Chapter Three
David
Beingresponsible for the best selling pastries at Café Lima was something I was very proud of. My mom, Paula Lima, was the original owner of the café and its namesake. When she passed away, it became mine, although at fifteen years old, I was too young to take over the business and was also still at school. My mom's sister, Aunt Teresa, and her husband, Uncle Mário, already worked there, so they took on the management side of things until I was old enough to make the decisions.
One decision, however, was plenty easy to make. I knew I wanted to work with food. Baking and cooking was something I’d done with my mom, and now it was all I had left of her.
Every day after school, she’d insist I finish my homework, and only then would we bake. When what I made was good enough, she would put it out front for sale. I still remembered the first day that had happened. I’d been intrigued by the photo of a recipe for a chickpea tart because it looked so delicious, even though I was sure that a dessert made with chickpeas wouldn’t taste sweet. Mom encouraged me to try it and let me follow the recipe on my own. I did, and the result was a delicious-tasting tart that sold out that afternoon.
We also cooked most of our meals together. She liked making traditional Portuguese food, and even when we tried other cuisines like Chinese and Indian, she always was adamant that our food was far better.
As soon as I finished high school, I’d put on the apron and had been baking for Café Lima ever since.
I loved my job and had always been adventurous, even spending the last few years experimenting and creating new pastries for the café, which had always turned into a success. But the most-wanted item on the menu by far was still the traditional custard tart. Most days, I’d bake a couple hundred of the things, which could be a little monotonous, and the only thing that had stopped me from developing repetitive strain injury was the recent additions to my kitchen in the form of a few industrial-sized appliances.
I also loved the early mornings. Who would have guessed that the little kid who had repeatedly asked for five more minutes in bed for the first half hour of each day would now be a happy early riser? Yep, I loved getting up before the rest of the world and walking up to the café, turning the lights on, and doing what I believed I had been born to do.
Most days in the summer, I also got up a little earlier and went to the beach for a run before even the sun was up.
Today had been one of those few summer days when I’d been unable to make my daily run because we were hosting a family dinner in the café after hours, so there had been a lot to do first thing this morning.
Joel, my childhood best friend, was back from New York. He’d moved there when we were eight, and the last time we’d seen each other, we had both been fourteen. Now Joel was back home, and while it was for a sad occasion, it also served to bring the family together.
Tonight, both Joel's family and mine were celebrating Joel being home and remembering his parents.
As for me, I was currently in the corner of the kitchen, which served as a standing office, having a mild panic attack. I checked that everything was running on schedule for the hundredth time. I knew how to cater for a dinner party and could do it with my eyes closed, but this was a special occasion because of the relationship Sílvia had had with my mom, and I wanted to do the best for the family.
While these events didn't happen very often, I was used to them. The early closing hours of Café Lima meant I was able to bring in some additional income by hiring out the space and catering family dinners and birthday parties, as well as the occasional small wedding. It also gave me an opportunity to experiment with the dessert menu and serving some of my mom's homemade recipes.
Tonight was a family dinner, so I’d decided on a traditional home-cooked meal. I hoped a green cabbage soup with chorizo for the starter, a monkfish cataplana for the main course, and a three-chocolate mousse for dessert would hit the spot.
I hadn't seen Joel since we were fourteen. We grew up pretty much inseparable as a result of our mothers being best friends, but things changed when Joel had to move away to New York with his parents.
We’d still seen each other every year in the summer when Joel spent the school holidays in Portugal, but then he stopped coming back, even when his parents had continued to visit.
That last summer we spent together had been a defining time, at least for me, so I was feeling unsure about where we stood with each other, but I hoped at least we would be able to rekindle our friendship.
Straightening my back with a deep breath and placing the task list on my desk, I went back out from the kitchen to the café that was now doubling as the event room.
The tables had been lined up in a row to make one long one, and we had dressed it very modestly. After all, this was an informal family dinner, and I wanted everybody to feel comfortable and relaxed, even if I was somehow struggling to manage the same for myself.
As the guests started to arrive, I focused on welcoming everybody. I knew Joel's grandparents very well since they were regulars at the café and as much family as my own. They always passed on news about Gary, Sílvia and Joel, but I was always reluctant to ask too much.
Joel's aunt and uncle lived in a different town, so they didn't drop by as often. Same with his cousins, but we had all grown up in the same neighborhood, so everybody was on a first-name basis. It really felt like one of the family dinners from my childhood, and I had a pang of longing, thinking of my mom and how much she’d have loved to be here today.
I didn't have to look up to know Joel had arrived. As I was setting some appetizers on the table, I heard the chattering increase, followed by louder, happy voices. I took a deep breath and then did look up. Joel was distracted by his family, which was just as well because I was transfixed and couldn't take my eyes off him.
Joel looked...so grown up, so...stunning. He had grown tall, probably thanks to his American side, maybe six foot two. It was quite a contrast to my own more built, but shorter five-foot-nine frame. His light blond hair was a shade darker than it used to be, and I couldn’t quite see his eyes from where I was standing, but I still remembered how they used to be so blue that I would stare at them whenever he wasn’t paying attention.
Continuing to gaze at him, my thoughts took me in an unexpected direction, and I wondered if, under his button-up shirt, Joel had some definition to his lithe body.
Shit. I had to get myself under control.
Joel looked over as if he could read my thoughts, and my stomach clenched. Suddenly, I forgot how to breathe as our eyes locked. Even from afar, they were the same hypnotizing bright blue. He didn't give me time to get over the moment, because he strode toward me, and in a few steps, I was enveloped in a fresh, shower gel-scented hug that took my breath away. I wasn’t sure how long it had lasted, but it felt like a lifetime as I breathed him in and felt his arms snake tight around my back.
"David, it's so good to see you. God, it's been so long," Joel said before he let go. His smile so bright it lit up the room. I took a moment to catch my breath, feeling my Adam's apple bob, and hoping he wouldn’t think I was a brainless mess.
Come on, David, you’re a normal person. Behave like one.
