Chapter 8 #4
“Want to try again?” I held my hand out to her and she took the bread from me in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of communion. It was no wonder that’s the direction her mind took earlier.
“Ready?” She held the cube over the pot of hot oil, waiting for me to nod my agreement before dropping it in.
This time it barely touched the bottom before bobbing to the surface with a ring of bubbles dancing furiously around it. We watched for a few moments, side by side and shoulders touching, as the bread floated on the surface, slowly going from pale gold to toasty brown.
“Perfect,” I said, skimming the cube from the oil and dropping it beside its rejected cousin. “Now we’re ready for the real thing. Just a couple at a time so we don’t crowd the pan and drop the temperature of the oil.”
I picked up one of the squares of dough and slid it carefully into the hot oil. Almost immediately, it puffed up to double its size, making a pillow.
“That’s magic. Pastry voodoo.” Charlotte peered into the pan.
I turned the pillows of dough over so they could brown on the other side, using the strainer to pull them out of the oil as soon as they were ready.
Charlotte had another batch of beignets ready to go into the oil, and for a few moments, we worked in tandem, slipping the dough into the hot oil, waiting for them to cook and then pulling them out to drain when they were the perfect color.
Once we had a mountain of the pastries, I turned off the gas and went to the cupboard for small white plates.
Piling three beignets on each plate, I handed Charlotte a shaker full of powdered sugar.
“Dust them while they’re still warm and don’t hold back.”
“Don’t hold back is kind of your thing, isn’t it?” She smiled, not waiting for an answer before shaking a snowy peak of powdered sugar onto the pastry. “These look fantastic.” She took her coffee and one of the plates to the barstools, motioning for me to join her.
“They taste as good as they look. I wondered.” I licked powdered sugar from my lips, taking another bite as I settled on the stool next to her.
“You haven’t made them before?” She spun on her stool to face me, pinning me with what I was pretty sure was her prosecutor gaze.
“Beignets? Lots of times. But I usually use the Café du Monde box mix. It’s faster.”
“Seriously? Why didn’t we do that?”
I wouldn’t have had the extra time with her if we had. More of Charlotte was my motivation behind picking a recipe with yeast, but I wasn’t ready to tell her that. Not yet.
“A box mix for our first cooking lesson seemed wrong on so many levels. If we’re going to do this, I want to do it right.” That was the truth too.
She seemed convinced, at least for the moment. Either that, or the lure of warm sugared beignet was too much for her to resist. She took a bite and closed her eyes in pleasure. That was another thing I could get used to—Charlotte so overcome with pleasure, keeping her eyes open was too much.
By the time she started her second, I was onto my third, chasing the sweet yeasty taste with the orange-scented bite of chicory-laced café au lait.
It really was a perfect combination. We were doing this again.
Maybe in the middle of the night as a restorative respite from all the equally delicious things I wanted to do to her body.
“God, these are good. You really are magic.”
She licked the powdered sugar from her fingertips in a way that short-circuited my brain.
And the way she looked at me made me feel like I might be magic. Like with Charlotte believing in me, anything was possible. I pushed the idea aside. That kind of thinking was going to make it harder, not easier, to do what I needed to do.
“Let me help clean up.” I slid off the stool and started to tidy up the kitchen.
The next bit was tricky. I had to leave while she was feeling warm and full from our triumph with the beignets. Delayed gratification wasn’t my strong suit, but I already knew Charlotte was more than worth it.
“You don’t have to do that.” She hurried to help load the last few dishes into the dishwasher. “I can do it later.”
“Don’t be silly. Clean-up is part of the process.”
Together, we made quick work of it. I wiped the remnants of powdered sugar off her counter, returning her kitchen to its previous pristine condition, and grabbed the now-empty tote I’d brought the groceries in.
I was leaving the ingredients with Charlotte so we could do that again.
And bringing a box of mix next time for good measure.
Waiting for yeast in the middle of the night didn’t have much appeal.
Her eyes widened when I turned to face her, tucking the bag under my arm, but she hid her surprise quickly.
“Thanks so much for teaching me to do that. Even if it was a first for you too.” She shook her head on the last bit, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back.
Surprising this woman was a good thing. I didn’t doubt she’d get bored easily, and I knew she got off on a challenge. I could do that. I’d love doing that.
“My pleasure, cher.” I leaned in to press a quick kiss to her cheek, fighting the urge to pull her close when she softened against me.
I was going to have a long conversation with myself in the car on the way home about why I shouldn’t give in to the lure of Charlotte.
But I wasn’t going to like it. “Next time we can try etouffee or something. I’ll make a plan and let you know.
” I stepped back and turned toward the door before I caved.
“Okay.” Some of the surprise was back in her voice, but she opened the door for me.
“See you in a couple days for the sex.” I flashed her what I hoped was a cocky grin, making a beeline for my car before I risked kissing her again.