Chapter 15 Annie
FIFTEEN
Annie
Nico is in a very good mood. Frankly, it’s extremely unbecoming to conduct oneself in such a manner at this hour.
“Get dressed, honey,” he said, after pounding on the front door at eight o’clock in the morning and all but knocking me over the second I opened it. “We’re havin’ some fuckin’ fun today.”
Now I’m sitting in the front seat of the car, all the windows rolled down, the cool, sweet Durham air blowing in, and some horrible classic rock blasting over the speakers. Nico periodically grins over at me.
It puts me on edge. I feel a little terrible. The fact he’s this thrilled after someone stood up for him to some yogurt-faced nobody? That I used to be as shitty to him as that yogurt-faced nobody?
But he ruined my life. Sister Annie exists because of him, because of what he started twelve, thirteen years ago.
But then, tone down the nastiness, Sister Annie says.
Also, she continues, and I want to smack her, you cannot renounce your vows for your hot enemy who hugged you while you cried, even if he’d fill you right up with that monstrosity you rubbed on.
I shake my head. How many days is this bitch gonna be around? I count down. Four more days.
Four more days where you’ll just have to make do with old NakedReactions videos.
I burrow deeper into his sweatshirt and pull the hood up.
“We’re having ice cream for breakfast,” he tells me as he parks the car in front of a modern-looking restaurant.
I look up at the sign. “Didn’t you go here last night?”
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “Didn’t make it.”
He’s out of the car before I can ask him about it further, opening my door in the next second. He takes my hand and draws me out of the car. I am elated but refrain from telling him so.
“The restaurant doesn’t open until lunch,” he tells me, squeezing my fingers once. “Sister Annie is safe here.” He moves to the trunk and pulls out a medium-sized box. “Let’s go.”
I follow him in.
“Nico!” A beautiful, curvaceous Asian woman with a topknot walks towards us from the back. Goddamnit, the universe is tempting me today.
“Hey, baby!” Nico shouts at her. I ignore the pull in my stomach at the use of the nickname.
I eye the two of them while he puts the box down and wraps her in his gorilla arms. Every gorgeous woman I see this Mathletes Captain embracing really has me reconsidering everything I know about the natural world and its laws.
“Honey, meet Michelle de la Cruz,” Nico says, and I realize with a start he’s referring to me. That’s right, I think. You might be his baby, but I’m his honey. “Michelle and I went to Duke together. Had some science classes together. She’s the owner of this fine establishment.”
“Hey,” I say with a smile instead. “I’m Annie.” I shake her hand. I wonder momentarily if her hand’s ever been on Nico’s dick.
Michelle rakes her eyes up and down the length of my body with interest. O-kay. Maybe she hasn’t touched Nico’s dick. I stand a little straighter. I wish I weren’t wearing this massive, shapeless hoodie.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Nico scolds Michelle. He wraps a thick arm around my neck. “Mine,” he tells her.
Some internal being starts jumping and squealing and clapping its hands. Who the hell are you? I scold it. Pipe down!
But I don’t move his arm.
She throws her head back and laughs. “Welcome in, you two. Have you eaten yet?”
Nico thrusts the box towards her. “Brought you the Pacojet. Figured we could try some sorbet and mousse for breakfast.”
“Awesome,” she says. “Let’s go have some breakfast.”
“Fuck,” I groan.
Nico and Michelle stare at my mouth.
“Definitely this one. Which one is it?” I look down at the ingredients piled on the counter. “Pandan and kaffir lime?”
“Whatever the fuck it was,” Michelle mutters to Nico, “it’s going on the menu tonight.”
He nods brainlessly.
“Make her do it again,” she whispers.
I crack up. “Stop.”
They break into mischievous grins.
“Why that one?” Nico asks.
I think about it. “You get a whisper of vanilla and coconut from the pandan. It’s like silk.
But then the kaffir lime cuts through—bright, citrusy, electric.
” I take another bite and put my dramatic commercial voice on.
“Then it all lingers, a dance of sweet and tangy, like sunlight filtering through emerald-green leaves.”
Michelle nods, impressed. She pulls out her phone and starts typing. “I’ma write that onto the menu.”
There are about ten bowls of different sorbets we made in the machine, loading in different ingredients and herbs and syrups and other things I wouldn’t ever imagine putting into a dessert.
I said something silly after the first one we made, mango and calamansi (golden silk, citrus kiss), and after that we made it into a fun little game.
Dramatically and poetically describing each of the flavors like I’ve been doing with the cookbook.
The two of them are hilarious together. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard. But maybe I’m all jacked up on the sugar.
