Fifteen
FIFTEEN
Mia
LATER THAT AFTERNOON , with my stress levels through the roof and a restaurant reopening staring me in the face, I did what any self-respecting chef would do. I went shopping.
Not clothes shopping, or jewelry or electronics or any of the other retail therapy items that people who didn’t cook for a living might have gone shopping for, mind you. Instead, I made a beeline for my favorite specialty food shop in Midtown. The owner knew me by name and greeted me warmly, immediately falling into a conversation about some of the unusual produce items she’d sourced since I’d last been there.
As I’d hoped, she had both bottled bergamot orange juice and dried bergamot peel in stock. An idea had struck me earlier as I was wandering around the empty house at loose ends, and now I marched purposely up and down the aisles, grabbing anything that looked interesting as I continued my conversation with Zohra over the shelves.
“You’re reopening soon, then?” she called.
“We hope so,” I told her, grabbing a fresh coconut in addition to a couple of cans of coconut cream. “I want to freshen up the menu, though. Give it a bit of a boost.”
Zohra laughed melodically. “My dear, you already have one of the highest accolades it’s possible for a restaurant to get! I don’t think you need to worry.”
I winced internally at the reminder that I probably wouldn’t have that accolade for much longer. “Well, it doesn’t do to get complacent,” I said, forcing a smile as I hauled everything up to the checkout counter.
She smiled. “No, I don’t suppose it does. Here, let me ring you up.”
After a stop at the local fish market, I drove back to the house and set up shop in the kitchen. Princess took about thirty seconds to appear once I unpacked the sea bream, hopping onto her accustomed perch on the counter.
I shooed her off. “Nope. Not today, girl. Chef at work.”
She let out a meow that couldn’t have been more pitiful if I’d told her that workers at every cat food factory in the nation had gone on strike.
I grabbed a paper towel and some sanitizer, quickly swiping up the stray cat hair.
“Be good, and I’ll make it worth your while,” I told her.
Her tail twitched, but she didn’t immediately hop back up.
Setting to work, I fell into the familiar rhythm of measuring and chopping. I had a vision of the three dishes I wanted to create; it had come to me in a flash as I was missing the guys’ presence, and I just needed to expand on the details.
The others had taken Saturday off, at least partly in order to accommodate Nat’s visit. But after several days spent in the heat nest, and a few more recovering afterward, they were so far behind with work at the Hope Project that it wasn’t funny. They were there today, playing catch-up.
I’d been hoping they wouldn’t go overboard by staying ridiculously late, and happily, they didn’t. It was about six-thirty when I heard vehicles pulling into the driveway. A couple of minutes later, the connecting door to the garage opened, followed by footsteps and the sound of low conversation.
“Hi,” I called, loud enough to reach them. “Come to the kitchen when you get a chance—I need lab rats!”
The conversation paused. A moment later, Luca poked his head through the doorway. “Does it involve food?” he asked.
I gestured grandly to the breakfast bar, which was now loaded with plates and bowls. “Of course it involves food. Haven’t you heard? I’m, like, a famous chef or something.”
Luca laughed and came inside, plopping himself down on a stool. “One lab rat reporting for duty.”
I was glad to see him feeling more himself. Of course, he’d said all along that getting back to normality and his work at the Project was what he needed.
The others trooped in behind him, sniffing the air.
“I doubt the general population of lab rats is nearly this well-fed,” Zalen said, setting his briefcase down in an out-of-the-way corner. He quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of spices and ingredients, by the way.”
I hid my smile, only giving him a noncommittal hum in reply.
Luca’s nostrils flared. “Mia, did you make food that smells like the alphas? Because that’s both incredibly sweet and a tiny bit cringe.”
Byron snorted.
“I did,” I admitted. “And it’s only cringey if you know them. I needed some inspiration for new menu dishes at the Elderflower Inn. This was what inspired me. Deal with it.” I stuck my tongue out at Luca.
He fought a grin, the dimple on the left side of his mouth giving him away. “All right, then. I guess I won’t snitch to the customers as long as you’re nice to me.”
“Ooh, blackmail,” I said, my eyes wide and innocent. “Anyway, grab a plate and bowl. Dessert’s not done yet, but we have appetizers and a main course.”
I watched with satisfaction as the four men eagerly loaded up plates of tapas and took bowls of curry. I’d been tasting liberally as I went along, so rather than join them, I watched from the sidelines.
Luca bit into one of the appetizers. “Huh,” he said, chewing and swallowing. “It’s Byron, only he’s been turned into an extremely tiny pizza round.”
“Delicious,” Byron put in, eating one whole.
“Spanish-style mini pizza bites with sliced fennel and aniseed,” I said grandly. “Twelve ninety-five for a plate of four. I’m debating including a dipping sauce.”
“Doesn’t need one,” Emiel said, taking a second pizza round.
“I agree,” Zalen put in. “It would only smother poor Byron’s delicate aroma.”
Byron casually flipped him off behind Luca’s back, and immediately picked up another mini-pizza.
“Noted,” I said, inordinately pleased.
It took a surprisingly short time for the little pizzas to disappear, after which, the boys turned their attention to the main course.
“Thai-style coconut-lime drunken porgy,” I announced. “And coconut-lime drunken lion’s mane mushrooms for Zalen. Twenty-two ninety-five per bowl. There’s French bread for dipping, but that part’s store-bought.”
Princess, who’d been watching the entire process avidly, meowed at us.
“The porgy, at least, gets Princess’s seal of approval,” I told them. “Yes, Emiel, I had to bribe your cat to stay off the counter with expensive imported fish.”
“She’s worth it,” Emiel said, making my heart melt all over again.
