Fire In the Kitchen Page 2

  He shrugged and tossed the notes on the counter. “Interesting experience meeting you, Cassidy. Ciao.”

  Feeling disappointed and unsure of what had just happened, Cassidy watched him leave with the others. The middle-aged woman wobbled on her high heels and he righted her, preventing her from falling. She held onto his arm for longer than was necessary, but instead of gently prying her hand off him, Dante didn’t seem to mind helping her to her car.

  Everyone bade their farewells and promised to be back, all except for Dante, who turned to tip an imaginary hat at Cassidy and left.

  She’d been tested by one of the nation’s best chefs and, for reasons unknown to her, had failed. Although it was one of her passions, she wasn’t a qualified cook, and she thought she was okay with that. But she did know her coffee. What she’d made for him was good. Very good.

  So he could stick that in his “Chef’s pipe” and smoke it.

  Chapter 2

  Dante slammed his car door and raised the collar of his jacket against the early morning’s sharp wind. He refused to admit to himself the reason sleep hadn’t come easily last night was because of the unconventional barista he’d met the night before. He’d hoped she’d be a solution to one of his work dilemmas, but meeting her hadn’t gone to plan. Things had now progressed from a terrible storm to a hurricane.

  Although he’d had some recent media complications, his beachside restaurant, Azzure, was thriving and booked solid for the next few months. From the street, it looked charming and welcoming. From the water, it looked as if it belonged to the landscape, or even commanded it. It had white walls befitting any seaside restaurant and a glass-walled gelato café bar spilling onto the beach. If one couldn’t afford Dante’s sophisticated fine-dining experience on the floor above, one could still have a piece of his dreams in the beachfront café.

  He followed the restaurant’s seashell path that embraced the ocean view. He stood by the bar to watch his beautiful dark-haired sister weave her way around the relaxed customers.

  Dante had designed the menu for the café downstairs to be simple but always made with fresh, local ingredients by chefs he had patiently—and sometimes impatiently—mentored. It wasn’t just about the good food. It was about the surroundings, the ambience, the experience he’d painstakingly created. His café and restaurant had been built on a yearning for culinary perfection. The public called it an overnight sensation, but it had taken him many years of experience to create the illusion that it had come so easily.

  His sister winked at him as she briskly walked to the coffee machine and loaded coffee into the tamper and banged it on the bench. Although she was looking out for her customers, watching staff, and making coffee at the same time, she appeared relaxed and confident. He approached her and she kissed him on both cheeks.

  “What took you so long?” she asked. “The savages upstairs are getting restless.”

  “Ciao, bella.” Dante ignored her question and returned her kisses. “Good to see the café’s full.”

  “It’s always full, even with all the drama going on lately. Please tell me you hired her.”

  Sophia dealt out saucers like they were cards. She placed the coffees she’d just prepared on to them and signaled a waiter for service. “I know you want a really special person doing this, but I’m running on empty. My kids have forgotten what I look like, and this was only supposed to be a temporary gig.”

  “Would it help if I told you I almost hired her?” He smiled with a lopsided grin.

  “No. Dammit, Dante. What was wrong with this one? Not enough skill? Not enough understanding of the roasting process? What? What?”

  Sophia’s eyes darkened, leaving no doubt to onlookers they were related. A waiter appeared and balanced the coffees on his wrist and hand.

  “Table seven is ready to order,” she told him as he took the beverages away.

  Dante nodded toward another table, saying, “It looks like ten is ready to order, too.”

  “Do I tell you how to run the restaurant upstairs?”

  Sophia didn’t wait for an answer. She walked away from him to the table he’d indicated, smiled pleasantly at the customers as she took their order, and then returned with a scowl reserved only for her brother.

  “When I need your help to run the café, I’ll ask for it, like when I asked you to go and check out that amazing barista I’d heard about and hire her. If her café was on the beach like ours, we’d have serious competition on our hands.”

