15. Walter
Walter
TWO YEARS AND THREE MONTHS AGO
NEW YORK—It wasn’t the first interview Walter had bombed, but the feeling never got more pleasant.
And considering how many strings he’d pulled to get a sit-down with the hottest chef in New York, returning to the office empty-handed was not an option.
Although if worse came to worst, they could run a photo spread instead, since Stellan Cubillo’s reputation for hotness seemed to owe as much to the young Swedish-Spanish chef’s looks as it did to his cooking.
You’d think a celebrity patissier who was also one of the town’s most eligible bachelors would be primed to talk about his process, his vision, his fitness regimen, what he had for breakfast, and so on.
Unfortunately, Stellan appeared to be the tortured-artist type, who preferred to keep his thoughts to himself.
Walter pitched him a softball about learning to cook in his grandmother’s kitchen—a subject on which he had written an entire cookbook—and all he got was a mumbled, “She was a special woman.”
Okay, then. Another few minutes of this and they’d be reduced to playing word association games. Walter looked down at his notebook, hoping for inspiration. So far he’d written the date and the location.
The door to the kitchen swung open, bringing the welcome promise of an interruption.
“There you are!”
Walter stiffened at the sound of Hildy’s voice. By the time he turned his head, she’d swept across the room like a miniature tornado, making a beeline for Stellan. If the trailing edge of her presence was enough to make Walter unsteady, he could hardly blame the chef for looking dazed.
“I’m Hildy,” she said, arm extended.
“Enchanted,” Stellan murmured. Was he playing up the accent, or had he just been too monosyllabic for it to register before?
“What are you doing here?” Walter asked Hildy, when it looked like the chef was going to keep holding her hand indefinitely.
“Did you think I’d let you tackle something this important alone? Don’t be silly.” She extricated herself from Stellan’s grip, using that hand to boop Walter on the nose.
They absolutely were not on booping terms, but since when did Hildy care about boundaries? She looked delighted with herself for making Walter scowl.
“The two of you are together?” Stellan asked, not bothering to mask his disappointment.
Hildy gave an understanding nod. “It surprises a lot of people. We’ve got sort of a grumpy-sunshine thing going.” She waggled the fingers of her left hand. “I thought we might be getting our hands dirty, so I didn’t wear my ring.”
She was an astonishingly smooth liar, as Walter knew better than most.
“Scoot.” After knocking him out of the way with a swing of her hips, Hildy propped her elbows on the counter. “What did I miss? Are we sampling yet?”
“I would be happy to feed you,” the chef rumbled. “Perhaps a coffee first?”
Funny. He hadn’t offered Walter a beverage.
Hildy gave a gasp of delight. “I’d love to try your coffee.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Walter feigned concern. “You know how you get.”
“I think I’m capable of choosing what I put into my body,” she replied, with equally false sweetness.
After an appreciative look at the body in question, Stellan busied himself with the espresso machine. As soon as his back was turned, Walter widened his eyes at Hildy, who narrowed hers back at him.
“Mmmm,” she sighed at the first sip from the tiny white cup. It was an annoyingly over-the-top reaction that nevertheless managed to spike Walter’s pulse. “Could you get a coffee flavor this rich in a cake?”
“I have, yes. But it was not easy.” As if she’d flipped his talkative switch, suddenly Stellan was Mr. Chatty, telling Hildy all about his experiments with roasting his own beans, complete with detailed descriptions of the different flavor profiles, processing methods, tips for proper storage …
Walter’s eyes were starting to glaze over when Stellan switched tacks.
“It is a dream of mine to visit the places the beans are grown.”
“I would love that,” Hildy said at once. “Waking up with the sunrise and watching the mist burn off the distant peaks, surrounded by nature.”
Walter snorted, doing his best to pass it off as a cough. He could tell from Stellan’s rapt expression that he was imagining cozy campfire scenarios with Hildy, whose yearbook superlative had probably been “Least Likely to Rough It.”
“How long have you been engaged?” Stellan asked, a furrow forming above his dramatic nose.
“Oh goodness.” Hildy pretended to think it over. “It feels like an eternity. And then some.”
“I thought it must be a long time,” the chef said. “Because you are not very physical together.”
“That’s Walter,” Hildy said at once. “He’s extremely buttoned up. I have to rein myself in, bring it down to his level.”
“That must be difficult.” Stellan’s eyelids seemed to be getting heavier by the second. Maybe he needed a coffee too, before he smoldered himself into a pile of ashes.
“Watch this,” Hildy instructed, before swooping in to press a quick kiss against Walter’s cheek. “Did you see that flinch? For one little kiss on the cheek?”
“I didn’t flinch.” Walter wondered how Hildy would react if he kissed her out of the blue. Maybe somewhere other than her cheek.
“It looked like a flinch to me,” Stellan said.
“Enough about him. Tell me about you.” Hildy gazed at Stellan as if he was the star attraction in a sculpture gallery. “How did you get into the wedding cake business?”
“My sisters,” the chef confided, with none of the reluctance he’d shown Walter.