“Hey, Téo!” Michelle suddenly says.
We look over, and a tall, lanky man walks into the kitchen.
“Guys, this is my sous, Téo Gutierrez. Té, some friends. Nico and Annie.”
He nods his head down at the bowls. “Which one we serving tonight?”
“Annie says pandan and kaffir lime,” Michelle tells him. “And what Annie says, goes.”
I smile.
Nico, Michelle, and Téo start discussing something about the Pacojet, throwing around words and phrases I don’t understand—superfine emulsification, 2,000 RPM, breaking down fat globules and evenly dispersing water molecules.
I stop listening after shear-thinning effect and micro-aeration and try to finish all the gelato on the counter instead.
I mean, if I’m having ice cream for breakfast, I’m going all out.
God, I can’t believe how delicious these are.
“I gotta go over some stuff with Téo, but feel free to hang out,” Michelle finally says. “I can whip up some real food in a sec.” The two of them start walking towards an office in the corner. “But don’t get in the way of all the guys. They’re gonna start coming in soon.”
We wave.
Nico smiles down at me. “Having fun?”
“Yeah,” I have to admit. “Michelle’s a blast.”
He slaps a pout on his face. “Sister Annie better not be renouncing her vows for Michelle before me,” he mopes with false jealousy.
I can’t help but laugh. I feel light, airy, somehow, like I was just all whipped up in the Pacojet and filled with tiny air pockets.
Nico squeezes a hand on the curve of my waist. It lights me up. “I dunno, Annie. I think I like that one,” Nico says, pointing to the furthest bowl on the counter. “Black sesame and coconut honey.” He drawls the words, drips them off his tongue. “Try it again,” he demands.
I take a bite. I make it slow.
“How would you describe that one?” he asks, voice a shade deeper.
I make a show of licking the spoon. Curl my tongue around it.
Nico’s eyes turn feral as he lasers in on my mouth.
“The black sesame hits first—deep, toasty, and rich, like a whispered secret against your lips. Then the coconut follows, smooth and sweet, curling around it like warm breath at the nape of your neck, softening the bite into something—”
I don’t get the last word out because Nico darts in. He takes my mouth, tongue licking in and tasting once, then twice, a wet, hot slide against the cool stickiness left from the sorbet.
He groans softly. “The honey,” he murmurs down at me, while I stand breathless, blood thrumming through my veins, “makes it fuckin’ delicious.”
Michelle comes back out and announces she and Téo are making steak and eggs for “family meal.”
Nico is positively thrilled about this.
“Remember that reaction I told you about back in Philly?” Nico says.
We’re leaning against the wall, drinking the black sesame lattes Michelle made for us while watching Téo put steaks on the grill.
“The one Gino used for his cheesesteaks?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Pop quiz time. Tell me what you remember about it.”
“Uh…” I try to think back to a few days ago, except most of what I remember is the feeling of being sliced open in the middle of the small restaurant. “Really hot grill. Browning. No steam. All that equals caramelization or something?”
He squeezes me with glee. I’m very confused.
“Close. Caramelization occurs when sugars are heated, but this reaction occurs when sugars and proteins are heated.”
“Does beef contain sugar?”
“Sure does. Natural sugars. It also happens when you bake bread, ‘cause flour contains carbs that have both sugar and proteins. Coffee beans, too.”
“And you need heat.”
He nods, and I’m reminded of a golden retriever puppy.
“You’re right about needing a really hot grill.
The reaction happens when the food hits about 350 degrees.
That’s why boiled foods, which have an upper limit of 212, will never brown.
But with high-temp searing or roasting or frying or whatever, browning goes crazy. ”
“And browning is good?” I want him to clarify.
“Browning is fuckin’ delicious. Think of the last good steak you had. Think of its color. It wasn’t gray, that’s for sure.”
I nod in understanding.
“Also, Annie, check out how I’ve spread the steaks out far apart,” Téo adds.
Nico’s smile is pure satisfaction. “Remember what I said about steam?”
“Steam is bad.”
His eyes get dark and delighted. “Steam is bad for making steaks brown.” He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “But steam is very, very good when it refers to spanking something pink.”
I’m surprised I don’t collapse right there on the kitchen floor.
“There’s a whole bunch of shit I could tell you about what type of fat to use, too. Interested?” he goes on, as if he doesn’t owe me a new pair of panties with the way he’s just ruined mine.
“Not interested,” I let out weakly, because I’m currently using all my mental capacity to process the size of the handprint Nico would leave on my ass.
“‘Kay. Well, wanna know what it’s called, at least?”