6. Brie
“Well?” I asked my dad. He stood in the center of the main space, hands on his hips, turning a slow circle.
Honestly, it wasn’t pretty. Thanks to nearly a year of inoccupancy, grime coated every surface. The kitchen and corners of the dining space had clearly played host to numerous rodents, if the detritus and feces were any indication. The windows were boarded up, forcing us to illuminate the space with the flashlights on our phones. The appliances were outdated, the layout was all wrong, and the bathrooms weren’t handicap accessible.
But the bones were good, and if I closed my eyes—and didn’t inhale too deeply; the smell was absolutely awful, even through the N95 mask my dad insisted I wear—I could see it all so clearly.
I’d been keeping a secret Pinterest board of ideas since I was eighteen, honing my recipes for even longer than that, and I was ready to make my dreams a reality.
“You weren’t joking about it needing work,” he said at last.
“Daddy,” I sighed.
“Honestly, sweets?”
“Yeah, honestly . What do you think?”
“I think once Jay works his magic, it’ll be perfect. I know we don’t have a lot of time before you leave, but maybe we can—”
I held up a hand to stop him. “No. It’s the holiday season, and I’m sure all his kids are home to celebrate. We’ll bother him after the first of the year.”
“But you’ll be back in Chicago by then.”
“I know you’re old and everything, but even you’ve heard of cell phones and email.”
My dad hooked his arm around my neck and hauled me into his side, ruffling my hair. “You little shit,” he said.
“A little shit with a storefront for her bakery?” I quipped hopefully.
My dad held me at arm’s length, his pine green eyes, so like my own, darting across my face. “You sure this is what you want?”
I nodded emphatically. “It’s exactly what I want.”
“Then it’s yours.”
When we returned home, Mom and my sisters were in the great room, reruns of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills serving as background noise while they gossiped.
“Where have you two been?” Mom asked when we came in.
“Just went for a drive,” Dad shrugged, crossing to drop a kiss to Mom’s cheek. “What’s for dinner?”
“Well, since it’s Amara’s last night in town for too long,” she sniffed back tears at the thought of her daughter leaving so soon, “I wanted to do something special.”
“We’ve got something else to celebrate too.” Dad’s eyes sparkled with delight as he yielded the floor to me.
Mom glanced suspiciously at us. “Oh? ”
“You know that vacant storefront on Main?”
“The one a few doors up from Blossom’s?” Ella asked.
“That’s the one.” I grinned at Dad then gestured between us. “You’re looking at the new owners.”
Mom’s brows slammed together in confusion. “You bought a building without asking me?”
“Lena,” my father groaned. “It’s not for me or for us. It’s for Brie.”
Suddenly, six pairs of eyes landed on me. “We bought it for my bakery,” I said proudly.
The room exploded, the voices of my five favorite women twisting together and rising in volume as they tried to speak over one another. Finally, my dad took pity on me and shouted, “Hey!”
The riot ceased immediately, and my mom and sisters grinned at me sheepishly.
“Sorry, honey,” Mom said.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “But yes, we bought the building for my bakery. Dad is going to hire Jay Daniels to renovate it while I’m finishing up my apprenticeship. Then, next summer, I’ll move home and officially open the shop.”
“Oh, that’s just the best news!” Mom crowed, coming over to wrap me in a tight hug. My sisters joined in, and soon, the entire Delatou family stood in the middle of the great room, our limbs tangled together as they congratulated me.
“Well then,” Mom said when she pulled away. “Even more reason to head down to the winery for dinner.”
“You know I’ll never turn down a meal at the winery,” I said with a broad smile, and my sisters nodded their agreements. “ Speaking of, how’s that new chef working out? Should I actually be looking forward to this? Is he even still around?”
I hadn’t been home since I’d left for Chicago at the end of June, and while I’d secretly been dying every day to ask about Ezra, I knew if I showed even a modicum of interest, my sisters would latch onto the knowledge like I was about to marry the guy.
We’d only met once, and while it had certainly left its mark on me, I doubted the same could be said for Ezra. I needed to temper my expectations.
“Oh, no, he’s still around,” Chloe said pointedly then glanced at my sisters, and they all shared a giggle.
My brows pinched together. “Okay? So how is he?”
“He’s…” Ella started, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows, revealing her forearms, which held more tattoos than the last time I saw her. There was a blue butterfly right below the crook of her left arm and a random scrawl of words across her right that I couldn’t read from across the room.
She trailed off, once again looking at Chloe and Delia.
“He’s what?” I asked, tone laced with annoyance. This beating around the bush was really starting to irk me. I hated being left out of the loop. It happened all too frequently, and though we were close in age, it didn’t negate my insecurities over being the baby and the odd man out.
Delia closed her eyes and sighed then popped them open and leveled that whiskey gaze on me. Mischief glinted in their depths, and I already had a bad feeling about where this was headed. “You’ll see.”
The realization struck me then .
I’d never told them, and Mom and Dad must not have either.
My sisters had no idea I’d already met the infamous Chef Ezra Wendt.
And honestly? That was for the best.
By the time we were seated at dinner, my skin hummed with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see what all the fuss for this man was about. Was he the second coming of Gordon Ramsay or something? The next Bobby Flay?
I knew filling Roscoe’s shoes would be difficult but, according to Dad, Ezra Wendt had more than stepped up to the plate. He made a mean turkey club, but anyone could put together a sandwich. I guess I didn’t know him well enough to be falling at his feet like the rest of my family.
