Letting Go (10 page)

She turned to him. She
couldn’t help but grin at his pleading expression. She liked how he was seeking her attention. It felt good. In a bad sort of way.

“I knew it
,” he said, but she ignored him.

“Now what?”
She looked around at the vastness of the place. “This looks scary.”

“I’ll tell you what this looks like
—it looks sexy.” When she raised her eyebrows at him, he said, “I meant you in an apron.”

“Stop it,
Harper.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I thought we would cook,” she said, confused, and jumped up to sit on one of the stainless steel counters.

“Get off,” he said.

“Wha—” She didn’t manage to finish as he grabbed her hand and pulled her off. “What was that about?”

“Never sit on the counters. This is a kitchen, not your
bedroom.”

His statement struck her as
hilarious. For a second, she couldn’t believe she’d heard right. He brought her here to teach her how to
not
worry about being proper and all.

She could see his shock when she suddenly laughed. She couldn’t stop. It was too funny, but she managed to mumble in between fits of laughter, “Prude
.”

She stumbled back into a cupboard, leaning on it for support, still laughing.

“Cut it out,” Harper said next to her, but she could hear he was on the brink of laughing too.

“You
gotta … admit … it’s hilarious,” she squealed, trying hopelessly to get some air.

“It’s not,”
he said. When she stumbled again, he caught her. He was now laughing too, and they supported each other like two drunks. They were a heap of laughter. Isabelle had tears streaming down her cheeks and even when she managed to control the laugh, she still hiccupped with mirth every now and then.

“I thought I told you to stop,”
Harper said, wiping her cheeks and clearing his throat.

When his warm fingers touched her red cheeks,
Isabelle sobered. “I think your purpose here was achieved. I hadn’t laughed like that in ages,” she said and stepped away.

He let his hands that held her seconds ago fall to his sides.

“It felt good,” he said, subdued. “But we’re nowhere near done. Get a bowl and search for vanilla beans; we’ll be making panna cotta.”

“What’s that?” Her ignorant question stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You don’t … Never mind. You’ll see.”

“Why aren’t we making peas and cheese tart since you already
offered to make it?”

He turned and walked back to her. “That’s for another time. We don’t want to get nostalgic
and sad now.”

“I wouldn’t …”

“You’re underestimating the power of food,” he said, cutting her off, and then added, “We’ll make something sexy, instead.”

“Food isn’t sexy, no matter what this panotta is,” she countered.

“Panna cotta, Isabelle.
Panna cotta
.” He rolled his eyes at her, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t know what panna cotta was, or because she thought food couldn’t be sexy.

Half
way towards the door with a ‘Storeroom’ sign on it, he turned, grinned, and said, “I never thought prudes could be sexy.” His dreamy eyes travelled the length of her body and stopped on her face. “But look at you …”

When he returned with two articles in his hands, she was still standing in the same spot. She hadn’t yet recovered.

“We’re strapped for time, so we’ll improvise,” he said.

Improvisation sounded bad, was
Isabelle’s first coherent thought in the last five minutes. Really bad.

“Put two teaspoons of this
—it’s gelatin—” he handed her the larger container “—into a small bowl and add four spoons of cold water.”

She held the container gingerly, following
Harper’s moves around the kitchen with her eyes instead of doing what he’d asked. She had no idea what gelatin was.

“What?” He stopped in his tracks when he
noticed she didn’t budge from her spot.

“Bowl?” she peeped.

“In that cupboard.” He pointed. He looked all business now. Relaxed, but focused. Isabelle couldn’t help but admire him. It was as if he had washed his sarcasm off of him as he washed his hands in the sink before he went to work. He seemed like he was enjoying this, like he felt at home in the kitchen. He looked sexy in his jeans, the black apron, his hair mussed and his defined biceps showing under his short sleeves.

She shivered, placing the container on the countertop. “I need to make a phone call,” she muttered.

“Now?” His astonished and impatient voice followed her as she almost ran out into the street, pulling at the apron to get to her phone in her jeans pocket.

Without thinking, she pressed
Chloe’s speed dial number. Biting her nails, she waited for her to answer.

