Mirepoix (A Recipe Of Love Book 1) (11 page)

“Do you want to add the oil? That way we made it together?” Together we add small amounts of the oils and ginger and mix until we’re satisfied with the smell. I sprinkle in mica powder, with him stirring, until I’m happy with the brown color that reminds me of gingerbread. Instead of flexing his muscles and demanding to pour he lets me pour the soap into the silicone molds he picked that I already prepped. Once they’re done, I take them to the curing shelves in the back of the room and gently cover them to help trap the heat for saponification, it actually turning into soap, to occur. Then I clean everything with my gloves on just to be safe. When everything looks like it did when we walked in I put our safety gear back where it goes.

“That is as much science as it is art baby! I never realized how much went into making soap! How long until it will be ready?” he asks excitedly as we head back to the elevator.

“In two days I’ll pop the bars out of the molds, but then they will need to cure for four weeks. That’s pretty much all the fourth floor is for besides packaging. The soap needs to stay in a cool dark place until it’s done curing. I have a small table where I do all the packaging but the rest is storage for soaps and fabric.” I push the button labeled “Hoor Floor” as we get in the elevator.

“Fabric? What do you need the fabric for?”

“I, ummmm, I got frustrated with the options available when I was looking for a shirt once. So I decided to sew one. Then I sewed some other designs I liked. Now I have my own clothing line, I don’t have much time for it and everything is hand sewn by me, so it’s really exclusive.”

“You amazing Pixie! I don’t know how you manage everything you do. Is this skirt one of your designs?” He asks as he brushes the hem of my charcoal grey jersey skirt with his knee making it sway.

“Hold that thought.”

When the doors opens to Lindsay’s floor I yell “Dinner time Whore! If you’re not there you don’t get any!”

I push the button for my floor and the door close button at the same time. Picking back up the conversation like I hadn’t just done that. “Yes I did make this skirt, I could never find anything that fit me right. They were either too long or too short if they were the right length the waist was too small or something. How did you know?”

“The fabric is extremely soft.” he answers chuckling softly. Pet a man’s shirt once, twice, or maybe every time you see him and suddenly it’s funny.

“Hmpppfff.” I stomp off the elevator in a tiff at being pegged so easily. He easily catches up to me with his long legs and wraps his arms around me. I feel his lips on the side of my head and can tell he’s worried he upset me. I note with a start that I’m not anxious he’s judging me, I’m just irritated that he is picking on me for my textile obsession. I look up at him over my shoulder and the shocked look on my face must worry him. He scoops me up in his arms and sits in my desk chair with me sideways on his lap.

“What’s wrong baby?” He coaxes while rubbing my leg and holding me tight. In a few short weeks he has learned to wrap me up tight to make a safe cocoon. That, of course, is the moment the rabid chihuahua hopped out of the elevator. Seeing me wrapped up tight she must have thought I was having a panic attack with how quickly she crossed to me and grabbed my hand.

“What’s wrong?” She demands, shooting a glare at Joe like he’s to blame for this.

I feel his muscles tighten up and can see a trace of guilt pass through his eyes. Trying to diffuse the situation as quick as possible and keep any more guilt from entering his eyes I quickly blurt out.

“He was picking on me about my fabric thing. I got annoyed instead of anxious!” I cry with excitement. They both get it at the same moment and rest their forehead against me chuckling with relieved humour. In that moment with one of them on each side of me, one high and one low I come to the startling realization of why this relationship is working.

“Oh my god Lindsay, I’m dating the male version of you!”

13

Joe

Don’t punch the photographer Joe. No matter how much this grabby annoying bastard deserves it, you can’t punch him.
I have to keep reminding myself not to punch this idiot in the head as he tugs and pulls on me, telling me to smile and trying to rearrange my damn restaurant. I still don’t understand why I can’t just have a food photographer take a picture of one of the final dishes for the cover. Every time I mention that I keep getting told that we need to get my face out there to increase my brand. I pull my phone out of my pocket and send Frankie a quick text

How much lye would it take to dissolve this photographer’s body? And perchance how much do you have on hand?

