’s a very strange man in a rainbow costume juggling right across the street from me. I don’t think he’s a street performer, per se, he just appears to be a weird guy juggling in a rainbow costume.”
“I mean, if you’re going to juggle…”
“Why not a rainbow costume? Exactly.” I got a familiar whiff. “Also, it’s Marin County, so there’s sort of the pervasive eau de old hippie permeating the air.”
He chuckled. “Really? And what does eau de old hippie smell like?”
“It varies, but it tends to be a combination of incense, brewer’s yeast, and pot smoke. You get used to it when you live here. It tends to concentrate at street fairs and music festivals.”
Oskar was laughing his ass off. He’d said his sister lived here, but I was guessing she shopped at the fancy markets and not the street fair.
“I can see how you wouldn’t want to miss out on that.” He was still laughing a little. “The market here just smells like vegetables and barbecue. Well, the fog is sort of coming in now, so it smells a little like the ocean too.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?”
His voice got lower. “I can think of a few places I’d like to rub you, but I don’t think you’d be complaining about it.”
I didn’t want to blush again, so I tried to play it off. “Chef Olson, I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, but this is only our first phone date. Don’t get fresh.”
Fresh? Was I suddenly channeling a 1940s housewife?
“Very funny.” His voice was still low. “I’ve dreamed about you ever since Sunday night, you know. I can’t stop thinking about you in my bed. And in my kitchen.”
I hesitated for a minute before responding. “I’ve dreamed about you too.” I had completely lost my appetite for food, so I set my curry to the side and clutched an arm around my midsection as I leaned into the phone. “This is… intense.”
“Is that bad?”
“You tell me.”
I dimly registered the background noise and the sounds of people walking and talking all around me, but my focus was on the deep voice on the other end of the call.
“It’s not bad,” he said. “Trust me, it’s anything but bad.”
Oskarand I kept talking for about an hour.
There was a local Elvis impersonator wandering around and an old man with a sketch pad drew my portrait while I was on the phone and then promptly handed it to me and walked away. Oskar made me promise I would mail it to him, and I made him ask a stranger to take his picture so he could send it to me.
When I got the picture on my phone, I forced myself not to giggle at how cute he looked. He was wearing jeans, a dark grey V-neck T-shirt, and an embarrassed expression. There were three little kids with grubby faces standing around him and staring up as he crossed his arms and smiled for the camera.
He tried to get me to send him one, but there was no way I was handing my phone to one of the random teenagers who had congregated around me. The sun had gone down, and the night was getting cool.
“I’m headed back to my car.”
“It’s getting late.”
“It is.” I paused as I tossed what remained of my curry in the compost bin. “I had a really good time on our phone date. Thanks for asking me.”
“When are you coming back down the coast?” It sounded like he was walking too. “Get used to me asking that from now on, all right?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know. When are you coming up to Marin?”
His voice was suddenly serious. “Are you inviting me to Marin?”
Was I? Was it too soon for weekend visits? I felt a hint of panic grab my throat.
“Kelsey?” Oskar’s voice was firm as he waited for my answer.
“Yes,” I blurted out before I could think too much. “I am inviting you to Marin.”
I heard him take a deep breath and let it out. “Good. I’ll see what I can do.”
All of a sudden I got nervous, like I had started rolling down a hill and I wasn’t going to be able to stop even if I tried. “I’m at my car. I better say good night.”
His voice was soft in my ear. “I feel like a bit of a jerk. I can’t even give you a chaste kiss at the end of our first phone date. I bet your lips taste all spicy and sweet from that curry.”
And I was smiling again. “Chef, I’m sure my lips are spicy, but there is nothing chaste about the way you kiss me. Good night.”
I hung up, put my phone away, and got into the car, throwing my bag of produce, including the chard, and the picture the old man had drawn over on the passenger seat. I grabbed the sketch and took a moment to smooth it out and look at it. The artist was really good. He’d drawn me with the phone up to my ear, my hair looked like it was flipping in the breeze, and a smile lit my face.
He had made me beautiful.
I started the car and waited for the traffic to clear a little before I pulled out. I rolled down my window, and the voice of the Elvis impersonator drifted over from the corner, warning me that fools rush in.