She laughed. “Will you think I’m too basic if I opt for medium?”
“Not at all. The only one who likes ‘the devil’s playground’ is Ernesto, and that’s so he can brag about it.” He rooted around in the fridge until he found the right container. He then set out the eggs, corn tortillas, and refried beans. “Avocado?”
“If you have it, yes, please.” She eased off the stool and walked over to the corner of the kitchen, where a baker’s rack held dozens of cookbooks. “Are all these yours?”
He drizzled oil into a small sauté pan and turned up the heat. “Yeah. Our library has a used book sale every year. I make sure to get there early so I can grab the best cookbooks. People always give them away. Even the brand-new ones. I think they buy them with lofty goals in mind, then give up after a year.”
She pulled one of the books off the shelf. A stylish Mediterranean cookbook, filled with vibrant photos of Greece and Turkey. “This looks amazing. Have you tried any of the recipes?”
“Not yet. When I have downtime, I look through them and bookmark the dishes I want to try.”
She set down the Mediterranean book and grabbed one featuring French pastries. “Ooh. Have you ever made any of these?”
“I made croissants once, but they weren’t my best effort. They’re a ton of work. What I’d like to do is take a pastry class.”
“Why don’t you?”
Though it was a sore subject, he suspected Victoria might understand his frustrations. “When I moved back here from San Diego, I thought about applying to Southwestern College. They have a two-year associate’s degree in cooking and baking. But my brothers gave me a hard time. They couldn’t understand why I wanted to go to school for something I’ve been doing since I was thirteen.”
They hadn’t meant to belittle him; they just didn’t think it was necessary. Martin had also reminded him that he hadn’t been a stellar student in high school. But this was different. Though classes like physics or English literature bored him, cooking was in his blood. If he was going to pay to learn more about it, he’d make sure he got his money’s worth. But it all boiled down to the same issue—proving he could be trusted to act like a responsible adult.
“Maybe you should try asking them again,” Victoria said. “If you tell them how much it means to you, they might reconsider.”
“I’ve been teaching myself different techniques, but maybe…” He thought for a moment. “If I can pull off this wedding, my brothers might take me more seriously. I could ask them then.”
“That’s a great idea. Even a few classes could make a huge difference. Right? You could learn stuff you’ve never tried before.”
He liked the idea. One or two classes, in addition to his normal work life. If his brothers thought he could handle it, then he’d pursue it.
After heating up the salsa and setting it aside, he set the tortillas in the hot oil and diced up a ripe avocado. When the tortillas were done, he drained them in a paper towel and wrapped them in foil to keep them warm while he heated up the beans.
Victoria settled back onto her stool with a cocktail book in hand. “This is just what I need.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You thinking of going into bartending?”
“No, but I could use it to find the signature cocktail for Missy’s wedding. That reminds me—instead of using Tres Hermanos, why don’t you come over to my place? We’ve got a full bar at the house. If there’s anything extra I need, I can pick it up and charge it to the wedding. Then we can experiment with fun Christmas drinks.”
He could think of nothing he’d like better, but he couldn’t let himself be tempted. “I’d love to, but I don’t drink and drive.”
“Not ever?”
“Not if I can help it. That’s why we walked to the bar last night.” He looked away as the shame washed over him. “Right after my dad died, I got up to some stupid shit. I smashed up the family car after a wild night out. No one got hurt, but I spent a year paying off the damages.”
If Victoria thought less of him, she didn’t show it. Instead, she spoke gently. “That must have been hard. I can see why you’d want to be careful.”
Though he hadn’t cut back on the drinking until recently, he’d never gotten behind the wheel again while under the influence. For all the grief he’d taken from Martin and Tony, he knew he’d gotten off easy. He could have ended up in the hospital. Or killed someone.
He cracked the eggs into the pan and watched them closely. Once the whites had set, he took them off the heat and set the pan to the side. He placed the beans onto the warm tortillas, added the eggs, and then spooned a generous amount of salsa and diced avocado over each serving.
When Victoria took the first bite, she let out one of those orgasmic groans. Truly, this was a woman with a delightful repertoire of food-related noises.
She set her fork down. “I have a brilliant idea. What if you spent the night at my place?”
If he were being responsible, he’d decline her offer. Nip this fling in the bud before it went any further. But the Quiet Game hadn’t been enough for him. He wanted to make love to Victoria properly. Spend the night with her curled up in his arms. Wake her up with a passionate session in bed, followed by a steamy shower.
But he could only imagine her father’s reaction. “I’m sure your dad would love that.”
“He left for Napa this morning, and he’s staying there until Wednesday. He goes there a lot to check in on the Blackwood Cellars-Napa office.”