  Dante paused as he thought again about the attractive young woman with those wildly patterned pants and bright top beneath her apron. Her clothes had fit her in all the right places, and the memory of her short, spiky blonde hair and cheeky grin reminded him why he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  Too messy.

  Too friendly with strangers.

  Too distracting.

  “You asked me to bring back the best, yes or no?” He held out his palms to try to placate Sophia.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” She placed a short black coffee in his hands. He nodded in thanks and took a sip. “Was her coffee as good as that?”

  “Better.”

  Sophia threw her hands up in the air. “So what was the problem?” Dante thought about where Cassidy worked, with the cuckoo clocks on the wall, the ridiculous indoor hills hoist, and her welcoming grin. Her sparkling eyes were green, or perhaps they were blue…either way, they were as refreshing as a dip in the sea on a hot day.

  “Whoever owns the café she works in is obviously as kooky as she is. She seems to have free rein. I need a top-notch, loyal barista I can rely on. She’s not the type of girl who would take well to instructions.”

  “Girl or woman?” Sophia prompted. “I heard she was about twenty-five, twenty-six.”

  “I don’t know.” Dante’s voice had an exasperated edge. “She’s nothing like I expected. I didn’t stop to notice what she looked like.”

  His sister sighed.

  “Which means you did,” she said. “Admit it, nothing unusual; you fancied her and you never work with women you date. Did you ask her out?”

  “Of course not. She simply didn’t have what it takes.”

  “Liar, I know you too well. You drive me pazzo.”

  “Look, she wasn’t my type. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t anything remotely close to it.” Dante put his hands on his sister’s shoulders and squeezed to lessen her anger toward him. “She wouldn’t have been a good fit. She’d have done her own thing, said whatever she thought to whoever would listen, without a filter.”

  “You mean she wouldn’t have done things your way and she has a mind of her own. I like her already. I should have gone and checked her out myself.”

  Dante rubbed her arm with affection. “So you’d be happy to have things less than perfect in your café and you wouldn’t be headstrong about having the right person, like I am?”

  “I can’t help the blood running through my veins…so, touché…for now.” Sophia’s temper was quick, like Dante’s, and never lasted long. “While you were out,” she said, “did you stop punishing yourself for having to fire Carlos this morning?”

  Dante felt the disappointment come back. “I can’t believe my best chef would try to destroy me, after all this time.”

  Sophia’s voice was gentle. “He was more than just your number one assistant, he was your best friend, your cousin.”

  “Not any more. I can’t believe his betrayal, especially with the media. My first overseas holiday in as long as I can remember and he destroyed my reputation in five weeks.” Dante ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve failed our family, our friends…I’ve failed them all. Now he’s going to make it even worse by spouting his lies on prime-time TV while he competes in that ridiculous cooking competition everyone’s talking about.”

  Sophia put his hair back in place. “How’re you going to fix this?”

  “It can’t be fixed. Everything I’ve worked for has been destroyed
. Distruggere.” Dante’s voice had a low growl. His hand returned to his hair and he unconsciously messed it up again.

  Sophia’s voice was still gentle, reminding Dante of their mother. He felt his breathing become more controlled. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked.

  “Maybe I’ll audition for the damn competition myself, let the public get to know me again, support local food causes, let them know I haven’t really turned my back on them. Make a difference. Damn Carlos. What’s he trying to prove?”

  Sophia nodded. “Yes,” she said, “damn Carlos. He’s always been jealous of you. Even when we were kids. Not meaning to be the pessimist, but things could end up worse if you enter and he beats you.”

  Dante’s shoulders relaxed as he realized he’d made an important decision. “If he continues to use my recipes and doesn’t have the originality to come up with his own, he might come across a few roadblocks. I can beat him, in the kitchen at least.”

  “Bravo.” Sophia patted his shoulder.

  “Table two is ready to order,” he said.

  Sophia flicked his backside with a towel. “Get out of my café and sweet talk the few chefs you have left upstairs.”

