Page 33 of Hot Hearts
“You’re right.” I sigh. “I’m a sucker.”
“No, you have a soft heart.” He leans down, pressing his mouth to mine. “And I'll always protect it."
Yep, I’m totally in love with him. “I love you,” I blurt out. How could I not love him? I can be a hot mess, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is making sure that I’m happy and protecting that happiness.
“I love you too.” He wraps his arm around me, lifting me off my feet. “And we’re getting married.”
“And we’re getting married,” I agree, not that it was a question. Everyone in the kitchen cheers, making me laugh.
It might have been a crazy-ass mess to get here, but I’m thankful for all of it. In the end, everyone got what they deserved. Fate has a way of doing that.
Chapter Twenty
BROOKS
“The Plate’s reservation book is full for six months. I had to turn so many people away today. Felt bad about it,” Slater comments as we climb the stairs to the condo. Her lush ass sways from side to side. More edible than the apple tart I served tonight where we formed the pastry into a round cookie shape and the apple and ice cream were blended, frozen and reformed into strips placed in a domed lattice structure covering an edible apple blossom. It was a big hit. Slater TikToked it, and everyone was asking her to get me to sell them separately. I shared the news with the pastry chef, who looked intrigued by the idea.
As for me, I’m in a hurry to get Slater in bed. She looks tired. These nights at the restaurant aren’t good for her.
“Do you think you should be staying up this late?” I smooth my hand around her ass. It’s gotten juicier as her pregnancy has advanced.
“The baby is happier at night. She’s more active, and it’s hard to sleep when she’s kicking me.”
“I’ll make you some ginger honey tea.” That seems to help calm the baby down.
Inside the apartment, as I’m making her nighttime drink, Slater holds up her phone from the living room. “Sara’s been calling me.”
The frown on my face is instant.
“She’s pretty remorseful. She was hurt worse by Felipe than me, and I understand getting caught up in wanting someone desperately. I’d probably do worse things to make sure that I got your attention.”
“No you wouldn’t.” But maybe I would. “You stepped right up to my face and propositioned me all on your own. You wouldn’t have lied to a friend, watched her date a man you liked, and then went behind her back to sleep with him.”
Slater wrinkles her nose as she acknowledges the truth of my words and changes the subject. “What do you know about Escoffier? They sent me an invite to their kitchen to learn how to make beef bourguignon and peach Melba. I’ve never had peach Melba before, and no one can make beef bourguignon better than you.”
Slater’s given up reviewing restaurants and instead goes to various eateries and has them teach her—and her over a million subscribers—how to cook the restaurant's signature dish. She gets invites from places all over the world. After she has the baby, we’ll start traveling to other countries. Slater’s pretty stoked about it, and I’m thrilled for her.
I grin at her compliment. “Peach Melba is poached peaches with a raspberry sauce served with vanilla ice cream.”
“Yum. That sounds amazing.”
“I’ll make some right now.” I’ve heard that tone in her voice before. It’s the one she gets when a craving strikes her. We’re in the twentieth week of her pregnancy, so it’s one I’ve heardfrequently before. I reach for the fruit bowl and grab three fresh peaches. We’re lucky it’s peach season.
“Really?”
“Chef Escoffier made this dish for the opera singer Nellie Melba. Originally it was only poached peaches and ice cream, which he served on the back of a carved ice swan.” I heat a saucepan with two parts water to two parts sugar with a pod of vanilla, a stick of cinnamon, and when it’s boiling, a squeeze of lemon juice. “He later added raspberry. Some say it was to add tartness. Others for color.” In another pan, I place frozen raspberries, water, sugar, and lemon juice, cooking it down until it forms a nice syrup. “Famously, Ferran Adrìa, one of the leaders of gastronomical cooking, made this dish at his last service before he retired from the restaurant business.” I poach the peaches in the syrup until they are tender but still firm and then transfer them to an ice bath. “He had silicon molds made that looked like a peach stone and then, using the mold, recreated three stones from almonds, peaches, and almond milk, which he freeze-dried and then served with a peach crust and custard.”
After the peaches are peeled, cut, and placed on top of the vanilla ice cream, I carry the dessert over to Slater with a cup of the ginger tea. “Not as pretty or innovative as Adrìa, but it will do in a pinch.”
Slater’s eyes roll back as she takes the first bite. “If I hadn’t agreed to marry you before, this would have convinced me.”
“Now you tell me.” I steal a kiss between bites. “Mmm, you taste good.”
“It’s the raspberry sauce.”
“No, it’s you.” I take the spoon from her fingers and dip it into the ice cream until the metal is good and cold. Her eyes widen as she watches me unbutton her shirt and push the fabric to the side. “I’ll do a taste test.”
I place the frozen spoon on her bare tit. Her cry of surprise turns to a moan when my lips warm up her cold skin. “Now for the comparison.” I scoop out a small portion of ice cream and raspberry sauce and spread it all over her lush breast. “Pretty good,” I admit after licking it all off.
