Free What Love Tastes Like by Zuri Day Page B

with the warm color of the kitchen walls and the copper pots that hung from a rack near the ceiling. Tiffany had helped Grand pick out the mellow yellow wall color almost ten years ago, and had chosen the bold, bright fabric depicting every kind of vegetable imaginable from which Grand had sewn curtains for the side and back windows. A well-worn teapot held its usual spot on the back burner. Grand was always ready to make peppermint tea. It was her favorite, which might explain why it was Tiffany’s favorite as well.
    â€œWell, it sure is good to see you,” Grand said as she bustled around the kitchen to prepare the ladies’ favorite brew. “I can’t wait to hear all about your trip to Rome, and especially about the fella who has you wanting to cook up a storm.”
    â€œGrand! Who said anything about a ‘fella’? I’m here because I wanted to cook for you, and so you can help me perfect my would-be scallop masterpiece.”
    â€œThat may be so,” Grand said as she walked to the other side of the island, which contained a massive cutting board. She picked out an appropriate knife from the butcher block and joined Tiffany in dicing vegetables. “But you’ve got a slew of food to cut on this here table, enough to supply a small soup kitchen. You got that habit honestly. I used to do the same thing when your grandfather was trying to court me and got on my last nerve in the process. I’d retreat to the kitchen and get to slicing and dicing. Better those vegetables than his neck! Now, tell me about the man who’s got you practicing your cutting skills.”
    â€œHis name is Nick,” Tiffany said with a sigh. “But it’s not how you think, Grand. We’re friends, that’s all.”
    â€œUh-huh,” Grand said knowingly. “And Mona Lisa was a man.”

15
    To say she had experienced first-day jitters at Taste was an understatement. Less than two hours into her new job, Tiffany had broken a nail, cut her finger, and shattered a glass mixing bowl. She wished she could have blamed her clumsiness on Chef’s harshly barked orders. But Chef Riatoli had been a taskmaster as well, and possibly because she’d worked as a line cook in a super-busy restaurant while earning her culinary degree—and not buckled under that insane pressure—she’d blossomed under his heavy hand. Unfortunately it hadn’t been the man barking orders in the kitchen who had Tiffany all discombobulated; it was the man who occupied the largest of the executive offices on the second floor.
    While she tried to convince herself otherwise, Tiffany knew it was because of Nick that she’d gotten the job. Why else would she have gotten a call the day after her interview, before the chef would have had time to check her references and review her school transcript? She even wondered if it was her imagination that the chef seemed a bit cold and aloof toward her. Often, chefs were temperamental at best, but the last thing one would want was to be told who to hire in his or her kitchen. Because Tiffany felt this might be the case was all the more reason she determined to be the best sous chef in LA.
    Fortunately for her, the fast pace in the kitchen had made her first week on the job fly by. She’d been too busy to think, for which she was grateful. Because if she’d given herself time to do so, then she’d have to give in to the hurt and disappointment she’d experienced yet again when her father had come and gone without calling her. Then she’d have to think about how angry she was at herself for being hurt and disappointed. She knew better. Keith Bronson was simply being true to form.
    Another blessing: in the two weeks that had gone by since she’d started at Taste, she’d only seen Nick once. Considering how her kitty meowed at the very thought of him, this single sighting was a good thing. Having seen his picture on the Internet,