“Hey, you won’t believe where I am right now,”
Chloe started and Isabelle could hear her breathlessness so she guessed she was out walking somewhere, but she could care less right now.

“Chloe
, I’m in trouble.”

“Huh? What
happened?”

When it was time to say it,
Isabelle hesitated. How could Chloe help her anyway? She was hundreds of miles away and she had had a crush on Harper since she first saw him. She would never be able to see what Isabelle’s problem was, even if she explained it to her.

She said instead, “
Harper’s making me cook.” Her statement got her the desired effect. Chloe went silent and Isabelle could imagine her full lips forming an astonished ‘o’.

“But you don’t cook
. Why would he do that? And where are you?”

“Exactly, because he’s mean, and in an enormous restaurant kitchen,”
Isabelle answered in one breath.

“Tell me from the beginning,”
Chloe said.

“No time. I just needed to hear you to see there are still sane people in this world
.” Isabelle laughed. Talking to Chloe made her feel better. Maybe it was just a moment of weakness that she’d experienced in there. She was unprepared for this; it threw her for a loop, this unplanned adventure, so she reacted too emotionally. Talking to her friend cleared things up. So what if she thought Harper was sexy. That was a fact and her dating his brother wouldn’t change it. It was normal to feel that way. Even people in steady relationships were attracted to other people, strangers even.

“Are you okay?”
Chloe asked, sounding really worried this time.

Isabelle
took a moment to gather her wits. “Yes, I am. I’m having fun, actually,” she admitted.

“Cooking?”
Chloe sounded so incredulous that Isabelle felt insulted.

“I can cook. Well, mostly, I’ll be watching
Harper. Cook,” she added hastily.

There was silence on
Chloe’s end. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she said.

“Yeah, because that’s
such sound advice.” Isabelle rolled her eyes and wished her friend could see her for maximum effect.

“The best you’ll ever get
from me, Izzy,” Chloe chuckled. “I mean it, Iz, enjoy yourself.”

“I am. More th
an I thought I would be,” she said. This was supposed to be an awkward ride home, but it was turning into an adventure, a real, pleasant and exciting road trip.

“I’m glad,”
Chloe said and Isabelle could hear how content she was. She wished she could hug her right now, right here. She was feeling generous with her warm mood, but she knew she should be careful at whom she directed it.

When she returned to the kitchen,
Harper lifted his hands in a ‘where were you’ gesture.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as if excusing herself in front of a strict boss. It was ridiculous. “What can I do?”

“Stir this,” he said, moving to the side so she could take over behind the enormous cooker. “There’s cream, confectioner’s sugar and vanilla bean in here. Keep stirring,” he said when she stopped. “Until just before it starts simmering.”

“How will I know when it’s
about
to start simmering?” She frowned. “I can’t read the food’s mind.”

“
Go with the feeling,” he grinned. “Good girl,” he teased when she followed his instructions and stirred.

In the meantime, he
readied the gelatin that she failed to prepare earlier. When the cream started bubbling and sizzling at the edges of the pot, she lowered the flame somewhat. She continued to stir and simmer for about five minutes, just as Harper had told her to.

“Okay, that’s done.” He turned the huge
cooker off, adding the gelatin into the cream mixture. “Now, stir until the gelatin dissolves.”

“So it swells up in cold water and then dissolves over heat?”

“And when you cool it down again, it makes the dish solid.”

“Huh.”

“Since we’re in a rush, we won’t be pouring it into molds because that’s more complicated. We’ll fill a few glasses. Is it done yet?” he asked, and checked the mixture.

“There are no
lumps in it anymore,” Isabelle said.

“Great.” He placed a few large glasses on the countertop. “We’ll make a few f
or Missy, as thanks for letting us mess up her kitchen. Fill them about an inch to the top,” he instructed.

Isabelle
watched him move around the kitchen. He looked like a different person. Even his face looked warmer, softer. Amazed, she froze with the pot in her hands.

“Well?”

“Yeah, sure, an inch to the top.” She poured the mixture into the glasses, filling six of them.

