Chapter 8 #2
That was almost the same description the helpful clerk at the florist had given when she reminded him that in Southern California, it was very much still summer. Score two for listening to women. He couldn’t wait to tell Linda on Sunday.
“Chef Jorge, I’d like you to meet my friend, Trevor. Trevor, meet Chef Jorge.” She gestured between the two of them.
“I’d shake your hand, but I’ve already gloved up.” He wiggled his fingers in the air then gestured to the counter near the refrigerator. “Trevor, would you please open the bottle of Vouvray? And while you’re there, go ahead and open all the reds. They need to breathe.”
Marta wiggled her shoulders. “Fancy, fancy.”
“I give my hosts the opportunity to either watch or participate. After chatting with Marta while I emptied all the food chests, she seems like the type who wants to get her hands on the food and learn.” The chef kept arranging the vegetables as he emptied sturdy plastic boxes.
“Trevor, you can sit and enjoy the wine or help me prepare. The choice is yours.”
“I’m not one to sit around while someone else works their ass off. Give me your next order.” Trevor popped the cork off the second bottle of wine.
“Even though we eat dessert last, we make it first.” Jorge caught Trevor’s glance. “Do you have any food allergies or restrictions?”
“I don’t have any.” Marta looked his way.
“You might be disgusted at the things I’ve eaten in my life. Bring it on.” He brought the bottle of Vouvray and the first two glasses in the line over to Marta. “Should I just go ahead and pour?”
“That would be wonderful. Start with just an ounce.” As he started to chop vegetables, he gave them a lesson in their first wine. They sat at the bar stools at the island and agreed it was deliciously crisp to cleanse the palate, just as Chef Jorge had suggested.
Moments later, the chef emerged from behind the freezer door holding what looked like cupcake holders. “Who wants to make whip cream and who wants to paint with chocolate?”
Marta glanced at Trevor with a hopeful grin. “Do you mind if I make the whipped cream? I really want to learn to make it right. If I have to paint with chocolate, I won’t be able to restrain myself from sampling so there might not be enough left for the cups.”
“I’m game for anything, tonight.” He was just fine painting as long as they didn’t expect much. When the cold plastic cupcake holders were placed in front of him, Trevor raised his eyebrows.
“You’re going to brush these with white and dark chocolate.” The chef then handed him a tablespoon, a wide brush, and a narrow brush before he turned back to the freezer and handed Marta a metal bowl and beaters.
“This is the first secret to perfect whipped cream. Everything has to be chilled from the beginning.” Jorge got Marta started on whipping cream then stirred melted chocolate on the stove. Somehow, Trevor had missed that step. No doubt because his eyes had been on Marta since he’d arrived.
Not that she wore much makeup at work, but tonight her eyes seemed bigger and more blue, close to the color of her blouse.
Her usual red lipstick looked more copper, subdued, but it may have been the bright lights of the kitchen that highlighted the streaks of gray.
He liked that she didn’t color her hair or have long blue fingernails.
Hers were neatly trimmed and what he thought was called a French manicure.
That was so Marta, preferring natural over the usual California perfection that didn’t stop with women.
He’d given a speech at a business luncheon where he’d overheard men his age discussing liposculpture where they sucked the fat out of the belly, chest, and love handles and injected it into their ass so it didn’t droop as much.
Trevor would never admit it to anyone, but that evening he’d stood naked in front of his full-length mirror.
His pectorals and abs were not as tight as they had been ten years earlier, but there wasn’t any fat to be removed.
His waist had increased in size, but nothing overlapped his belt.
He felt proud of his physique, but he assuredly spent more time in the gym and running in the sand than anyone at that meeting.
“Sir.” Jorge pulled him away from thoughts of fake bodies.
“I’m going to set the dark chocolate in front of you first. It will be hot.
I’ll demonstrate on the first one and then you can do the other five.
” Trevor carefully watched the professional spoon chocolate into the cup then pull it up the sides using the brush.
“Save room for the white chocolate. We want the dark to cool for just a few minutes. It makes it so much easier to add the white.”
Marta’s job was completed much faster than his, so she came over and finished the last cup. “Are you having fun?” She sounded nervous.
“Wine. Chocolate for dessert. We’re still having Beef Wellington, right?”
“Yes.” She looked at Jorge for confirmation.
“I certainly hope so, because I brought the most beautiful filet.” He picked up the chocolate cups.
“Now, everything goes in the fridge, and we’ll get started on the main course.
While it’s baking, you will be making crab stuffed mushrooms. I’ll be assembling chilled smoked salmon over baby greens with lime vinaigrette.
We’ll be having bacon wrapped asparagus with hollandaise, that the two of you will help make.
Quick question, I have two options for the starch portion of dinner; baked sweet potatoes or risotto with mushrooms? ”
Marta looked at Trevor. “I’m good with either one.”
“Me too,” Trevor admitted. When Marta said nothing else, he decided to make the decision. “I make rice a lot at home, and although risotto isn’t rice, it looks like it, so I opt for baked sweet potatoes, please. I haven’t had those in years.”
Her smile turned soft. “I make rice often, too. I like it so much that a couple years ago, I bought a real Japanese rice maker.”
Trevor returned her smile. “The one with the elephant on it?”
“Yes.” She acted surprised.