  Chapter 3

  Cassidy heard her mother’s long, exaggerated sigh before she saw her approaching in the café they ran together. She had the same sandy blonde hair and blue eyes as Cassidy’s, but their energy levels of late didn’t match. Cassidy was worried about her.

  “Hey you,” Cassidy said, walking around the counter and giving her a quick bear hug.

  “Hey you, yourself,” Elizabeth said, heaving herself up onto a high stool. “Busy day, love, I’m beat. How about you?”

  “I’m pumped.” Cassidy did a punching action with her fists.

  “Ah, to be twenty years younger…show off.”

  Elizabeth leaned her elbows on the bench and rested her chin on her palms.

  “Take a break,” Cassidy said. “I’ll finish up.”

  She walked back around to the serving side and offered Elizabeth the last piece of cake she’d been saving for her. “Usual macchiato to go with it?”

  “I’d prefer a nettle leaf tea for a change.”

  “Do we even have that sort of tea?” Cassidy tiptoed up to the higher shelves to look through the rest of their extensive tea selection.

  “Third shelf on the left.”

  “Aha. Got it.” She chose one of their eclectic teapots and warmed it. “People drink this stuff?” she asked, opening the tea tin and taking a sniff. “Smells like grass.” She prepared the tea and allowed it to brew.

  “It’s okay with honey,” Elizabeth replied.

  Cassidy nodded and located it. “You okay, Mum? What’s going on? It’s not like you to be so wrecked. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

  “I’m just tired. I keep thinking I’ll catch up on my sleep, but every day I feel more drained. Maybe it’s a lack of iron. I’ll have a big steak tonight.”

  Elizabeth ate some cake without comment while Cassidy finished preparing her tea. She watched as Cassidy poured her a cup and passed it to her. “Ah,” she sighed after taking a long sip. “There is a Tea God.”

  “But how was the cake?”

  “Good, love.”

  “Just good?”

  Just good wasn’t good.

  “It’s nice, darling, but you know you always want me to be honest. It’s missing something and I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Darn it,” Cassidy said as she reached over to try a piece. “Yep, you’re right – it’s just passably good.”

  “I put another recipe in your father’s old notebook this morning. Maybe you could try it out?”

  “Ouch. Consider this the first and last time I make this cake.” Cassidy reached for the bookshelf behind her and grabbed her father’s notebook. She saw the handwritten recipe when she opened the cover and put it on the counter. “I’ll check it out later,” she said, “after I’ve dissected where I went wrong with this one. Where’d you get it from?”

  “Can’t remember. You know how many of my friends want to get their thrills from us serving food made from their original recipes. I saved it from the heavy-duty wash cycle.”

  Cassidy turned when she heard the familiar click of the lock at the front entrance of the café. She watched her best friend, Amy, turn the “Open” sign to “Closed” and then sashay toward them. She wore a short black dress that showed off the tattoos down her slim arms and legs. After the broadcast of excessive ink, one noticed she had an attractive face.

  “Most of your cake tryout went to table six,” Amy said. “Can you believe the woman kept asking for another slice? I had to stop myself from telling her off for being a pig.”

  “She’s a new customer,” Cassidy’s mother said. “Be kind.”

  “Okay, a piglet.” Amy squeezed her employer’s shoulder good-naturedly. “She was wearing pink after all.”

  “She’s the same woman who came to my class last night. She must’ve been hoping for another encounter with Dante Cristiani. Obviously disappointed he didn’t come back.” Cassidy reminded herself for the umpteenth time that day that she wasn’t disappointed.

  “Are you seeeeeerious?” Amy put her hands over her eyes. “The one night I decide to go home on time, you get Mr. Dream Chef on your doorstep.”

  “I was waiting for you to bring our celebrity up,” Elizabeth said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Gary told me about him last night.”

  “So unfair,” Amy continued. “What’s he like and what on earth was he doing here?”

