Chapter Nineteen #3
Florence, the vendor, knew me well because I often stopped by with tourists at the end of my tour. I wasn't taking commission or anything, I simply loved her food, and I recommended it to everyone who asked me for street food.
"Diane, hi. Just you and...?" She looked at Gabe.
"And Gabe today. I'm not here with a group. I came because I'm in the mood for your burrito."
"You want the usual filling?" she asked me.
I nodded vigorously. "Yes." I glanced at Gabe. "How about you?"
"I'll take whatever you have."
"You trust me that much?"
"Implicitly," he replied.
"You're a brave man," Florence said.
"I am."
Ha, he’d hesitated a bit.
“Look, I like mine super spicy.” I decided to fess up because maybe he was one of those people who only liked a bit of pepper or chili, and I liked a whole lot of it.
"Like Florence said, I'm brave," Gabe replied.
"Okay."
Florence was truly a whiz. It always amazed me how quick she was, and everything tasted fresh.
She'd once confessed that she had so many orders a day that she had to redo everything every few hours.
She had slow cookers for the beans and the pulled pork.
It was her own personal blend, and I loved it.
"This is amazing," Gabe said after his first bite. We’d moved a few feet away from the food truck. Sometimes I ate right at the counter, but a line had formed behind us, and I didn't want us to encroach on Florence's space.
"I know. It's really the best I've ever had."
I glanced around, imagining how I’d construct the route if I ever gave tours on my own.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Starting my own touring company instead of working in a hotel,” I blurted.
Gabe trained his eyes on me. “I think that’s a great idea.”
My heart soared. “You do? How come?”
“You’ve managed to book tutoring clients in a very short time, and you have good discipline working on your own. That’s very important when owning a business. And you don’t mind putting in the work. As investment, you’d just need a website—”
“Not even that,” I replied, loving that he was treating this seriously—like a business. Chuck never thought I’d had the sense to do anything, and Gabe supporting me was something I wasn’t used to. “I can set up profiles on Tripadvisor. And then I can look into making something easy on WordPress.”
“Honestly, I think you should give it a go.”
“I needed to hear that. Thank you for believing in me.”
“You’re amazing. Of course I believe in you.”
I was used to Mom and Celia championing me, and I believed in myself. But Chuck never had. He’d belittled me every chance he got. I was starting to think he simply wanted to put me down to make himself feel better.
“I’m going to set things up as soon as possible, maybe talk to my boss too.”
We both fell silent as we ate our burritos.
He blew out a breath. "This was huge. We could have probably split one."
I averted my gaze. "Yeah, we could have, but I thought, 'Why not go all out?'" It was obvious that we were hungry, though, considering we'd each eaten the whole thing. I patted my belly. "I could probably sleep now."
Gabe pierced me with his gaze, "You feel faint again? Maybe we shouldn’t go to the course after all."
After he’d paid double? Hilarious. I’d have to be half dead to miss it.
"No, I mean the food. We ate a lot. Don't worry, I'm in top shape, and I can't wait for our Michelin-star experience."
I thought it was a very cool idea for a date, and I was still impressed that he'd looked at activities to do together.
We didn't have too much time until the course started, so we headed straight there.
It was only ten minutes away by car. It was a typical Bostonian redbrick building with white window trim.
At the entrance, the course company was listed at door number one.
We knocked, and the door swung open, revealing a tall redhead.
"Hi, you must be Gabe Whitley," she said, looking at him. "And you are?"
"Diane," I replied.
"Good, come on in. Everyone else is already here."
We walked into an enormous kitchen. There were four other couples.
"Hi, everyone. This is Gabe and Diane. They're joining us today.
That will be your station." She pointed at two empty spots between two of the couples.
"I figured I would start everyone with a glass of wine.
We're going to cook both white and red meat today, so you can choose red or white," she said.
"Red," Gabe and I said at the same time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I peeked at him. He caught my eye, and we fought laughter.
This kitchen was absolutely amazing. There were nine chopping boards on the kitchen island and a sink on the opposite wall.
There were also three ovens and three Sub-Zero refrigerators—high-end stuff.
The building must have been a converted factory, because the ceilings were super tall and the space was lined with bookcases that went from floor to ceiling, filled with all types of cookbooks.
"What are you thinking about?" Gabe whispered.
"That I’d love a kitchen like this. And a place to put all the recipe books. I know most people like to look up recipes online, but I've always loved cookbooks. Seeing the pictures, feeling the pages. I've just never had enough space to put them anywhere."
"I brought a pinot noir that is a favorite. Let me know if you like it," the host said.
"You do the honors," Gabe told me, but she poured the wine into both our glasses.
We brought it to our noses. I knew from the first inhale that it was an exquisite wine. Not as great as the one we'd gotten at the restaurant that one evening, but very close. I took a sip, and it confirmed my initial assessment.
"It's perfect," I exclaimed.
"It's a great wine," Gabe said.
We both held our glasses as she poured more. I took one more sip.
"All right, I’ll walk you through the menu first." She clicked on her iPad and turned it for us to see.
Gabe whispered, "Why aren’t you drinking?"
I whispered back, "Because I don't want to get tipsy."
“I'll take care of you," he said in a sensual tone I hadn't expected at all. It sent a burst of heat through me.
Hell no! We're surrounded by people. Down, girl. Besides, I was sure he hadn't even meant it in a sexy way.
As we pulled back, he winked.
Okay, maybe he did mean it that way.
I focused on the host and zeroed in on the menu. It sounded delicious, but it seemed to be very difficult to prepare.
"Wait, we're supposed to cook that?" Gabe sounded affronted, and I bit back laughter.
"Yes. I promised a Michelin-star experience, and it doesn't get more Michelin than this," the host replied.
"Right," Gabe said.
"It's an advanced course," she went on, sounding a bit panicked.
"We're looking forward to it," I said quickly, barely stifling my laughter.