“So Missy’s the owner of this place?”

“Yup. I’ll freeze them for twenty minutes. Otherwise, it’s supposed to go into the fridge overnight.”

“Neat trick,” she said.

“I’ve never tried it before so let’s hope it works.”

“So what are recipes for if you can work around them like that?” To her mind, if there was a recipe, it meant you had to stick to it word by word. Wasn’t that the point?
Not that she’d ever tried cooking anything from scratch.

“They’re general guidelines. With experience, you learn to improvise, change them,
and add your signature to every dish.”

“Hm.”

“What?” he asked, closing the freezer door.

“You’re full of surprises.”

“You sound shocked.”

“
That’s because I am.”

He wiped the counter with a kitchen
towel. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What did you expect?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “All I ever saw you do was do stuff on your computer
, annoy Jamie and me, or party. I wasn’t expecting anything much.”

“So, the surprises I’m so full of … how do you like them?” He stopped put
ting away things to look at her, his eyes soft and dark.

“I …
like them, I suppose,” she said.

“Suppose?” He shook his head. “Can you ever give a straight answer?”

“I just did,” Isabelle said.

He stepped closer, leaning down to her. “When you like something, say you like it. It’s simple. Feels good, too.”

She had a distinct feeling that his words referred to more than just her previous answer.

Without waiting for her to respond, he brought another pot to the
cooker. “Now, we’ll make the berry sauce.”

“What happens if
you mess up when experimenting?” she asked across the kitchen where he rummaged through another freezer in the corner, bringing out a large bag of mixed frozen berries.

“You burn things, cook terrible sauces, mix incompatible tastes … All sorts of stuff.”

“Yeah, but …”

He handed her the bag. “Here you go.”

Without thinking, she scooped out several handfuls of the berries and put them into the pot.

“You learn from it,
Isabelle.”

“Add sugar,” he instructed.

“How much?”

“As much as you want.” He grinned at her, obviously expecting her hesitation that came second
s later.

“But …”

“This’ll be your sauce. You can make it any way you like.”

“What if it ends up tasting no good?”

“See this bag?” He pointed to the large bag of berries, still two thirds full. “You can use all these to experiment.”

Tentatively, she added a few spoonfuls of c
onfectioner’s sugar, and set the flame on medium.

“Do you like berries?” he asked. “And be direct, please.”

She made a face at him. “Yes, I like berries,” she enunciated each word. In return, she got a wide grin from Harper. She smiled.

“
Heat this until the sugar melts, and then we’ll add brandy so the sauce will have a bit of a kick to it. In reasonable amounts,” he said and rolled his eyes at her.

“I got drunk before,” she said defiantly
, stirring the berry sauce. “And I smoked pot, just so you know. Because you seem to think I’m so innocent and clueless,” she added.

“And what happened?”

That was not the question she expected.
“What do you mean?”

“Did the world come tumbling down? Did zombies rise from the
ir graves? Did you get arrested, at least?”

“No. But I had a mean hangover.”

“Yeah, too much of the good stuff will do that to you,” he chuckled. “The trick is in moderation.”

“You’re one to talk,” she snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand
, mortified. He looked at her, amused, his eyes glinting as if her words were a challenge and he was accepting it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean it like that.” How could she say
something so thoughtless?

“
Actually, I
am
one to talk. I’ve learned the hard way, so you can trust I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m so sorry,
Harper.” She touched his arm, wishing she could take the words back.

“It’s fine,
Isabelle.” He smirked. “Really. Chill.” He turned the cooker off and removed the pot with the sauce.

“I keep
saying stupid things around you.” She hid her face in her hands.

He leaned closer, cornering her against the counter. “Maybe it’s because my good looks are distracting you.”

“No,” she made a face, her hand on his chest, pushing him away.

“Now that’s an insult
.” He pointed his finger at her. “You deserve to get punished for it. Wash the dishes.”

She grumbled
, but set about doing what he told her to do. “Don’t they have a washing machine or something?”

“For three pots and a spoon?” he mocked.