  “I think he asked himself the same question. He left pretty fast.” Cassidy ignored the sudden tightening of her chest and grinned at them. Then she noticed the dark rings circling her mother’s eyes. “Mum, you look really sick.”

  “Nothing a hundred-hour nap won’t fix.” Her mother stood and stretched. As she did so, a loud yawn escaped her lips.

  Cassidy thought back to her father’s heart attack. It had seemed so sudden, but in retrospect all the signs had been there long before they’d lost him. It was like she heard whispering in her ear, similar to the robot from Lost in Space. Danger, Will Robinson, Danger. “I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow,” she said, her tone indicating there was to be no further discussion about it.

  Amy leaned in. “So tell me more, Cassidy. Did you get his mobile number, pasta recipes, and marital status? And if you didn’t, I can probably answer all those questions for you, courtesy of Google.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” Cassidy wiped down the bench again. It was destined to be the cleanest bench in town. “He was pretty full of himself,” she continued, “and he’s the first person who’s ever rejected my caffeinated advances.”

  “Seriously? It’s always the sumptuous ones who have the most flaws.” Amy smeared her finger through the cake frosting on Elizabeth’s plate and then sucked it. “Yum.”

  “That’s disgusting, Amy,” Cassidy said. “Leave Mum’s plate alone.”

  “You’re lucky I’d had enough, young lady,” Elizabeth said, pushing the plate toward Amy and gulping down the rest of her tea. She walked away and called out over her shoulder, “I’m sure today was twice as long as usual. After I mop the kitchen, I’m off duty.”

  “Leave it, Mum,” Cassidy called after her. “I’ll get to it later.”

  “Not fair.” Her mother grinned. “Won’t take long.”

  “So, was he hot enough to melt ice cream in the freezer?” Amy asked after Elizabeth was out of earshot. She snapped her fingers as she tried to get her friend’s attention. “Wanna know more about his good-boy image being tainted recently?”

  Cassidy wanted to act nonchalant, but her curiosity won; she knew it was only a matter of time. “Ok, tell me if you must.”

  Amy made an imaginary lasso with her hand. She ran to the back office for her computer tablet and then sprinted back to the counter and started looking through the search engine.

  �
�What’re you doing?” Cassidy peered over her shoulder.

  “Check this out. You know his restaurant in Cottesloe with the glass floor jutting out over the ocean?”

  “Azzure. Everyone who has a pulse knows it.”

  “Newsflash! Bet you didn’t know this: he’s been charging his customers top dollar and using inferior produce. Apparently he got greedy.”

  “Give me that.” Cassidy took the tablet from Amy and sat down next to her. She continued their conversation as she located his picture. “How?” Cassidy’s fingers hovered over Dante’s photograph until she could no longer resist enlarging his image. She felt the attraction of the night before return with equal force.

  Amy looked at Dante’s picture, too. “He wasn’t paying his local suppliers, so they cut him off and he went elsewhere. He also has a reputation for being nice in the front of house, but tyrannical out the back.”

  “Strange. He didn’t come across as the type of person who wouldn’t do the right thing. Opinionated, yes. Mean, no.” Cassidy bit down on her thumbnail and shook her head.

  Amy pulled Cassidy’s hand away and chastised her. “Do I have to get you a pair of rubber gloves to stop you from chewing on that?”

  Cassidy shrugged apologetically.

  “You learned all this from Dante in a couple of hours?” Amy continued.

  Cassidy smiled weakly. “Just a hunch.”

  Amy sighed. “Please tell me they touched up this photo,” she said. “No one looks that good in the flesh.”

  Cassidy looked at his picture again and nodded that he did. “A man like that doesn’t just wander in from off the street,” she said. “Wonder why he was slumming it in here? I accused him of being like the awful people in that new café and trying to steal my shortbread recipe.”

  “You didn’t! Reality alert, he’s known for his own range of biscotti. He sells it in his café and in the shops. Want me to buy you a packet from the local deli to try?”

  “No, and thanks for your support by rubbing it in.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could erase that part of the evening before.