Mirepoix (A Recipe Of Love Book 1) (6 page)

Realizing I’m still stuck in the spiral of negative emotions I give up on finding fabric today. I’m too distracted and might miss an amazing find, I’ll come back in a few days to see what offerings are available to me. Maybe the rush of endorphins from a new piercing or tattoo will be enough to shock me out of this funky mood. I turn and head a few blocks west to my favorite tattoo shop, even if Andy can’t squeeze me in I could have Angie shove a needle somewhere in my body.

I seriously love living in this city and being able to walk almost everywhere I need to. I know exactly how random I am, luckily when I get a wild hair about something I only have to go a short distance to indulge it. As I walk into the shop Andy looks up from behind the counter and scowls at me.

“Who do I need to hurt for putting that look on my girl’s face?” He growls out. I wish I could say the growling was a result of the look on my face, truthfully Andy just growls everything. If you only hear his voice you would expect to find a very big scary man-beast, which is not the case. At 5’8” he was only slightly taller than I am, in the right clothes he even looked unassuming. Today he was wearing a tight ribbed black tank top that showed almost every inch of his skin from his neck down is covered in ink and stretched tight against lean ripped muscle.

“I technically was never your girl. We played together a few times before figuring out while we like the same playground, we have different favorite games.” I try distracting him from his question. On paper Andy and I looked like a great match, we had similar interests and the same goals in life. We could and have had long passionate debates about music, books, movies and every other subject imaginable. We just made better friends than lovers. Thankfully we are still able to be friends which spoke to the fact that we weren’t a love match.

“Nice try. I know you babe, we may not be each other’s forever, but I will always have your back and care about your happiness, now spill.”

“It’s nothing, I promise no one has done anything to me
. 
I met someone and am trying to weigh the pros and cons of a relationship with him, and I don’t even know if he’s interested in me! I hate when I start spiralling like this. I need to snap myself out of it. Do you have time to sketch something up and ink me?” I am truly thankful that we have stayed friends, Andy understands me enough to accept my oddness and not judge.

“Sure I have time because I had a client cancel last minute. Do you have something in mind or can I show you something I’ve been working on?” He starts reaching under the counter he sits at for his sketchbook, another sign of how well he knows me. Andy can suggest a tattoo he’s drawn up for me that suits me perfectly, somehow representing a facet of my personality or something from my life.

I walk to the counter and look down at an image of an old school nautical compass. I can tell that he sketched it with me in mind because the filigree work around the edge is interspersed with tiny cherry blossoms that match the ones on my shoulder piece. I reach out to touch the image, the shading is so perfectly executed I almost expect to feel the filigree under my fingers.

“I love it. Where would it go?” Andy has done almost all of my tattoos and knows where all of my others are so he probably has his piece of real estate already picked out for it.

“On the back of your forearm wrapping around it. I want to angle it so the North point will be aimed at your shoulder blade when your arms down.” He lightly traces one of the few empty spaces left on my arms, and I realize he has probably been waiting for me to come in so he could suggest it. He understands the pain I live with more than most.

I studied up on American Traditional Tattoos and their meaning before I ever approached a shop, compasses are often seen as protection tattoos to protect you in rough seas and get you home safely. The way he wants to angle it the northern point will angle towards the swallows on my shoulder blade I got in remembrance of my family. They also symbolize staying true to the course and achieving your dreams.

“Perfect. With all the tiny details and shading will you be able to finish it in one session?”

“Of course, it will take about four hours. Do you want me to start a movie to distract you or music so you can go under?”

“Music please.” I murmur, struck again by how well he understands and accepts me.

“Alright on your stomach on the table then, arm straight out on the extender. You know the deal if it gets to be too much and you need a break let me know.” He instructs as he sets up all his tiny plastic pots of ink and machine.

I hop up onto the table and stretch out. I pillow my head on my arm and close my eyes. I feel him apply the stencil and when he starts I let the pain and the crash of endorphins help me drift away from my worries. I can never fully explain it but when I’m under it feels like floating in a warm bath tub completely safe. I’ve never found anything that accomplishes the exact same thing.

It feels like I’ve only been laying here for a half hour when I feel Andy spraying my arm and wiping it clean. I open my eyes and he helps me off the table over to the mirror to see the tattoo in place. It looks even more perfect on my arm. I lean my head on his shoulder, nonverbally thanking him for how understanding and taking care of me. He kisses my forehead and leads me to the stool he originally perched on before handing me a soda with a straw. Used to the routine I sit and sip while he wipes everything down, neither of us talking still existing in the bubble of peace. By the time he finishes I’m done with the soda and feeling steadier, the slightly drunk feeling has passed just leaving me calm and relaxed.

I already tucked some money under the edge of his sketchbook since I know if I ask him how much I owe him he’ll tell me nothing. I rise to my feet and stretch, rolling my neck a few times, before walking to Andy for a hug. I lay my head on his shoulder and have the stray thought if it were Joe holding me I could lay my head on his chest and hear his heartbeat. Andy is the first to take a step back, grabbing my shoulders and looking me in the eye.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw he leans in and kisses my forehead before stating quietly, “He would have to be dead not to be interested in you.”

He lets go of my shoulders and I walk out of the shop shaking my head ruefully at myself.

8

Joe

I forgot that I had invited Anthony to come have a drink at my restaurant tonight, luckily this time the hostess told me I had a visitor. The fact that he was a handsome man not a beautiful woman probably helped with the decision, not to mention the stern lecture she received yesterday. I keep a pretty level head with most of my staff and let the business manager handle the discipline issues, I keep a close eye but I don’t want to become known as another chef with a temper issue. I start thinking of yesterday and why I really really need that drink, just not necessarily with the person pushing me to drink.

