Crave: A BWWM Romance (2 page)

K
aila was in the back
, pretending to flip pancakes with an empty skillet over a cold stove. She loved to fantasize about being my sous-chef whenever she found herself in the kitchen. But Kaila was always more interested in theatrics than she was in actual cooking. I supposed that’s why she became a lawyer. Normally, right about now, I would have been yelling at her to stop before she broke something. However, at this particular moment, I was just glad to see her. My pig-headed contractor, Cole Saunders, really got under my skin and I needed a friendly ear to tell me that everything was fine and that, somehow, I was still right. That was one of the best things about having a sister. Brothers might defend your reputation, but sisters were the guardians of your ego. Right now my ego was in dire need of guardianship.

“Trouble with the hubby?”

I could tell that I was about to regret this.

“No. But I
am
having trouble with the
contractor.”
I shot her a look.

“Awww sweetie, marriage takes time…”

“Will you stop that? He’s not my husband and this is a real issue.”

“Ok. I’m sorry.” Kaila sat down on a seat by the walk-in freezer and put on an absurdly serious face. Her brow furrowed almost comically. I rolled my eyes.

“Never mind.” I turned to go.

“No. No. Ok I’m sorry. I’m serious now; I really am.”

“It’s these damn lights. They are way over my budget.”

“The ones you were yelling about before? Did you pick them or did he?”

I paused. “He did.”

“Honey, I can always tell when you’re lying.”

“Fine! Ok. I picked them. But the issue still stands and he should have told me I was picking some expensive fucking lights.”

“Ok. To be clear, you picked the lights. And you’re looking for a ‘you’ll get through this speech’, a ‘this is all that jerk’s fault speech’, or a ‘fuck it let’s get drunk and party speech’?”

“All of the above?”

I deflated, my body slipping awkwardly onto a stool like a wet noodle. Kaila was right; I couldn’t put this one on Saunders. I was so close to finishing and the pressure was suffocating me. I slumped onto the counter.

“What's up with you?”

“The pressure is literally weighing me down.” I spoke into the counter.

“What pressure? You’re doing great. So you’re over your light budget. You’re under budget in other places, right?”

“I was so careful. How could I miss such a stupid detail?” I complained to the cold steel.

“You’re forgetting one other important detail.”

“Yeah?”

“Your sister is a lawyer. So we make it to next week and you need a couple hundred, I got you. You’ll be fine.” At this point, she was physically lifting me from the counter and forcing me to stay upright. “Look at this place and be proud and, for Christ’s sake, relax for once in your life.”

I looked around the kitchen. Kaila may not be one for the restaurant business, but she wasn’t wrong. Laid out before me was a wonderland of stainless steel. Every pristine surface echoed the dream I’d had since I was a child. At the age of eight, I’d been invited back to meet the chef and see the kitchen at my mother’s favorite restaurant. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my young life. I remembered watching the head chef wield a spoon like it was a wand and he was the conductor of an orchestra that made the most delicious music. That or he was a wizard, like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia, and he was reciting incantations and conducting magical spells, making something amazing out of nothing but some pieces of animal and earth. I’d made it my mission to create a kitchen as much like his as I could manage from nothing but an eight-year-olds malformed memories. Looking around now, I felt like this might really be it.

It had been a long journey. After culinary school, I’d spent years as a pawn in other people’s kitchens. For the first year, I wasn’t even allowed to cook. I just bussed and cleaned, lamenting the money I’d spent on a culinary education. I remembered the day that I was first allowed to plate. Me, Moneka Hart, ingénue chef, finally gifted the privilege of actually interacting with the food
before
people ate it. Somehow that did feel like a great honor. A few sous-chef positions, a gallon of sweat, and more than a few tears later, and I was here, gazing out over my own kitchen like a king gazing out over his subjects. This was what pride felt like.

“You doing ok? You need a moment?” Kaila waved a dramatic hand across my field of vision.

“Sorry. Just spacing out.”

“Jesus. With that placid expression on your face, I thought you’d had a stroke.”

I gave a tired laugh. “I might still have one at this rate. How is it that I managed to find the most infuriating contractor in all of the Bay State area? I feel like he fights me on everything.”