“That’s the best brand,” Jorge interjected. He put the rice and shiitake mushrooms back in the box.
“We stopped in Okinawa, Japan on our way back from the sandbox once, airplane troubles. It took a few days, so everyone hit the BX. The lady working that department said it was one of the few things I could buy my wife that had a plug that she would love.” His mind instantly shot to the day he’d given it to Carol.
She was thrilled. They’d eaten rice every day for the next three weeks until the kids protested.
He still used the same one, but the inside pot had been replaced a couple of times.
“I take it by the look on your face she liked it.”
“She did. I still use it.” Trevor was touched by the fact he could talk about his wife without an ounce of jealousy from Marta. She understood about the death of a spouse. It was so easy to talk to her.
“Beef Wellington is made with filet. What you want to look for are the tiny white lines, the more there are, it’s going to melt in your mouth.
” Jorge continued the lesson throughout the entire meal, allowing Marta to glaze the outer pastry with egg whites while he wrapped bacon around the asparagus and coated the potatoes with butter.
Three hours later, completely stuffed, he helped Jorge carry the mostly empty boxes to his van. Although Marta had pre-paid for the meal, Trevor generously tipped him. “This was an absolutely delightful experience. Thank you for involving us.”
The young man smiled. “You remind me so much of my parents. I think I’m going to go home and call them.” He nodded as though he’d just made a decision. “I’m flying home for their anniversary and surprise them. Because of tonight I’ve decided to make them Beef Wellington.”
“I’m sure they’d enjoy it. We certainly did.” With one last shake goodbye, Trevor returned to the house to find Marta rinsing the dishes and placing them into the dishwasher. She’d already scrubbed the pans of hers that he’d used.
“I would have helped you.” He picked up the dishtowel and started wiping the pots and pans that had been set aside to dry. She automatically took them and put them away. It was as though they had been cleaning up the kitchen after a fantastic meal all their lives.
Standing next to the sink, they both looked around to be sure nothing was left to do.
“Would you like to finish that bottle of red in the living room?” Marta asked.
“Yes, very much so, but I’ve already had three glasses, and I have to drive home.
It wouldn’t look good if I couldn’t pass a breathalyzer test at the gate.
” He realized the truth in his statement and pulled out his phone.
“Would you mind if I leave my car here? I think it would be better if I got an Uber home.”
She stared at him as though debating her next words. “You could stay here, and we could finish the rest of that wine.”
Was she offering what he thought she was offering? His daughter’s permission to hold Marta’s hand and chastely kiss her on the cheek popped into his mind. Although the offer was extremely tempting, Trevor wasn’t sure he was ready for sex.
“Marta, this is my first date in a long?—”
“I have a guestroom.” She blushed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to go there…yet.”
Fuck. He felt like a fucking idiot. Of course she wasn’t offering him her body.
He had to put a positive spin on it. He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his.
“I apologize for even thinking…but I’m glad we’re both on the same page.
I had a wonderful time tonight. I’d like to see you again. ”
She squeezed his hands. “Me too. I thought it was fun to cook with the chef.”
“I did also. I’m not sure I feel confident enough to make any of this on my own, but I am going to try some things. I’d forgotten how much I love baked sweet potatoes.”
She closed her eyes and released a contented moan. His cock perked up. “The clove and nutmeg made it scrumptious. I’m definitely doing that quick salmon salad at my next dinner party.”
Trevor glanced at the nearly empty bottle of Merlot, one of his favorites. Chef Jorge had used nearly half of it in the meal. He reached over and grabbed the bottle and their glasses. “Since I’m not driving home, let’s finish this on the couch.”
When Marta stifled a yawn, Trevor glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight. They’d been talking for hours. He pulled out his phone and checked the car app. There were lots of available vehicles cruising Coronado. He typed in his destination and the request was instantly taken.
“My car will be here in three minutes.” He stood then pulled her off the couch and into his arms. “I can’t thank you enough for such a wonderful evening.”
She wound her arms around his neck. No one had held him that way in five years. The warmth of her body next to his, their faces so close, that human contact that he’d missed and now longed for once again, made him want more.
“You stole my line.” Her smile was playful. “How about I make a picnic lunch and we can hang out on the beach tomorrow. The tide comes in around two. Do you surf?”
“I’ve been known to ride a board. Mine will need some work. It hasn’t been wet since I got here. You have to promise me that you won’t laugh. I more than a little rusty.”
She giggled and the sound shot pleasure through his whole body, landing firmly in his cock which stood up and took note of the desirable woman in his arms.
“I’ll bring lunch. I can stop and get takeout. Do you have a preference?”
She giggled again and there was no way she could miss his election, but she seemed to ignore it. “You’re going to have to take another Uber to get back here.”
“Not a problem. The driver can pick it up on his way to get me. Now, Ms. Merkel, what would you like to eat for our beach lunch?”
She listed several takeout restaurants, and he decided he’d check the app on the way home. His phone dinged.
“That’s my ride.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
What started as a gentle kiss turned volcanic in the next second.
Breathing hard, he had to pull away. “Wow.” He said just above a whisper.
He hadn’t expected that intensity of heat to sprint through him.
He’d never anticipated her responding so quickly.
Taking a step away, he grabbed the door handle.
“Lock up behind me. I’ll see you at noon. ”
And he’d be counting every minute until then.