The past month has flown by and even I am shocked at how easy everything is going. Frankie accepts the long hours I work and has never once bitched about it. When I realized I was costing her sleep, I felt horrible and wanted to stop coming over after I close up, I would really hate not being able to hold her tight and having our mornings together, but her health and well being would always come first for me. I’ve learned that I shouldn’t have worried like I had in the beginning, all Frankie needs is constant reassurance. It sounds like it would be a hardship but it isn’t, I think if you really care about someone telling them every once in awhile should be automatic.

I have zero trouble telling her how amazing I think she is. I knew how many balls she has in the air and was suitably impressed. Now that I have seen what goes into making a single batch of soap I’m astounded. I truthfully had no idea how soap was made, even after she went over the basics with me I didn’t realize how much science went into it. On top of the science she has to also be an artist and make the soaps look pretty too so that it sells well. She also is always cooking for me and Lindsay, running errands and her random hobbies. If I didn’t know better, I would swear she doesn’t sleep in order to squeeze as much into the day as she does, I hold her almost every night so I know she does in fact sleep.

Why bother with lye? If you don’t have a meat grinder, Anthony does. I’m also sure he should know a few pig farmers.

My surprised laughter has everyone looking at me in confusion. They’re used to me being so serious and focused all the time, they probably think I don’t know how to laugh. Frankie and her friends have me laughing all the time. Lindsay and her seriously spent twenty minutes discussing common words that they find hilarious, spatula is currently the winner. It’s made me realize I’ve been so busy trying to carve out the perfect life, I haven’t been enjoying it at all. Frankie was right in her initial judgement of me having no friends just acquaintances and co-workers. Anthony and I try to get together socially at least once a week, we will have a random beer or something. I love when he comes and visits Frankie so I can have her tucked close to me while we do. I also met Andy the tattoo artist, him I don’t think I’ll ever be good friends with, but I will put up with him. Now he’s who I should call to deal with this nut job currently ranting about lighting. An evil smile spreads on my face as I think of the perfect person to handle this, and I send a quick text to put things in motion.

I laugh to myself when Frankie and Lindsay come in with what I asked for. I asked Frankie if she could bring me my black button-up shirt I left at her house last week, I wanted to put it on as soon as the shoot was over. Her eyes narrow with disgust when she sees the purple shirt I’m wearing, just like I knew they would. I specifically asked her to make sure Lindsay came with her so I could take them shopping when I got done. I have learned that they’re both more stubborn and proud than any man I’ve ever met, if they can’t have something delivered they will carry it themselves no matter how awkward or heavy it is.

I know there’s something behind it, I’ve offered to drive her to get whatever she needed to pick up and she got the look on her face that lets me know to tread carefully. I’m still scared that her emotions being so clear will get her hurt somehow but since it helps me understand when to push and when to back off I appreciate it. I’ll bring it up again and try to figure out the basis of it so we can conquer whatever fears are wrapped up in it one day. Today however their stubbornness works for me because it means I got one of the meanest and most opinionated people I’ve ever met to unknowingly come to my rescue.

It’s hilarious to me how mean Lindsay can be when her mama bear instincts come out, she’s this tiny little waif who can be the nicest most loving person in the world, until she thinks you hurt someone she considers hers. The look she sent me when she thought I had shoved Frankie into a panic attack by being an idiot can still make my bowels ice up. I had no doubt that
she already had a disposal plan in place for my corpse when she got done defiling it.  She also has a mouth on her that would make a sailor blush.

“Why in fuck are you wearing that pansy ass shirt Joe?” I hear her plainly ask when she catches sight of me. I have the sudden urge to go get popcorn for the show I’m sure is about to take place. With no qualms at all I throw Heather under the bus.

“She told me it made my eyes look pretty and I couldn’t wear my chefs coat.” I point at Heather where she is sitting staring at her smartphone.