“You didn’t find the most infuriating contractor in the Bay State area, you found a contractor. What do you want? They’re
all
like that. Remember Micheal, the guy who lived across the hall from me a few years back? Every time I called him Mike, he'd correct me. Obviously that made me do it even more,” her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Anyway, he was a contractor and he wouldn’t shut up about it. He was all ‘molding this’ and ‘fire hazard’ that. Like, he thought he was better than me because he knows how to rewire an outlet.”

“So you’re saying this was inevitable?”

“Well, no. You sweetie, lovely amazing sister of mine, are also just a teensy bit infuriating.” Kaila held her hands wide open like she was trying to reach a wall on each side of my beautiful new kitchen.

“Excuse me?”

“Face it. You need to lighten up. If you keep pushing him, he’s going to keep pushing back. Notice how he lets Sonia help with the bar, but he won’t even let you so much as look at a hammer? She’s nice to him. And friendly.”

“And hot. He just has a thing for her.”

“Oookay.” Kaila winked and turned to straighten some dishtowels.

I tried to ignore his drawn out “okay”, but it stuck in me like a needle.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh please, you’ve never meant
nothing
in your whole life.”

“Fine. Let’s just say, that the only thing that looks hotter than this restaurant is that contractor of yours. And you know it.”

“No I don’t…I don’t know that.”

I could feel the blood rising to my face. I hated that Kaila could do this to me. Embarrassing me was her superpower and had been ever since she asked my eighth grade crush if he wanted to go to the Sadie Hawkins Middle School dance with me. Imagine your younger sister, the sixth grader, asking out your crush on your behalf. That was what growing up with Kaila was like. Of course, my crush said no. To her credit, Kaila felt bad and when she was a sophomore, she made Cindy Lambert swap places with me during a game of spin-the-bottle. Cindy was supposed to meet my eighth grade crush in a pitch-black closet for “seven minutes in heaven”. I went instead. I really did think I'd gone to heaven, if heaven was wondering if your heart would explode or your stomach would lurch while fumbling around in the dark with the guy of your teenage dreams. Growing up with Kaila was like that too.

She did not seem particularly interested in saving me from my embarrassment now. I was a hair’s breadth away from just depositing myself in the walk-in freezer and waiting for her to leave when she took me firmly by the shoulders.

“Look. I’m going to give you some good, old-fashioned, solid advice. And you know you can trust me because I’m a lawyer and I’m wearing a fancy pant-suit,” She smirked.

“Oh really.”

“Yes really. Now my advice is two-fold. One: Get out there and be friendly to your contractor if you want the next two weeks to go smoothly. Two: Stop lying to yourself and get a piece of that ass.”

“Three: Ignore steps one and two and go home with a carton of Ben & Jerry’s and the login to your Netflix subscription.” I tried to walk away.

“Fine.
Fine
. We’ll table number two for now. Let’s focus on one. Invite him and his staff to our party.”

“Our what?”

“The dinner party we are going to throw to thank everyone who made this possible.” Kaila spun me around so I was looking at the kitchen again.

“We’re throwing a dinner party?”

“Drinks on the house!”

“I’m really not budgeted for that.”

“Budget smudget. You can afford to live a little. Besides, I’ll help.” Kaila spun me back around so I was facing the door to the restaurant floor. “Now go.”

Kaila gave me a shove for good measure and I tripped into the restaurant. I had to admit, it looked good. The sun had started going down, the low light from the windows reaching across tables and chairs on one side. The new lights were on and the stubborn part of me (which Kaila would say is all of me) didn’t want to admit that they worked well. The chrome along the outside matched the décor much more nicely than the antique would have. If Saunders had switched them himself, I might not even have been mad, looking at the way the lights illuminated the space and matched the candle-holders.

Sonia was still slaving over her bar, probably holding herself to a higher standard than even Saunders would have. It made me smile to see how much pride she was taking in the process. You couldn’t find a more dedicated bartender; it was almost scary. I walked over to her and put a hand on hers, arresting its furious motion.

“Go home Sonia.”

“Just this last spot.”

“Go home Sonia. The sun is almost down and you’ve been here since seven in the morning.”

“If you insist boss-lady.” Sonia wiped her hands on a rag and made for the bathroom to wash up. She paused briefly and looked back in my direction. “He’s just outside.”

“Good to know.” I tried to sound sarcastic. I didn’t want her to know I was actually looking for him. That would just be more fuel for her fire.

As I made for the front door, Cole was making his way back inside. We both stumbled into each other in the most ridiculous way. I briefly lost my balance and tried reaching for the hostess podium to steady myself. In the meantime, he reached out with both hands and held my shoulders firmly.

