“And that’s what Torre’s brother has going on in Brooklyn at his place.” Frisco winked at me. “Even with the god-awful name,Mangia.”
“Oh, stuff it.” I ignored him to explain to the chef. “My brother’s restaurant is a family-run home-style place. He’s self-taught, but after a year, he’s got a devoted following. He grows almost all the vegetables and herbs for the restaurant, or uses locally sourced produce.”
“Impressive. Maybe I’ll come by one night and check it out.”
Frisco draped his arm over my shoulder. “We’re here because Michael has graciously allowed us to cook with him in the kitchen today at lunch.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” My mouth hung open as Frisco and Chef White laughed.
“Now there’s my Brooklyn guy.” Frisco dropped a kiss to my head.
“When did you…how?” I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m not usually this inarticulate. I just can’t believe this.”
“Well, time to believe it. Your chef jackets are here. Thank you, Zoriada.”
A young woman in a black dress, hair pulled tight in a sleek chignon, handed us the crisp white jackets and exchanged them for our coats. With reverence, I put on the chef’s jacket and buttoned it up.
We moved quickly through the beautiful space, and when we entered the kitchen, it reminded me of a well-run machine. There were sous chefs and line cooks, apoissonnier, arotisseur, and asaucier, all working in tandem. The pastry chefs had their own sections, where they were in the midst of creating their beautiful desserts.
“It’s like a playground. A dream.” I squeezed Frisco’s hand. “Thank you for making this happen. It took a miserable day and made it almost all better. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say, ‘Thank you, Frisco. You’re an amazing man, and I can’t wait to pleasure you tonight until we both pass out.’”
“Shut up.” I smacked his ass, but I let my hand linger and gave him a little squeeze to let him know I was on to his game.
When he buttoned up his jacket, I realized how happy he looked. The darkness behind his eyes had disappeared.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“Just hey. I’m really happy. Thank you.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek.
The afternoon passed in a blur of watching and learning and doing. At one point I pulled out my phone, took a picture, tagged the location, and texted Mike.
GUESS WHERE I AM?
He answered right away:I FUCKING HATE YOU AND YOUR BOYFRIEND, AND IF YOU DON’T TELL ME EVERYTHING, I’LL BEAT YOUR BUTT.
I cackled, and Frisco, who’d finished conferring with Chef White about the fresh pasta, came up behind me and peeked over my shoulder at the phone.
“Give me that.” He swiped it out of my hand and texted:YOU LEAVE TORRE’S ASS ALONE. THAT’S MY PROPERTY.
“Jesus Christ. Give that back to me.” I grabbed the phone before he could type anything more explicit. “Are you crazy?”
“Only for you,bello.”
Now how the hell could I stay mad at him?
“Dammit. Stop calling me that when I want to be annoyed at you.”
“Why’re you annoyed? Mmm, this tuna tartare is incredible. Here, taste.” A platter of it sat on the counter in front of us, and he dipped a small spoon in, then placed it to my lips.
God, he was a pain in the ass, but I couldn’t resist, and almost moaned with pleasure as the silky fish slid down my throat. I licked my lips, and Frisco’s eyes darkened to a smoky blue. In the face of his rising desire, I gathered my shaky wits.
“I don’t need my brother knowing about my sex life.”
He quirked a brow. “I’m more than certain he knows we’re having sex.”
