Mirepoix (A Recipe Of Love Book 1) (10 page)

As if suddenly aware of the tension in my body he glances up and takes in the worry on my face. I find myself in his lap being hugged fiercely.

“Thank you so much baby. First off, I hate that look on your face. I know I can’t tell you to stop worrying but I hope in time to earn enough trust for you to feel comfortable asking me what’s wrong, that way I can explain before you get worked up. I was quiet trying to think of the last time someone besides you cooked me something. My mom is the only person I can think of that cooks me food, everyone else assumes I want to cook. It’s really nice having someone care enough to.”

I take a slow breath to try to calm my racing heart before sliding back onto my own stool. Joe gives me a moment to collect myself before reaching over to take my hand and giving it a squeeze before cutting into the french toast and taking a bite. He closes his eyes and looks to be savoring the taste. I’m so caught up watching the expression on his face I ignore my food before he nudges me to get me to start eating.

After taking a bite, I ask the question that’s been bugging me since last night. “Are you really sure you want a relationship with me? I know how much you’re focusing on your career right now and I’m sure there are plenty of other women who would love to be with you without all of my issues? Why would you want someone who is a little broken when you can have someone who is normal?”

“First off, you’re not broken. Please don’t talk about yourself like that baby. I could have one of those so called normal women, but they probably wouldn’t wake up and make me a breakfast like this without expecting something in return. I’m betting you just thought I would enjoy a good breakfast and did it without any ulterior motives. They wouldn’t make me curious about how they see the world and made such a massive loyal family out of friends like you have. Their smile wouldn’t make me feel like I’m special and have all of your attention. I never have the urge to just sit and watch them move around with the energy you have that makes something as simple as picking the perfect cheese a joy. So yes, I have a very demanding career, and we’ll have to work together to figure out how to mesh our schedules so that we can get time together, but I fully believe it’s worth it and we have something worth exploring with each other.” He picks my hand up and gently kisses my knuckles before going back to his breakfast like he didn’t just give me the compliment of a lifetime.

We’re finishing up our breakfast when his phone rings breaking the comfortable mood.

“No I can’t come open the door Heather, I’m not home.” I immediately tense when I hear him say another woman’s name before I remind myself that while I may not have known him long but I know he wouldn’t be pursuing me if he had a girlfriend. “It’s not any business of yours where I am….. No I finished the edits on the book, we need to get a photo for the cover taken and then it can go to the publisher. Look I’m not sitting on the phone talking about this I’ll call you later.” He lays the phone back down on the island before leaning over and kissing me gently.

“I’m proud of you for trusting me Pixie. Just to clear up any confusion Heather is my personal manager, she has some boundary issues. That will be one of the things I will be clearing up with her when I talk to her tonight. I’ve let her control too much of my personal life and now she thinks she has the right to weigh in on every aspect of it. Now I think it’s time for me to properly thank you for breakfast.”

He picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder, giving my ass a sharp swat when I squeak in surprise before taking me to my bedroom. If he continues to thank me the same way, I may start bringing him every meal. Before he leaves, we snuggle in bed discussing our schedules for the rest of the week and when we can see each other, it will be hard with the hours he works but my schedule is pretty flexible. Finding someone like him who is willing to not just tolerate my issues, but doesn’t seem to see them as a problem at all is definitely worth it for me.

12

I’m stirring my stew when I feel my hair being swept to my shoulder and a now familiar kiss to my neck. I lean back relaxing into his hold when his arms wrap around me. This is his normal way of saying hello to me when he lets himself into my apartment. We’ve been getting used to each other and easing into this relationship for a few weeks now.

I finally got up the courage and gave him a key a couple days ago. I like waking up to him holding me and spending the morning together. After the third time of waking up to buzz him in when he got done, he started making noise about not coming over after a shift anymore. Instead of worrying this meant he wanted to back off, and I was taking up too much of his time like I normally would I realize he was worried about my sleep being interrupted, so I simply gave him the key. This works as a perfect solution in my mind, I get to wake up safe in his arms before making him breakfast. Afterwards he gets to thank me with his penis and we can spend time getting to know each other before he heads out.

