He couldn’t help but smile and wink at his gorgeous lady as she politely listened to the director going on and on about the history of the kitchen. She looked like a queen surveying her new queendom. Proud, competent, happy. His heart leaped and bounded. How had he gotten so damn lucky? He’d do anything to keep her happy and safe.
Twenty
Late Saturday morning in Delia’s restaurant kitchen—sun streamed through the window and coated a wire bowl full of oranges and lemons. A blue glass pitcher of cold water beaded with condensation chimed as the ice tapped against the sides. Freshly-sharpened knives gleamed beside three thick wooden cutting boards lined up on the metal prep table. And now that she was done touring the kitchen at the villa, Elena had the entire day in front of her to spend with her two new friends as they prepared for her first catering gig.
“Okay, ladies,” Delia clapped her hands once and rubbed her palms together. “We’re going to run through a few test recipes. Cici will be by later for a tasting and we’ll decide which ones are gonna work best. Elena, thanks again for opening this door.”
“Thank you for taking a chance on me.” Elena chose the cutting board at the end of the row. Delia took up her station in the middle so she could supervise Elena and Lissa.
“This is gonna be fun,” Elissa said as she grabbed one of the knives.
“Let’s start with one of the sides. Lissa, you mince up some mint and Thai basil. Elena, grab a cucumber and slice it in half lengthwise.”
Elena grabbed one from a container and sliced it in half while Lissa chopped the herbs, filling the kitchen with a fresh green smell.
Delia watched and nodded. “Okay, next you’re gonna wanna bash the cucumber—”
Lissa snorted.
“What?” Elena asked, grinning at Lissa’s infectious good mood.
“Bash the cucumber? Seriously, that sounds naughty.”
“Naughty? That sounds painful, at least for the dude,” Elena said.
“I wouldn’t know,” Delia said, mixing sesame oil with rice vinegar.
“Why are there so many euphemisms for sex that involve food?”
Lissa put her hands on her hips. “You’re right, there really are. Like, hide the sausage.”
“Plant the carrot. Butter the biscuit,” Elena added.
“Putting a bun in the oven. Tossing the salad.” Lissa giggled.
“Oh, I know a weird one,” Elena said, pointing her knife at the cutting board. “Squatting in the cucumber patch.” That threw Lissa into hysterics.
Delia looked up from adding crushed Aleppo pepper to the oil. “I know a weirder one. When I was in culinary school, one of my instructors was fond of telling us that during Victorian times in France, they said that a bachelor had to grind his own chocolate.”
“What? Who the hell grinds chocolate?” Lissa asked.
“Victorian French wives and bachelors, I guess,” Delia said.
Lissa grabbed her stomach. “Now I’ve got this image of some dude feeding a chocolate bar into a meat grinder.” She swayed her hips like she had a hula hoop circling them. “Grind that chocolate, baby!”
“Ew! Chica, you arecrazy!” Elena collapsed with laughter. When she could speak again, she asked, “So, what was the term for when a single Victorian woman, um, got off.”
“I don’t think they had one. Ladies simply didn’t do that,” Lissa said in a mock-prudish voice.
Delia rolled her eyes. “Bullshit they didn’t. It’s not like the clit suddenly appeared in 1967.”
“I bet there are a bunch of old terms relating to women’s sex lives, we just don’t recognize them,” Elena said.
Delia nodded. “Oh yeah there are. Like, if I were living in Victorian England, I’d be going home to my ‘bosom friend’ every night, not my wife.”
Elena raised her eyebrows. “Oh, wow. That puts a different spin on a few old novels I’ve read.”
“Thank God times have changed and we can actually talk about sex,” Lissa said.