When the hostess sauntered into the kitchen and plopped down the insulated bag with little care I was extremely confused.

“Some tiny chick brought that in for you, I didn’t recognize her so I’m guessing she’s a groupie.” She rolls her eyes at the word groupie, ironic since she is probably the closest thing I have in my life as a groupie at the moment. I don’t even remember her name, something ending in an i that she dots with a heart; Staci or Traci or something.

She flirts with me at every opportunity but doesn’t bother trying to learn anything about me personally, her career goal seems to be trophy wife. She is constantly flirting with men she thinks are rich, more than once with the wife there. I only know because the front manager had to explain to me why there were so many comped drinks one month. After that I was even more resolved to discourage her, I already had enough incentive to avoid a reputation for sleeping with my staff, without adding a gold digger in.

I open the bag on the counter in front of me and immediately smell heaven, tangy and sweet pork heaven. I reach in and pull out the to go containers, first the large one of pulled pork then a smaller one with some type of salad, and last a tiny one of dressing for the salad. I open the lids unable to wait even a second after the aroma that just lured me in. Perfect tender juicy shredded pork waits for me, there’s an impressive bark and smoke ring on the meat and the tangy thin sauce coating it, I know without even tasting, it will bring out the flavor of the meat instead of masking it. The smaller container has small salad with thin slivers of apples and walnut mixed throughout that will pair perfectly with the pomegranate vinaigrette I discover is in the smallest container.

I know that Frankie had to have made this and brought it to me knowing I couldn’t get away on a Saturday. We haven’t talked all week, I put her out of my mind concentrating on work. The problem is she wouldn’t stay where I put her. As I worked on new recipes, I could hear her voice in my head recommending a certain type of cheese or deli meat locally that would suit better. As I was putting on the purple shirt, my manager picked for me to wear for a photo shoot for an interview with a magazine, I saw the look of disgust on Frankie’s face the night I met her. I instantly switched to the soft gray t-shirt she seemed to like petting.

“God that’s pathetic, you’re a famous cook, why would she bother making you food. Does she think that will impress you? Maybe I had it wrong, and she’s hoping for a job after all.” Traci/Staci snorts derisively at the feast spread out before me.

“Maybe she knows that I will be busy on my feet all day, without an opportunity to make myself anything to eat so she wants to make sure I eat something healthy and delicious. What I don’t understand is why she just dropped it off instead of coming back here to talk to me.” I’m watching her intently and the guilt I suspected slides through her eyes.

“I know you don’t like being bothered when you’re doing prep so I told her you were too busy to be bothered.” She’s still looking sly and self satisfied and I know somehow she did something else, something that I’ll likely end up being the one to pay for but I don’t want to deal with her anymore.

“No I don’t like being bothered by you, next time Frankie or anyone else come in to see me bring them straight back to me since you obviously can’t handle deciding what is and isn’t serious.” I dismiss her as I grab a fork and dig into the ambrosia in front of me. I eat everything while looking over the books, my schedule for next week including different media appearances, as well as my notes on potential spotlight dinners I would like to try out this week. I had shockingly left yesterday before the dinner rush and went to the Italian Market to grab cheese and meat I needed. That’s where I ran into Anthony and invited him to join me tonight before closing, I figured who better to try a new sandwich than someone who specialized in meat, he might have an idea for another meat that would compliment better.

I’m shaken out of my reverie when I see the swinging door open. I wave Anthony in as I throw the sandwiches I just started under the salamander to melt and brown the cheese. The sandwiches bother me, they’re a lot more basic than anything I normally make. Frankie, just like she said she would, has helped remind me that sometimes basic can be amazing, now I just
have to make sure someone else agrees with me.  I shake my head
ruefully fully acknowledging that I can’t seem to get her out of my mind, especially with how confused she has me right now.

After I finished my impromptu lunch yesterday, I found my phone and went to text her a thank you for the food. I saw a text from her telling me she dropped it off. There was nothing friendly or personable in the message, even when she was annoyed with me that came through in the text. I’ve never met anyone else who can convey emotion with just a few words. I tried calling her but since she didn’t answer I ended up texting her back how delicious it was and my thanks. Several hours later I got a simple thank you back, I figured she must have been just as busy as I was. I’ve called her multiple times off and on over the past twenty-four hours to no avail.

I grab the metal plates the sandwiches are on and pull them out of the salamander and plate them properly. I promised myself that if Frankie comes up, I’ll try to find out what’s going on in her life but I won’t start off questioning Anthony. I’m worried about her and am curious at her strange behavior but like always the restaurant needs to come first.

“You definitely have a winner on your hands with that sandwich. It’s delicious.”

“Thanks man.” I lean back against the bar and cross my legs at the ankle. I took my chefs coat off before I came out into the dining room, hoping that my staff got the clue it meant I was off duty so to speak. “Are there any changes you would make with the meats?”

“You really want my opinion?” I glance over at the incredibility in his voice. He’s looking at me closely
as if judging my sincerity. 

“Of course, that’s why I asked you here. It’s a simple sandwich so I need all the components to be perfect, if you think there’s a different meat or something that would work better I would appreciate your help. Frankie said there’s no one in Philly that knows meat better than you do.” I glance up as he starts chuckling realizing how that sounds.

“I have a smoked prosciutto that might work better than the one you picked. The saltiness would balance better with the richness of the spread you came up with. You do realize Frankie suggested me to try to spark some type of bromance right? She could have just as easily recommended my father, who knows our stock just as well as I do. She must like you as she knows I have very little use for interacting with people.” He answers as he finishes off his sandwich.