This leaves me with all day free to make my soaps and deal with any errands I need to. Also it means that I still get my uninterrupted evenings with Lindsay of vegging and being super nerd girls watching the shows we’re obsessed with. I’m lucky that I don’t have to deal with any drama of them not liking each other or trying to monopolize my time. After the first awkward morning when Lindsay let herself in demanding I feed her and Joe stuck up for me, they’ve been thick as thieves. On the very rare Monday night both are with me I normally end up with my head pillowed on Joe and my legs tangled with Lindsay’s while we all relax.

“Mmmm that smells delicious. So do you Pixie. You smell like a Christmas tree.”

“Thanks honey. It’s October and I need to get all my Christmas and winter scents done and ready to ship out this month. I’ll smell like evergreen, mulberries and every other Christmas scent you can think of for the next few weeks. Christmas is my busiest time of year. What’s your favorite Christmas scent? I’ll make you some but you have to promise to still use the cedarwood soap too.” I put the lid back on the crock pot to let the stew simmer a while longer. My faithful slow cookers are my only concession to the kitchen appliance monopoly, mostly because they allow me to have a meal that takes all day to cook without worrying about burning my building down. I turn and snuggle into his hold smelling his shirt like normal.

“My favorite Christmas scent is gingerbread, if you make me soap I’ll use it to wash my hands so I still smell the same. Plus I don’t think gingerbread is a very manly
scent I can get away with.” His hands drop to my ass giving me a squeeze and making my mental processes shut down. 

Sometimes he can move a certain way, or touch me and I immediately
turn into a massive perv. Now that the big bad cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I pick up on more of his aggressive dominant alpha behaviors. He can shoot me a smirk and I know he’s thinking of something naughty, or his eyes will get soft and I feel treasured. The worst is when he does anything that makes his forearms flex, all I can think of is the strength in his arms and him holding me down. The other morning he rang out the dish cloth after doing the dishes, I swear if I were wearing panties they would have been just as soaked as it was.  He caught me
perving on him and wasted no time in bending me over my now poor disgraced table.

“Dinner is going to take about another hour to cook, what do you want to do while we wait?” I rub up against him like a cat in heat letting him know nonverbally what gets my vote.

“How long does it take to make a batch of soap? I haven’t seen your mad scientist workshop or been told why Lindsay refers to it as that.” He tugs the end of my pony tail forcing me to look up in his face. Any time he asks me something he thinks might embarrass me or upset me in some way he makes sure he’s watching my face so he can see if it does, it also means I can see that he’s not mocking me but truthfully interest.

“Because no one looks sexy wearing safety goggles Joe. No one.” I stick my tongue out impishly at him. Truthfully our time together is so limited I would rather let him relax and just be with each other instead of working. With the Christmas season a few months away I typically spend half my day making soap and filling my molds, and the second half packaging soap that’s done curing and ready to ship. I have two craft fairs coming up that I need to make sure I have enough stock on hand for as well.

“Please show me your laboratory. I know your business is important to you and I want to understand it better. I know nothing about how to make soap. Until I met you I didn’t know that there was an artisan handcrafted soap market.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms in a soothing manner that would convince me to do just about anything for him. Luckily for me he doesn’t take advantage of this and just wants to learn more about me.

“Ugh come on we might as well take the bat elevator.” I grab his hand and pull him behind me down the hall to the office.

“Bat elevator?” he asks clearly confused.

“This is the bat elevator, and yes I know how geeky I am.” I pull him into my office and move the bookcase that swings out revealing the elevator behind it. “I put it in a couple years ago so I didn’t have to haul supplies up and down the stairs. We debated just having it go from the first floor straight to the fourth and fifth floors, but we decided to have the doors added on our personal floors also in case we ever need to get away from someone.” I shook my head at his questioning glance. “No this one isn’t my issue for once, but it does help make me feel safer. Plus it means we can pull all sorts of mean pranks on each other like the time Lindsay pulled a Psycho on me and scared me half to death.”