She poured a liberal amount of detergent into the large sink and filled it up with water.

“Are you preparing a bubble bath for yourself?”
He raised his eyebrows when he saw the amount of froth.

She started washing the pots when he brought her the one
they used to make the berry sauce. He dropped it into the sink and the foam squirted up, a big glob of it ending up on Isabelle’s apron.

“Hey!”

He grinned and threw the spoon in, causing another spray of water and detergent to hit her face.

Isabelle
decided it was time for payback. She scooped up a handful of the foam, splashing it on his chest. Harper grabbed the nearest spoon, hitting the water surface so that some foam landed on Isabelle.

“This is war,
” she declared.

The foam frothed and flew across the kitchen
. Harper’s aim was better, and Isabelle’s hair and apron were soon soaked. Isabelle shrieked every time a new portion of foam and water hit her. Harper laughed and chased after her around the kitchen. She picked up a bowl, catching some foam in it, having it ready for when Harper came at her. But he ducked, and she missed. He laughed, landing two handfuls of froth on her hair. She yelped as the foam dripped onto her forehead and down her face. She was breathless with laughter and the chasing around the kitchen.

Trying to get away from Harper,
Isabelle slipped on the slick tiles, losing her balance. Harper was by her side in an instant, grabbing her around her waist and pulling her to him.

“You okay?”
he asked.

“Yeah,”
she sighed, dipping her hand into the water behind Harper’s back and then dropping a handful of it on his head. He closed his eyes, swearing and laughing simultaneously. Isabelle giggled and stepped away from him.

Harper
wiped his soaked hair in the apron, checking the damage on his t-shirt and jeans.

“Are your clothes wet?” he asked
Isabelle, still grinning.

“Not that much. Apron’s soaked through, though.” She handed him the apron and he took it to the back. “They’ll wash them later. But we need to get a mop and clean up this mess.”

“I’ll do it,” Isabelle volunteered.

“Sure?”

She nodded.

“I’ll get the panna cottas ready, then.”

It took her fifteen minutes to wipe the floor. All the while, she marveled at how a bit of water and foam could be so fun. It was like being a kid again, blowing bubbles in the backyard. She remembered her and Chloe doing it in third grade. Chloe’s mom wouldn’t allow her to wear a bikini top, saying it wasn’t healthy, although she wouldn’t explain why. So Chloe borrowed one of Isabelle’s. They both wore sun glasses, Chloe with red frames, Isabelle with white. Isabelle even discovered an old hat of Mom’s somewhere in the attic and they pretended to be Italian divas, sprawled on the lounge chairs by the inflatable pool that Dad had bought her for her birthday. Those were fun times.

Just like the water games with
Harper now, Isabelle thought. He was right, letting go could be fun. On occasion.

When she returned to the kitchen,
Harper was standing in the doorway to the dining room.

“Dessert
is served,” he said. He extended his hand towards her and she accepted it. He led her to a small round table in the corner of the dining room. Even when the restaurant was full, the table must have offered an intimate setting as it was hidden behind a large plant.

“Looks delicious,” she said when she saw the berry sauce covering the panna cotta.

“Taste it.”

She sat down. He didn’t move his eyes from her
face and it made her nervous. She picked up the spoon and scooped up some panna cotta and sauce. When it reached her tongue, the cream melted slowly, smoothly, mixing with the berries, the sweetness, the hint of alcohol.

“Oh my god,” she moaned. “’S good.”

She followed it with another spoonful and another. It was then that she realized she had closed her eyes. And when she opened them, she was met with Harper’s smirking face. “That good, huh?”

She felt all dreamy from the blend of the tastes and aromas. “I can’t believe I helped made this.”

“More importantly, you had fun making it.” Although it didn’t sound like a question, his eyes stared at her quizzically.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “A lot of fun.”

“Important thing to remember: always serve with cold sauce otherwise the panna cotta starts melting. It shouldn’t melt before it reaches your tongue.”

“I’ll remember that for next time I cook up a st
orm in the kitchen,” she teased, trying to ignore how him saying ‘your tongue’ affected her.