Chapter Ten
Nick
We enter Café Brad. I escort Bethany to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant. Stainless-steel appliances and a gleaming prep counter stand at the ready, waiting for me to whip up a meal for my gorgeous, hungry date.
“Have a seat,” I say as I remove the white chef jacket that I wore to class. I’m much more comfortable in my black T-shirt, plus the jacket is still a little damp. Knowing that Bethany is also wearing damp clothes, I stride over to the thermostat and crank up the heat. I’ll probably regret doing this later, but right now it will help dry us out.
Bethany perches herself on a stool next to the prep counter. Her hair is a frizzy mess after getting drenched in our unexpected shower. It looks disheveled, yet sexy. She’s wearing a turquoise V-neck blouse that provides a hint of cleavage, making it even more alluring than a more revealing top. Her tight blue jeans hug her lush curves, giving me quite the distraction. Focus on cooking, Nick!
“What are you making?” she asks. The delight over me cooking for her is evident on her face and in her voice. Bethany’s unabashed staring strokes my ego. I love to show off my culinary skills to an appreciative audience, and what a lovely audience I have tonight. She watches my every move as I pull out pans and collect ingredients from the massive fridge.
Joining her back at the prep counter, I quip a response to her question. “For someone who eats peanut butter and jelly, I don’t have to aim too high to do better than that.”
My teasing comment has the intended result. Bethany blushes adorably, squirming a little in her chair.
“It’s all I had in my apartment.”
I chuckle at my cooking-challenged girlfriend. “You watch and guess what I’m preparing.”
She gives me a saucy grin, “I can do that.” She hesitates for a second, then adds, “Just so you know, I’m famished.” Her blush darkens at the admission.
A laugh rumbles out of my chest. This woman could charm an Eskimo into buying ice cubes.
“So, does that mean I need to make a large portion?”
Demurely putting her hands together, she says, “Yes, please.”
It’s refreshing to be with a woman who isn’t afraid to eat and doesn’t hide her appetite. As a chef, it’s deflating to be out on a date and my companion orders a boring lettuce salad, then only eats a few bites.
I work on prepping our food while Bethany watches intently. It’s fun to have an adoring audience.
As my creation starts to take shape, Bethany gets up and strolls over to join me at the stove. She whispers in my ear, “Is it a type of grilled cheese sandwich?”
Loving her intuitive comment, I reply, “It’s a Monte Cristo sandwich, to be precise. Notice how I’ve stacked ham, turkey and Swiss cheese between two slices of bread—in this case I’m using Brad’s homemade wheat loaf.” A radiant smile crosses her face when I mention the homemade bread.
I continue to narrate what I’m doing, “You dip it in an egg white mixture, so it browns nicely.” After that step, I slap the sandwich on the hot griddle, and it starts to sizzle. “The traditional Monte Cristo is usually fried to make it a golden brown. Rather than deep frying, I’m going to grill this bad boy because it’s a much healthier option.”
Bethany snorts. “Right. Because obviously that stack of meat and cheese add zero calories.”
I elbow her in the ribs and she laughs. “Okay, you got me. I’m using the grill because I don’t want to mess with the deep fryer.”
The aroma of toasted bread and melted cheese fills the air. “Smells yummy!” she says, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
I’ve got to admit, it does smell delicious.
Pulling out two square white plates, I slide a plump sandwich onto each plate, plus a dill pickle slice and a handful of Brad’s famous kettle chips. Melted cheese spills out from the toasty brown sandwich—it’s going to be a gooey, tasty treat. A squirt of honey mustard on the side finishes the plate.
“Voilà!” I say, handing her one of the plates.
We sit at one of the cozy two-person tables in the empty dining room. Light from the kitchen and the street is just enough to see what we’re doing and provide a romantic vibe.
Bethany picks up her sandwich with both hands and takes a big bite, chews, then closes her eyes and groans. “This is so good, Nick.” She licks her fingers to get every morsel.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I manage to croak out, amused and distracted by her over-the-top enjoyment. What if she made noises like that when I’m kissing her? Not going there...
Giggling, Bethany adds, “Enjoying isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth!” She takes another bite, chews, then meticulously licks each finger. Pausing halfway through her clean-up, she arches an eyebrow. “I should probably use a napkin, eh?”
Barking out a laugh, I hand her one. She turns an adorable pink from the part in her hair to the neckline of her blouse. Waving her hand in a dismissive motion, she adds, “I’m sorry I’m acting like a Neanderthal, but your sandwich is to die for.”
“Yes, I get the picture.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
Her eyes lock with mine and her pink skin darkens to a beet red color. Time hangs between us for several seconds as we both ponder what just happened. While innocent at first, I think both our thoughts strayed into PG-13 territory. Better change the subject, I’ve embarrassed my lovely date enough.
“I’m not heading up to Cold Spring until Friday. I have meetings with my cookbook publisher on Wednesday, but we could do something on Thursday.”
Her eyes widen. “So, we’re dating?” she blurts out.
My heart sinks. Considering how I just embarrassed her, maybe she’s going to turn me down. “Yes...if you’ll have me.”
She tosses me a shy smile. “I get off around five. Would that work?”
A grin splits my face as I imagine Bethany in her classroom with her students. “I’d love to see you in action with your kindergarteners. How about I come early and then we can go straight from your school to dinner? There’s another up-and-coming restaurant I want to take you to.”
Chewing on the last bite of her sandwich, Bethany nods her head, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She swallows, then issues a caution, “Wear old clothes because the kids can be kind-of messy.”
Reaching for her hand, I tug her into a slow kiss, the one I’ve been dying to give her ever since we arrived. When our lips meet, I deepen the kiss, showing her exactly how I feel about her. Unfortunately, with the table wedged between us, the position is awkward and not conducive to lingering.
She pulls back first, ending the kiss. Her eyes widen and she puts her hand to her lips, looking at me with such intensity that I feel it all the way to my toes. Clearing her throat, she looks down at the table and says, “I’m not looking for a fling, Nick.” Her voice rings with regret.
“Bethany, I want to get to know you and see where this leads. Does that work for you?”
Her eyes rotate back to mine. “That’s perfect.” She stands and extends her hand.
The statement warms my heart, and I grasp her proffered fingers. Bethany Bacon Hunt is quickly becoming important to me. We fit together, she’s a part of me that I didn’t even know was missing until I met her.
“I’ll help clean up the kitchen, then I better get home. Tomorrow is the egg carton art project, so I’ve got to get all my eggs in a row.” She cackles at her own joke.
Cocking an eyebrow, I say, “The egg carton art project?”
Squeezing my upper arm, she says, “You’ll get to see them when you come to pick me up tomorrow.”
Crazy at it sounds, I can’t wait.