“I have four, and for each wedding, they asked me to bake the cake. If you have sisters, you know it must be a different cake every time. I asked myself, what cake is the essence of Marie, and Birgitta, and Lola, and Ebba. Everyone wants a cake just for them, yes?”
Hildy nodded as if he’d said something profound. “The universal desire to be seen.”
“But make it cake,” Walter muttered. Hildy patted him between the shoulder blades as if she was burping an infant, a there there that felt more like shut up. He took the opportunity to snake an arm around her waist, tugging her close. Purely for revenge purposes.
Hildy stiffened for an instant before registering Stellan’s attention—at which point she melted against Walter’s side, resting her head on his shoulder.
A timer sounded, and Stellan excused himself.
“Stop touching my stomach,” Hildy hissed.
“Oh, so you’re allowed to poke me in the nose, but I can’t lightly rest my hand on your abdomen?”
“That’s where all my vital organs are. Have you ever met a cat? You’re lucky you still have two arms.” She beamed as the chef rejoined them, twisting free of Walter’s grip under the guise of examining the plate in Stellan’s hand. “What do we have here?”
“This is a fig and cardamom cake. You know what they say about figs?”
“We both know,” Walter interjected. Not that either of them paid any attention to him.
Hildy rocked forward on the balls of her feet, staring at the cake like she was ready to dive in.
Stellan sliced a thin wedge, the knife sinking into the golden sponge. “Do you want to feed each other?” he asked Hildy. “You can use the fingers if you like. To me, food is an experience of the whole body, not just mouth or tongue.”
“I think probably a fork. Walter’s kind of a germaphobe.”
“What will you do at the wedding?” Stellan asked him.
“Great question.” Hildy nodded her approval. “What do you think, Walter? You would never smash a dessert this magnificent in my face, would you?”
“It’s cake,” Walter reminded her. “Not a Ming vase.”
“You see what I’m dealing with?” Hildy stage-whispered.
Stellan smiled in understanding. “Please. Allow me.” He sliced off a bite of cake with the side of the fork before holding it out to Hildy.
“Aw, that’s so sweet of you!” She leaned over the counter, mouth open. As her lips closed around the fork, her eyes drifted shut.
Walter aggressively cleared his throat when the chef’s gaze strayed to the neckline of Hildy’s blouse.
“I think I just died and came back to life. You’re not just an artist,” a wide-eyed Hildy told Stellan. “You’re a wizard.”
The chef inclined his head, accepting this as his due.
“Now I’m even more curious.” She lowered her voice like she was about to confess her deepest secret. “What kind of cake would you make for us?”
“For you, the richest dark chocolate with a hint of spice,” he told Hildy. “And for him, something astringent and dry.”
“Like arsenic?” Hildy pressed her hands to Walter’s cheeks, squeezing his face into a pout. “Kidding! Though I have always wanted to try the hot young widow aesthetic.” She took the fork from Stellan, helping herself to another bite without offering any to Walter.
The chef brought out more cakes for Hildy to taste, followed by an array of ganaches and glazes. From his preening, you would have thought he was a panther dragging carcasses back to his lair to impress a mate, instead of a guy whose main weapon was a stand mixer.
“Do you think you’ll make your own cake?” Hildy asked, setting down her fork. “When you get married.”
“Who can say? Alone, I am only half the flavors.” Stellan cast a pained look at the window, showing off his profile.
“Have you ever been tempted? By marriage, I mean?”
Even Walter couldn’t tell whether Hildy’s question was part of the interview or driven by personal interest.
“I have yet to meet the right woman. Or when I do, it’s too late.” His gaze flicked to Hildy.
Subtle, Walter thought.
“You never know,” she said, consolingly. “Life is full of twists and turns.”
“I hope so,” Stellan agreed. He jotted something on a slip of paper, sliding it across the counter. “Give me a call if you have more questions … or want to try something new. I make a very good breakfast,” he added, in case anyone had missed the insinuation slithering through the room.
“Thank you.” She tucked his number into her purse.
“You have something, just there,” the chef said, not quite touching her face. “May I?”
She lifted her chin, and Stellan gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth with his thumb.
“Caramel,” he reported, after licking his finger.
“I think we’re done here.” Walter grabbed Hildy by the elbow. “Thank you for a fascinating morning.”
“Until next time,” Hildy called over her shoulder, allowing Walter to herd her to the door.
“What the hell was that?” he asked when they were outside.
“Which part? When I saved your cratering interview?”
“Yes, I’m sure you had my best interests at heart.” Although it was true that he’d gotten more out of Stellan with Hildy than without her. “I’m not sure I want to give the guy more publicity.”
“Go ahead and walk away. I’ll be happy to take over.”
“I bet he’d love that.”
“What can I say? He has good taste.”
“How is it tasteful to proposition someone’s fiancée while he’s standing right there?”
“Oh please. Anyone with half a brain could see our issues from space.” Hildy pulled out a lip gloss, reapplying without a mirror before popping an Altoid. “He knows we’re never going to make it to the altar.”