Chapter 22 #2
Stone’s tanned from all the ranch work he’s doing with Rome. From the worn cowboy hat I’m always picking up from the arm of the couch and hanging on the coatrack, he’s using it often, but it can’t compete with cloudless fall skies allowing the sun to beam down on him.
Even the sun has him in a spotlight , I muse as I trace his face with my eyes.
His scruff is lighter than his hair, rough and auburn streaked.
The lines on his face are more pronounced by the permanent layer of grit he can never seem to wash off completely.
Stone angles his head, focusing on the direction of the roller, and the carved structure of his face hits the overhead lights with breathtaking accuracy.
His clear eyes dart to mine, and there they stay as the roller moves over my breast. When he hits the peak of my nipple, Stone slows his movements, his brows furrowing in silent question.
My lips part. My eyes stay on his. When his free hand comes up and cups my other breast and he pulls me closer, my breath hitches.
Our lips are an inch apart. Stone’s head is at the perfect angle to seal his on mine. The roller moves, back and forth, against my breast as he massages the other, the varying sensations becoming too much.
I lift my hand to slap the roller out of his, grab the back of his neck, and kiss him until I can’t breathe, until we’re interrupted.
“You two ready to go? You’ll be late if you don’t hustle.”
Mrs. Stalinski hasn’t wandered all the way around the corner, giving us enough time to break apart and for Stone to shove the roller in my hand.
Jesus, who knew such a benign tool could be so stimulating.
I busy myself removing the rest of the hair since Stone did such a poor job by becoming so easily distracted by my breasts. Stone clears his throat.
“Just about ready. Noa said farewell to her cat by hugging him until he porcupined her with hair.”
Mrs. Stalinski nods her head with a smile as if she believes him, though when she gets to me, her eyes have a knowledgeable slant, like she knows what we are getting close to doing.
“Well, get on, then. Moo and I will entertain ourselves with a movie.”
“You’ll be all right?” I ask her, handing the roller to Stone, who deposits it in his bag.
“I’ll be fine,” Mrs. Stalinski assures. “I noticed the pills you left me if I need them and the plate of dinner I can warm up when I’m hungry.
I’ve also noted the fresh bath salts on the side of my tub and a wonderful new candle and headrest to go along with it.
” She pats my cheek as she passes me and makes herself comfortable on the couch.
“I am properly taken care of, my dear. You two go have fun.”
“If you’re sure,” I say to her, “because I’m here for you.”
Stone pauses in palming his keys from the side table.
The glance he sends my way is both sweet and uncomfortable.
It’s the type of loving gaze he used to give me during our post-coital glow, rested and content in each other’s arms. It communicates his gratitude for how I’m putting his mother first, but I shift on my feet, the similarities between our past innocence and our current grief hard to swallow.
We say our goodbyes and take Stone’s car into town. He’s not as lucky this time around and has to park around the block, but the short walk to the restaurant is nice and chilled.
The frosted air against my cheeks brings a smile to my face and I bite back a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Stone asks beside me.
“Oh, just remembering that one time your mother woke you up by tossing ice cubes in your face.”
“Ice cubes ? More like you two half-drowned me in a reverse Polar Plunge.”
That sends me into a fit of laughter. He lightly smiles my way. “Glad you enjoyed seeing me shrivel up so much, Lavender.”
“It wasn’t my idea, I swear. But I did kind of enjoy it.”
“I bet,” he says while he shakes his head.
We’re both smiling.
Both of us.
It’s how we are when we walk into Chef Toussaint’s kitchen, where he waits for us with folded arms and a frown.
“The last ones here again,” he says.
That promptly shuts me up. I hurry to our table, noting that we are one of three couples in the room. The younger, college-aged couple isn’t here.
“Is it just the three of us, then?” I ask while tying my apron.
Saint responds with a curt nod. “Claire and Graham have decided not to continue. Likely, the Neanderthal claiming you and storming off scared them off.”
“Let me see him try to touch you now,” Stone mutters beside me.
I elbow him to shut him up.
Saint stands in the middle of the kitchen, demanding our attention.
“Today, I’ll begin with a demonstration of how to create Choucroute Garnie à l’Alsacienne.
This is a true winter meal that can feed your family on the chilliest of days and keep their stomachs warm.
After that, we’ll dive into French desserts.
Specifically, crème br?lée. American Thanksgiving is next weekend and I consider it my civic duty to equip you with a true delicacy rather than that abomination you call pumpkin pie. ”
“I love pumpkin pie,” Stone obstinately states. He mirrors Saint’s folded arm stance while saying it.
Saint either doesn’t hear him or chooses not to care. He stalks to his chef’s station and prepares ingredients, talking over his chopping as he explains our steps.
