“Hey, Al, why don’t you grab a few bottles of wine from the bar? Pick something for foie gras, duck, and chocolate,” Lou shouted through the pickup window.
“On it. Don’t forget the truffles.” Lou could hear him hop off the bar stool and start searching for the wine. She packed all the items into a few bags and her small cooler, then pushed open the doors to join Al.
“I like you a lot, but not enough to use up my truffles.”
“You wound me. Not even a shaving or two?” Al dramatically set a hand across his chest.
“Shameless. How about this? If I still have any by the time I close the restaurant, I’ll make you a truffle-themed meal.”
Al took the bags from Lou’s hands, set them on the bar, then pulled her into his arms.
“That’s all I’m asking.” He set his lips on hers in the faintest of kisses, just a whisper to start. Lou moved to tighten her arms around his neck to settle in for a thorough kiss, but Al ducked his head out of her embrace and retrieved some of the bags from the counter.
“Well, best be off. I’m getting hungry,” he said.
Lou squinted her eyes, hoping to discern his intentions. He was up to something. She grabbed the remaining bags and followed him out.
• • • • •
Smells of frying onion and sizzling duck fat hung thick enough that Al wanted to lick the air. His stomach rumbled but his mind couldn’t stop focusing on Lou’s bare shoulders, the way her dress clung to her hips and swished around her bare legs, the waft of vanilla every time she got too close. He wanted to trail his fingers from her ankle until they disappeared under the hem of her dress.
They had all night together without any interruptions, any responsibilities other than to enjoy themselves, and he would make sure of the latter. He planned to add to the growing list of reasons he loved her—the newest reason being the foie gras ravioli she’d planned.
“Are you going to help, or just keep staring at my behind?”
Lou interrupted his daydream that involved strategically dripped Baileys and her neck. Al shook his head. That helped a little. Lou flicked on the radio and returned to her cooking.
“. . . thunderstorm rolling. The air is sizzling with electricity, so watch out for the lightning,” the weatherman said.
He had no idea.
Al enjoyed watching Lou cook. She moved with precision and grace, each move intentional. Any indecision or lack of confidence disappeared when the knives came out—and that confidence was remarkably sexy. She’d been cooking for fifteen minutes. In that time, he’d unearthed the bottle opener, dusted off two wineglasses, and poured them each a glass to sip while they cooked. He thought that was quite efficient. She had unpacked all the food, pulled out sauté and saucepans, heated the oven, chopped and started cooking onions, chopped shallots for the sauce, and heated duck fat for the potatoes. She had lined up ingredients according to the dish with such efficiency it seemed absentminded. Al could have watched her for hours.
Thunder rumbled, indicating the promised thunderstorm was approaching. A cold breeze broke through the heat in the kitchen, a hint of the warring fronts above that seemed to isolate them from the world outside. The increasing winds and electrically charged air added an element of reckless energy to his growing tension. Al picked up Lou’s wineglass, stepped directly behind her, then leaned into her so he could set the glass in front of her. Lou straightened, then melted against him. He leaned over, close enough that the tiny invisible hairs on her ear tickled his lips, and whispered, “Where should I start?”
• • • • •
By kissing me senseless, Lou thought. But Al just set the glass down and stepped away. Maybe he didn’t realize the effect he had on her.
Lou cleared her throat and spoke.
“Think you can handle the salad?”
“You’re giving me salad duty? You must think I’m useless.”
“Prove me wrong. If you do a good job, I’ll let you make dessert.”
Al went to the salad station to organize the ingredients but knocked a shallot off the counter that rolled near Lou. When he crouched to pick it up, one hand closed around the small bulb; the other grazed her ankle. As he stood, his hand traced a barely perceptible path up her leg until her dress started to bunch. When he took his hand away, Lou turned to react but Al already had his back to her and was chopping the escapee vegetable into minute pieces. She took a deep breath and paused to admire his correct knife-hold and even dicing, just as a professional writer would admire a well-written sentence.
Lou turned back to her ravioli filling, her skin still tingling. She sautéed the foie gras with shallots. Off heat she’d add in finely diced sweet cherries, sage, and a little goat cheese.
Al finished assembling a vinaigrette and put his breaded goat cheese rounds in the freezer so they wouldn’t melt when cooked. He did know more about cooking than she thought he did. He joined her at the stove, standing close enough that she could feel his clothes brushing hers. The strap on her dress had slipped, and Al pushed it all the way off her shoulder so he could brush his lips over its former location.
Between caresses Al asked, “Should I start the soufflé?”
“Uh-huh.” Lou slanted her head to the side, giving him more room to work, expecting him to continue his playful kisses. Instead he stepped away and put ingredients into a pan for the soufflé.
“Hmph.” Two can play at this game. Lou scanned her tasks—no use burning dinner. She just finished stuffing the ravioli and the potatoes cooked in the oven. The duck would wait until right before that course, as would boiling the ravioli. She just needed to start the sauce. Plenty of time for a distraction. She picked up her wine and walked to check on Al’s work. Too bad she tripped on nothing and spilled her red wine all over Al’s back.
“Oops.”
“No worries.” Al smiled. “There are worse things than a wine stain.”
Lou looked over his shoulder as he unbuttoned the stained shirt, inhaling the aroma of red wine and Al’s spicy scent of black pepper and cinnamon.
“It looks like you’re ready to whip the egg whites.” Lou smiled innocently. She handed Al a whisk and returned to her station. She began the sauce, sautéing the onions in duck fat, deglazing the pan with a little stock and port wine. Creating sauces always seemed magical to her, like alchemy. With the right steps and proportions, mundane ingredients could change into liquid gold.
While she scraped up the browned bits of deliciousness, Al crossed the room with a spoonful of chocolate base he made.
“I added in some orange zest. Let me know how it tastes before I mix it with the egg whites.”
As he moved the spoon toward her mouth, she could swear he tilted it so chocolate drizzled down her dress. He popped the remaining chocolate into her mouth.
“Damn. Now your dress is stained, too. Let me help clean that up.”
He leaned in to kiss the warm chocolate off her skin, adding to the considerable heat already in the kitchen.
Al pulled back, licking the last bit of chocolate off his lips.
“Now you can finish off that sauce.”
Lou sighed and thought she heard Al chuckle when she returned to her task. Every cool breeze, flash of lightning, and growl of thunder added to the electricity in the air. Her bare skin thrummed with leashed energy. She worked in silence, adding the last few pats of butter to the sauce.
“Al, can you come here? I want you to taste the sauce. Let me know if it’s done.”
Inches away from him, she dipped her finger in the creamy sauce and lifted it between them. Looking into Al’s eyes, she slowly smoothed the sauce onto his lower lip. Neither breathed. She lifted her mouth to kiss the sauce off, tasting the rich cream balancing the layered flavors of onion and duck.
Their stained clothing fell to the floor. Lightning seared the night sky, thunder shook the building, and rain pounded against the window glass.