“Of course she is,” Luca agreed. “Besides, you need someone for quality control when it comes to fish, right?”
Princess meeped in agreement.
I pointed a finger at her. “Don’t expect a job at the restaurant, you hear me? We only just got the health department off our backs.”
“Mia, this is amazing,” Zalen said. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m biased toward lime and coconut. What’s the drunken part in this? I don’t recognize the taste.”
“Sang Som,” I told him. “They call it Thai whiskey, but it’s actually rum. Bit of a specialty item in this part of the world, but I know someone who knows someone.”
Silence fell, broken only by the scrape of spoons in bowls. I took the opportunity to check on my cakes in the oven. Those were going to be a bit more fiddly than the other dishes had been. While the guys worked their way through firsts and seconds on the curry, I pulled them out and checked the doneness with a toothpick.
“Is that my dessert?” Emiel asked shyly, turning to watch.
“It is,” I told him. “Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure my initial idea for it is going to work. But I’ll get it right one way or another, even if it takes a few attempts.”
I tested the temperature of the sauce I had warming on the stovetop, wanting to make sure it wasn’t too hot for the makeshift pastry bag I’d be using.
Emiel cleared his throat. “Wanted you to know that I emailed that place in Frontenac I told you about. Would’ve called them, but the office is closed on Sunday.”
I paused, turning to face him directly, a huge smile on my face. “That’s great, Emiel. Remember what I said, though. If it doesn’t feel right, try someone else. It needs to be a good fit.”
The others watched the exchange curiously.
“This place,” Luca said cautiously. “Is it...” He trailed off, clearly unsure if Emiel would want him to blurt out that he was getting counseling.”
“It’s a mental health place,” Emiel said. “A few LCSWs and a couple of licensed psychologists. Supposed to be real good at it... I can give you the website if you want.”
Zalen and Byron appeared to be in shock, both poised with spoons half-raised to their lips. Luca chewed his lower lip for a moment, hesitating.
“Yeah,” he said eventually. “I’d like that.”
I saw the other two alphas exchange a glance—one that clearly said, ‘ Are you hearing what I’m hearing? ’
Emiel didn’t miss it either. He took a deep, steadying breath. “Look... I’m sorry I dragged y’all into my shit. I didn’t mean to. Didn’t really think you’d come after me, if I’m being honest. But... I’m gonna try and get some help. Luca and Mia talked me into it.”
Byron still appeared dumbstruck.
Zalen recovered quicker. “Emiel, I think that’s fantastic. But you should know that we’ll always come for you. No matter what.”
“Damn right,” Luca muttered.
“Thirded,” I said.
There was a pause. Then Byron spoke, not looking at the rest of us. “You know I always get roped into this shit right along with the rest of them.”
Emiel’s eyes darted away from us, and he suddenly looked highly uncomfortable. “Yeah. Um... sorry. I need to...”
He slid off his stool, gaze flying to the room’s exit like it was a lifeline.
“Go on,” I said quietly. “I’ll bring you up one of the cakes in a little bit. Okay?”
He gave a quick, tight nod and escaped out of the kitchen, Princess shadowing him as usual. Silence settled in his wake.
“Thank you for talking him into that, you two,” Zalen said. “It’s overdue, and very welcome news at this point. Now, did someone say something about cake?”
I shook myself free of my temporary paralysis and nodded. “Yup. Just give me a few more minutes to add the finishing touches.”
All in all, the cake experiment ended up going better than I’d feared it might. After piping the hot fudge sauce into the centers of the individually sized cakes, I topped them with cinnamon buttercream frosting and plated them.
“Here we go,” I said, placing them in front of my appreciative audience. “Cinnamon-bergamot lava cake. Eight ninety-five per plate. Normally, lava cake is simply a regular cake that’s undercooked, so the center is still gooey. I’m cheating a bit with these, since I wanted a different flavor for the lava.”
This one, I hadn’t tested for myself yet. I pulled my own plate toward me and cut into it with my fork, pleased with the way the chocolate lava oozed out of the surrounding layer of moist, bergamot olive oil cake. I sniffed, nodding in satisfaction as all three flavor components came through loud and clear. Taking a generous bite, I let the sharp citrus, warm spice, and gooey chocolate roll over my tongue.
Oh, yeah. Pretty sure I had a winner here.
Apparently, I wasn’t alone in that opinion. Luca delicately wrapped his lips around his fork and slid the tines free. Almost immediately, his eyes rolled back, and a positively obscene moan rumbled free of his throat. He chewed and swallowed, his eyes slipping closed.
“Oh, my god , Mia,” he said. “I think I just came.”
Zalen, Byron, and I all stared at him. Instantly, the subtle cloud of pheromones that always surrounded us sharpened. Luca’s eyes flew open. A pink flush colored his pale cheeks as he realized what he’d just said—and more importantly, how he’d said it.
“Um...” I managed, suddenly aware that my body had just lifted its post-heat moratorium on horniness.
“Sorry,” Luca squeaked. “I meant... it’s really good? And you should probably charge more.”
“Agreed,” Zalen said. “On both counts.” He stoically went back to his dessert, but there was no hiding the way his tropical scent had grown richer.
In a surprise to precisely no one, Byron was not so quick to let it go. “Yes, you’ve captured our housemate’s flavor profile admirably, while somehow making it about a hundred times more fun than he is. Luca? We’re going upstairs now.” He stood, ignoring Luca’s protest as he neatly grabbed both his half-finished cake plate and Luca’s. “Mia, take Muhammad Ali’s dessert up to him and join us in my room afterward.” His cool gray gaze pinned mine. “Bring your leftovers when you come.”