“Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Thinking of Enzo, a part of her longed to see him again. Michelle still knew that she needed to keep up her guard when she saw him a second time. But the idea of looking into those blue eyes once more sent an undeniable thrill through her.
“I’ll play nice,” she promised her father. “Here. Let’s get you into bed.”
Michelle was careful as she guided her father back to his room and settled him under the blankets. She kissed his brow and told him not to worry as she climbed out of the kitchen window and settled on the fire escape. The city sparkled as she sat on the wrought iron and clenched the rail.
They needed to make friends. It was not so hard to argue with as much when she thought of the alternative… when she pictured his blue eyes and his silly smile.
But Michelle was still ready to stand strong if he danced too close to the menu.
5
The next day, Lorenzo returned to the restaurant with his fresh outlook intact. Because it wasn’t just the abysmal taste of his brother’s meal. No. He had watched the easy way that Cait and Val had with one another, the tender touches, and the stolen kisses.
Maybe it was too much of a reach to think that Michelle would ever show him such affection. But, at the very least, he needed to make friends, and he wore a bright smile when he made his way back to the kitchen, where he found her stirring a fresh batch of sauce.
“Hello.”
She shot him the quickest of glances over her shoulder and shrugged as she turned her focus back to the pot.
“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” she said between swirls of her spoon.
“I know it’s a little early before the next dinner service.”
“Are you going to talk to me about the menu again?” she challenged. She looked back a second time, their eyes locking. Lorenzo licked his lips, ready to talk terms when she suddenly abandoned the sauce and smoothed her hands down the front of her apron.
“Because if that’s the case,” she continued, “maybe there are things to discuss.”
This was strange. She still seemed guarded, but there was a softness in her tone as she reached for a rag to wipe her hands and took a step closer.
“I… there is?” Lorenzo asked.
“Yes. I know you’re only here to help. So, while I’m taking it with a grain of salt, I’m open to your advice.”
Lorenzo choked back his surprise and watched her press a lock from her ponytail behind her ear. “You… you are?”
“Maybe we’re no better than Dante’s,” she said. “But instead of pizza, it’s pasta. And that I can do.”
He watched her turn back to the sauce, and he felt a part of his heart sink, because she was limiting herself. And one whiff of the lemon chicken and everything else in last night’s kitchen had made him want more for her.
“I… Ms. Moretti…”
She turned to face him with one arched eyebrow, and Lorenzo straightened his stance as he cleared his throat.
“Can… can you make mac and cheese?”
At first, she seemed surprised. But then she bridled. Was he playing with her? “Mac and cheese? Are you serious?” she asked.
“I… see the thing is… I ended up having the boxed stuff last night.”
“Yuck,” she said, sticking her tongue out for emphasis. A cook through and through, she didn’t want anyone to suffer processed, ordinary food when there was so much more to offer. “I can do you one better.”
“I’d be honored.”
Like all kitchens, there was always a pot of boiling water at the ready in Michelle’s domain. She poured small pasta shells in the steaming vat before bringing another burner to life, where she began to melt butter along with quality cheese.
“So that’s the secret to the sauce,” Lorenzo observed.
“Not so secret, really. Good ingredients make good dishes,” Michelle said. “When the sauce is done, I’ll pour it over the pasta, bake with breadcrumbs and a touch of paprika.”
They remained in comfortable silence, Michelle bustling around the kitchen preparing for the night’s service and Lorenzo watching. After ten minutes or so, he had a question for her.
“And what about ham?” he asked.
“Ham?” she echoed.
“Yes. I… because last night… I mean, it wasn’t the worst combo.”
Michelle frowned at him before moving to the larder, where she pulled out a large slab of pancetta. “I can add this to the batch.”
“That looks way better than what I had,” Lorenzo said.
“What did you have before?”
“I… well, I mean it was just like lunch meat.”
“Lunch meat?” she echoed. “That’s a crime against cuisine. How did you ever choke it down?”
“My brother made the meal. And he had his girl there… so.”
He feared that he sounded silly and too far off topic. They had an agreement to reach, and Lorenzo started to speak again when Michelle waved one finger in the air, her other hand busy straining the pasta.
“You did the right thing,” she said. “People are sensitive when it comes to food.” She smiled and chopped the pancetta, sprinkling it over the pasta, adding the breadcrumbs and the spices before popping the pan in the oven.
Minutes clicked by, with Lorenzo’s eyes on the back of her neck before he spoke again. “And maybe… no. I shouldn’t have told you what to do with your menu,” he said.
“You actually raised some good—”
“No. Don’t.”
“Okay, watch and learn.”
Michelle busied herself with kitchen tasks while she waited for the pasta dish to bake. For his part, Lorenzo took it all in and watched her whirl through the area with efficient purpose. His mouth was already watering in the wake of the scents emanating from the stove. In just a few seconds, she transformed last night’s disappointment into a meal he desired more than the ground under his feet. Twenty minutes later, she served him a plate of the steaming and much improved mac and cheese.
He took a bite of the pasta, savoring the taste before he swallowed it. He started to take another taste before pausing with the fork in hand. “I have to… no. I want to work with you,” he said. “I’ll find a way to market whatever you cook and keep the customers rolling in.”
The woman did a double-take, looking as if she must have misheard him
“What?” he asked. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not sure,” she countered. “What happened to changing the menu all the way around?”
“Believe me. After my last meal, I’m in no position to argue with your expertise.”
She continued to regard him with a wary stare before speaking. “So you said,” Michelle stated. “Let’s find a quieter place to talk.”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Rodolfo seething as Michelle pointed the way toward a back office littered with Mets memorabilia and boxes of financial papers and records. It was clear that the “business” part of the Morettis’ business didn’t get as much attention as the cooking part.