Danny and Rad jump into action, cooking along with Saint and following him in real time. Stone notices them, too, and moves to catch up, but I lay a hand on his arm, stalling.
I want to watch everything first, take notes, and then begin.
I’ve been practicing the chef’s dishes every night when Stone and Mrs. Stalinski go to bed, and I’ve noticed I do better with all the steps laid out before me rather than jumping into it and learning as I go.
It’s a cautious gene, one I don’t believe I inherited from Mom and probably came from my father, who I never met.
Because of that, I’ve been nurturing it with pride.
It’s a special rarity when I notice similarities between my late father and myself.
Stone sees me pull out the notepad from my apron and watches with that eerily alert gaze of his, like he’s learning everything I know and mastered over the years in five minutes.
When Saint finishes his instructions, I start.
With renewed focus, it’s easy to delegate to Stone and organize our pantry items, produce, and meat.
Stone doesn’t question what I say, following my requests smoothly.
Soon, we’re moving in sync, passing each other what we need and moving at a nice clip.
“Behind,” he says as he walks around my back with a hot pan.
I meet his eye and smile, impressed at how quickly he’s picking up the lingo.
“Never thought I’d find myself in a professional kitchen,” he says while he sautés onions in goose fat.
I snort, reaching around him to add wine to his pan. “Yes, you’d get along really well with the kitchen staff.”
He peeks at me from the side and winks. “I’d get the job done.”
“To the terror of unsuspecting staff.”
Stone considers this. “True.”
Saint walks by, critiquing our preparations. “You’re not there yet, Noa. Before you finish, I recommend you visit Danny and Rad’s table. They’ve gently poached their sausages, whereas you have thrown yours directly into the pot where they will burst from the heat.”
“Don’t blame her,” Stone interjects. “That was my choice.”
Saint regards him with a flat gaze. “I consider your plates as a team, so your mistakes are hers and vice versa. Perhaps you should keep that in mind the next time you watch your teammate take down copious notes while you simply stand there watching everyone else attempt to learn.”
Stone’s expression goes flat as a shark’s. I lay a hand on his arm, hoping to cut off his retort.
“I told him to wait while I took down notes,” I defend, to my surprise. “He learns by observing. Always has.”
Saint didn’t expect my defense, either. His brows jump.
He takes a moment to study the two of us.
“While it’s admirable that you protect each other, that’s not what you’re here for, is it?
I’d prefer not to take part in whatever healing journey you two are on…
” Saint’s stare slides to the stockpot on the burner “… as my five-year-old daughter wouldn’t eat those potatoes even if her healing journey would take her to Disney world. ”
Stone idly follows Saint’s stare, then jumps to attention. “Fuck.”
I slide out of the way as Stone lifts with the overboiling pot like it weighs nothing, book-ending his curse with one of my own.
“Overcooked, mushy, and tasteless, I would venture to guess,” Saint muses before heading to the next table, where Mr. and Dr. Stanton wait patiently.
“I will kill him.”
“Shush, Stone, and give me the pot.”
Chest tight from another round of the chef’s criticisms, I devote myself to serious study for the rest of the evening. I don’t register Stone’s actions until he asks me for a spare pen.
“I only brought one. I didn’t think you’d want to write anything down.”
Unaffected, he strolls over to the Stanton’s station and asks for an extra pen, which Dr. Stanton is delighted to give him.
It’s his way, but I’m always amazed when I see people so easily sidle up and make conversation with those they don’t really know.
Stone has a talent I’ll never possess, an ability to get anyone on his side at the same time he can whither a person with a single glance, which I suppose is why so many have let him get away with so much.
When he says something that makes both Stantons laugh, I have to force myself back to the task at hand, otherwise I’d just keep staring at him.
I’m busy redoing the potatoes when Stone returns.
“The Stantons are safe,” he says to me. He places a wad of bar napkins on the table in front of him. “They mean well. It’s Danny and Rad we have to look out for.”
I risk a look at him, fighting a grin. “You felt it, too?”
“I always assess my competition,” he says flatly before his eyes turn to slits as he regards Saint, who is busy discussing br?lée techniques with Rad, “That fucker over there wants me to take this seriously? I’ll give it to him in spades. I’ll be a master by the end of this session.”
With a stained apron strapped across his body, Stone poises his spatula above the pot, glaring at Saint with such savage determination that I can’t help it. I laugh. “You can make any world your own, can’t you?”
“I’m never afraid. You with me?”
“You know I am.”
Stone gestures to the boiling potatoes. “Then let’s go.”
And that’s how my classes with Stone suddenly became enjoyable.