“Why the hell would you put him in this stupid ass shirt woman. He looks completely fake and uncomfortable. Any photographs will make him look like a jackass. He’s a big badass alpha male, women eat that shit up, let him look like he is.” She grabs the shirt out of Frankie’s hands throwing it at me before stomping off to talk to the photographer. I duck my head so that she can’t see the smirk on my face.

“Come on troublemaker.” Frankie says as she pulls me towards my office, I have no doubt that my woman realizes what I did and why I did it. Hopefully she understands and isn’t upset. When we get to my office, she attacks the shirt I’m wearing, hastily undoing the buttons and shoving it off of me. When I pull it the whole way off, she grabs it and balls it up and throws it towards the garbage can. “Maybe I should take it home with me, I can safely set it on fire and watch it burn if we were home.” She mumbles under her breath while still glaring at the shirt. Guess I know what she thinks of the shirt for sure now.

“Don’t think I’m fooled about why you asked us down here, mister. You’re just lucky I know how uncomfortable you are with this stuff. Here I brought your gray t-shirt, I think it might work better. Hurry up and put it on.” She insists as she shoves it into my hands. I know she normally wears it to bed after she claimed it one night, so I understand she doesn’t want to part with it in case she doesn’t get it back based on how she’s petting it and looking at it wistfully.

“I’ll grab another shirt before we hit your place tonight so you can steal it back, little thief.” I tease. I wrap my arms around her and breathe in her scent as I kiss the top of her head. Today she smells like warm vanilla and sugar. She’s not the only one obsessed with the others scent, hers is constantly changing based on what she did that day and I love every one so far. Today’s makes me hungry and I want to spend hours investigating where the scent is the strongest on her body.

“Why don’t we ever go to your place?” She’s busy playing with the hem of my shirt and avoiding eye contact which lets me know she’s worried there’s a reason I haven’t invited her yet. I tug her ponytail to get her to look up at me when I know something is bothering her I make sure to maintain eye contact so she can see the truth in my eyes.

“I know you’re comfortable and safe in your place, we can go to mine whenever you want. I’m hardly ever there so it’s pretty basic and small. How about when we’re done we can walk over and I’ll show it to you, if you want to stay there tonight we can?” I can see the tension fading from her with my response. I give in and kiss her like I’ve wanted to since she walked in. I eat at her mouth nipping and licking until she’s mindless with pleasure. I wish I could lay her on my desk and love her the way we both need but I want to reassure her physically how much I need her.

I growl at the determined pounding on the door behind me.

“Hey Joe, get your tongue and whatever else of yours off or out of Frankie. I have the shot set up with the photographer and I want to get this done fast. You owe me lots of booze for this by the way.” Lindsay shouts through the door with all the subtlety of a sledge hammer.

I pull back from Frankie with a growl. I can’t tell the girl to fuck off and leave us alone when I instigated getting her here in the first place. I take a moment to hug Frankie tight and breathe in her scent before leaving the office if I hadn’t this photo would have only been suitable for Tumblr adult only boards.

When we get back to the dining room Lindsay drags me behind the bar, she has me lean forward on my elbow looking at the photographer. She vaults the bar with one hand planted somehow, I’m reasonably sure she has springs instead of calves based on how she hops around. She grabs Frankie and glares at Heather who is eyeing Frankie a little too closely for our comfort. Dragging her she positions her directly behind the photographer’s shoulder, she has him down on one knee so he’s slightly below me.

“Okay look at the camera like it’s….” she hesitates before saying Frankie’s name flashing a look at Heather “her and you get to finish what just got interrupted. Great, now look at her like you do when she makes a super geeky comment when you want to laugh. Ok, now think about how she keeps a plate warm with dinner for you every night. Ok last one, think about if someone tried to hurt her.” On the last I stand up to my full height and cross my arms glaring at Lindsay instead of the camera. How dare she even put that out into the universe! No one is allowed to hurt my Pixie!