We zipped quietly up to the fifth floor. Joe either didn’t notice or didn’t comment on the fact that Lindsay and I have been having a battle with labels naming the floors. Mine is still marked as the kitchen since it was a step up from the previous name of cafeteria I decided to leave it for now. I put the new label for her office, OCD Central next to the first floor button just before the doors open into my production floor. Even here the elevator is hidden, tucked out of sight behind shelves of supplies next to the bathroom.

I cross the room and grab 2 aprons from the hooks and hand one to Joe. They’re plain black aprons and I have the mental image of Joe wearing one covered in bright flowers or something equally girly. I might have to try to find some online just to keep around to tease him with.

“What are you smirking about?” Joe questions me, as I head to the computer that sits in the corner well away from where I mix and pour but with a big enough monitor I can see my recipes still.

“Getting you a pretty pale purple apron that will bring out the color of your eyes in case you come back up here again.” I tease as I start up the computer. “Do your hands dry out and crack from washing them a lot?”

“You’re a brat and your ass is mine tonight. Yes they do, why?” He’s peering closely at what I’m doing on the computer. I pull up my folder of extra conditioning soap recipes. I need one that will condition but still lather well. Finding the one I want I explain how certain fats and oils can change how the soap works.

“Ok you get to pick, do you want a basic brick type bar of soap or do you want it shaped?”

“You mean like those tiny flower soaps my mom keeps in a bowl in her bathroom?” His nose is wrinkled up with distaste and I want to laugh at how cute and funny it looks.

“I do have those molds, but I have a ton of others that you might like. See this one here has Celtic knots, I sell a ton of these leading up to March. As long as Lindsay hasn’t been messing with me, they should all be arranged kind of seasonally going from hearts for Valentine’s Day through to Christmas shapes on the end, the general shapes like plain stars and ovals are on the bottom shelf.” I explain as I lead him to my shelves of silicone molds. I have them stood up so I can see at a glance what shape the mold is for. “While you pick I’m going to go measure out the lye I need since I keep it stored separately from everything.”

“Are you making a small batch just for me or am I getting part of a bigger batch? I can pick Christmas molds if it’s for a big batch.”

I blush as I admit “It’s just for you.”

“Okay, how about these simple oval and circle shapes then? I want to watch all the steps so I can understand.” He is so great about not picking on me about stuff that he notices bother me. If it’s something he’s concerned I’m worried about, he’ll make me talk it out, but something small like being caught making something special for him, he’ll let me know he appreciates it but not make a big deal out of it. He kisses me on the head as he walks past to put the molds he grabbed on the stainless steel table I work at.

With him following me like I silent shadow I pull on my safety gloves and goggles before handing him a pair. I hit the switch for the overhead vent as I head back to the locked closet with the lye in. I put the lye in a Ziploc bag and add a little more until I have the weight I need according to the digital scale in the room. When I get back to the steel table, I add the lye to water I carefully measured out, stirring continuously in a glass beaker with a handle and pour spout. Once it’s done I drop a thermometer in so I can get a perfect read on how hot it is.  I turn on the electric burner under my soap pot and melt my carefully measured solid fats into the liquid fats as soon as they’re smooth I turn the burner off and put a thermometer in it too.

While I’m waiting for them to both cool to the right temperature, I grab the essential oils and herbs I think will give me the scent I want. I’m hoping the vanilla and cinnamon oil, with the ground ginger will smell like gingerbread. I go back to the table and see they both have reached the right temperature and I carefully pour the lye mixture into the soap pot stirring constantly again. I reach under the table and grab my stick blender that helps speed up the time needed to reach trace, pretty much it being mixed completely. I explain each step to him until I turn the blender on when it’s too loud to hear over it. When I see the soap is at the right consistency, and trace has occurred, I turn it off and balance it carefully over the sink in the table.