Page 203 of The Dragon 2
She stopped at my side, close enough that I could feel the heat of her skin through my suit.
She didn’t speak but at least she set the blow torch down.
A single waitress appeared again, silent as breath, and handed her a tiny glass decanter—narrow-necked, filled with something warm and gold.
Nyomi turned her focus to the bowl and uncorked the decanter with one twist. A curl of steam rose as she tilted it, and a stream of some sort of custard poured into the silver.
Slow.
Rich.
Velvet gold.
My nostrils flared as the scent hit me.
Cinnamon.
Warm vanilla.
Summer held in a pour.
My mouth watered.
This is going to be incredible.
Her voice came next—low and steady. “When I was pretty young, every summer, I had one job.”
She hadn’t look at me yet. Her gaze was still on the bowl as she poured. “I had to carry bags of peaches from my grandma’s treeto the kitchen. Honestly, she probably had me do that to keep me out of trouble.”
I imagined Nyomi young and her hands sticky with the juice of sun-ripened peaches.
“I would hold them like they were treasure. They were always so. . .sun-warm and heavy. It always made me think that summer would last forever.”
The decanter emptied with one final drip.
She paused. “But summer never lasts forever. Still. . .this dessert. . .is the sweetness I held onto much later in life. During depression. During any grief. This is without a doubt my comfort dish.”
She picked up the blow torch held it over the bowl and clicked the switch.
A blue flame burst alive from the tip, low and fierce.
I grinned like a boy, so giddy with the performance of it all.
Slowly, she brought the torch to the surface of the custard and her movements were confident and even erotic in their care.
The sugar began to shift under the heat.
First, it glistened.
Then it crackled, darkened, and melted—a slow transformation from soft to sharp. The scent thickened in the air, clinging to everything around us.
Caramel.
Burnt sugar.
Ripe peach skin singed by fire.
Mmmm.