I only wanted to know him in…other ways.
And it was those sorts of thoughts that would get me in trouble.
The moment the appetizer round appeared at the table and I popped one of his stuffed mushrooms into my mouth, I was intrigued—okay, more than intrigued. It was different than I expected, somehow light despite the heavier flavor of the mushroom, complexly layered in a way that made it difficult for me to tease each ingredient of the filling out.
Cheese, obviously. Pecorino, if I had to guess, and I was rarely wrong. An interesting choice, given most people would’ve used Parmesan, but one I thoroughly appreciated. Bacon bits, sun-dried tomatoes, parsley, and …
I held the half-eaten mushroom in front of my face, squinting at it.
“Are there…pine nuts in here?” I asked my dad.
Dad let out a hearty laugh and clapped his hands together. “I’ve been trying to guess that for months ,” he explained. “I can’t wait to brag to Ez that my brilliant pastry chef daughter figured it out on the first try.”
I preened under Dad’s praise. This man may have made himself into some sort of legend around here, especially with my family, but I knew my stuff.
The main course was a religious experience. The moment the first bite of chicken ramen—a special seasonal offering Dad and Ezra had apparently decided to test out for the holidays—hit my taste buds, I moaned around my chopsticks.
Okay…this guy was good. Better than good, actually. I’d never been to Asia but had eaten at enough authentic Asian restaurants in my life to know the difference between someone who knew how to handle the ingredients and someone who didn’t.
Ezra Wendt fell into the former category.
Every bite was packed with flavor. The chicken was breaded and baked to perfection, juicy and expertly seasoned. The noodles were soft and hearty, the broth so heavenly, I wanted to swim in it. He’d also included a perfectly soft-boiled, teriyaki-marinated egg, shoots of baby bok choy, thinly sliced cabbage, and thick strips of brown sugar bacon. The entire production was a masterpiece, and I damn near cried when I slurped down the final spoonful of broth.
“My god,” I breathed as I set my chopsticks down and leaned back in my chair. “That was…”
“Just wait until you try his grilled cheese,” Dad said. “Absolutely life changing. The best I’ve ever had. Cal and I come here for lunch all the time just for that.”
Cal, also known as Calvin Ryder, was our Chief Financial Officer and my dad’s right-hand man. He’d come to work for us about two years ago and had quickly made himself indispensable.
“I haven’t had ramen that good since I lived in New York.”
“Sissy, we gotta get you to Asia to try the real thing,” Amara, the world-traveler of the family, said.
“Just say the word and I’m there, Mar,” I told her with a wink.
“We should all go!” Chloe chimed in.
“ Road trip! ” Delia shouted, emulating Margot, Elle Woods’ blonde friend in Legally Blonde .
My sisters and I doubled over in laughter, a highly unattractive snort leaving my lips the harder I laughed. I was bent at the waist and tilted to the side, and when I straightened, I found my gaze inexplicably drawn across the room, my attention locked on the man who had just appeared.
Somehow, the six months since I’d last seen him had done Ezra Wendt good . I’d found him attractive before, but now? The man was sex on a stick, like a piece of really good chocolate I wanted to unwrap and savor.
There was something different about him, and it only took me a moment to realize his eyes were brighter, less haunted than they had been the first time I’d met him.
I hated that I’d been paying close enough attention to recognize it now. My infatuation with the man was a recipe for disaster .
“Delatou family,” Ezra greeted us when he reached our table, his voice like a glass of ice water on a hot day the way it rolled over my body. “It’s good to see you all, though I believe there’s one of you I haven’t met?”
Amara stood and leaned over the table, extending her hand. “Amara,” she said, tone practically a purr. “Second oldest.”
“The one who lives in Europe, right?”
“That’s right,” Amara preened. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“Your parents are so proud of all five of you,” he said noncommittally. “Naturally, they talk about you a lot.”
Then, his eyes met mine. Something passed between us, and I suddenly wished to be anywhere but in front of my family for this little reunion.
“Brie,” Ezra said. “Good to see you again.”
“Wait,” Delia hissed. “You two have met?”
Ignoring her, I said to Ezra, “You as well.”
“You ready to bake for me?”
“Not wasting any time, huh? ”
Ezra shook his head, neither his stare nor his words wavering as he said, “I’ve been waiting for months.”
A shiver raced across my skin at the promise in that statement, and I found myself ready to clear my entire schedule to make time for him.
“How long are you in town?”
“Until the end of the week.”
“Can you come back tomorrow?”
Tomorrow was the day before New Year’s Eve, and I didn’t see any reason why I couldn’t spend the afternoon here, holed up in the kitchen with this gorgeous, insanely talented man.
“Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll come by tomorrow and bake for you if you promise to make me your signature dish.”
“Deal,” Ezra said quickly, and we grinned stupidly at each other for several beats too long before my father pulled him away with a question about a menu item.
Yeah, a menu question, even though the winery was about to close for the next three months. Dad couldn’t have been more obvious in wanting to get him away from me.
When I dropped into my seat again, I found all five sets of eyes belonging to Delatou women on me. Chloe leaned over and said, “What the hell just happened?”
Still mesmerized by the turn the evening had taken, I said quietly to my sister, “I have no idea, but I’m really looking forward to finding out.”