His grip was strong, but it didn’t pinch. I supposed a man who worked in construction
would
know exactly the right amount of pressure to place on any given object. In this case, I was the object and I wasn’t at all pleased with how ready he seemed to put his hands on me. The podium would have worked just fine. I tried to remember what Kaila said and allowed myself to be grateful.

“Thank you.” I said. I straightening up and taking a step back to let him know the contact was over.

“No problem. Sorry I plowed into you.”

He seemed nice, not the endlessly stubborn man I'd grown used to battling day in and day out. How come this side of him didn’t make a more frequent appearance? As his hands fell from my shoulders I felt a brief flush of heat course through my body. I would never have admitted this to Kaila, and certainly not to Sonia, but for a moment, I wanted those hands back. I wanted to feel his pressure on my skin. Kaila was right; Saunders was undeniably attractive. His perfectly messy blonde hair draped dramatically over blue eyes. His every expression was a gift. However, that was not a road I was willing to go down. I gave my head a shake as if I was trying to erase his gorgeous face from my mind like a picture on an old Etch-a-sketch. Pleasure was pleasure and business was business, after all.

“Is there something you needed?” Saunders squinted inquisitively at me.

“Oh, uh. Well yeah. I just, I wanted to say thank you.”

“You just did that.”

“I mean for everything. The work you and your guys are doing. Putting up with Sonia.”

“Oh yeah. Well, you know. It’s our job.”

“Right, well. Kaila was thinking, I mean we were thinking, that it would be fun to have a celebration of sorts. For everyone who helped make the restaurant a reality. You know? And, well, I wanted to invite you and your crew to join us on Friday night. Dinner and drinks are on the house.”

Saunders raised an eyebrow, as if he couldn’t believe that I would be offering free drinks.

“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like fun. I’ll let the guys know.”

“Right. Good. I mean great. Well, I’ll just. Yeah. Be going.” I moved purposefully past him and out the door.

It was only after the door had closed behind me and I was faced with a chilled Boston night that I remembered I’d no intention of leaving. My purse was still stored behind the bar. I closed my eyes and exhaled a cloud of frustration into the frigid air, I knew I'd have to go back in there. I just hoped that Saunders would be gone by the time I snuck unceremoniously back inside.

C
ontractors don’t get invited
to many dinner parties. At least not contractors like me. That was ok though because I remembered my training from when I was a boy. You don’t get to be the son of a prominent architect without putting on a few suits and attending a few functions. Some have said that I clean up nice. I wondered if Moneka would agree.

I revived an outfit that lived in its dry-cleaning bag three hundred and sixty four days out of the year, only to emerge for my Dad’s annual Christmas Party. That was the only time he allowed himself to smoodge. He always said it reminded him of the old days, when he had two-hour lunches to convince bigwig executives or trussed up politicians why he should design their new branch, or skyscraper, or public works project. Of course, that was all before mom died. Ever since then, he’d just been a retired architect, an independent contractor, and a holiday smoodge.

The suit was snappy. It was a double-breasted charcoal gray affair with a silver vest and tie. I put on a white collared shirt and polished black shoes. I knew already I’d be the best-dressed guy at the party. Hell, this suit was worth more than all of those light fixtures that Moneka had been going on about the other day. Maybe this would teach her to boss me around like I’m someone’s help.

However, when I showed up, I soon realized I was more than just the best dressed; I appeared to be the only dressed. I mean sure, other people were wearing clothes. It wasn’t
that
kind of dinner party. But there are jeans and t-shirts and then there’s Giorgio Armani. Even Moneka was wearing nothing more than a simple yellow spring dress with a blue cardigan and flats. Although she managed to make them
look
like a million bucks, it was clear they didn't cost anywhere near that. Self-consciousness washed over me as I immediately ducked into the bathroom to lose the vest and loosen my tie. When I returned, I tried to slip unnoticed into a seat between two of my crew members. Their low snickering told me that I was not successful.

Across from me, Kaila and Sonia were giving each other a look like they has just shared an inside joke. I wondered if I was paranoid for thinking that I was the punchline.

“Nice threads Romeo” Kaila winked, the heel of her hand supporting her chin in a flirtatious way.

Nope. Not paranoid.

“Yeah Cole. What’s with the getup? Headed to the opera later?” Sonia giggled.

“You’re both very funny.” I said. I then muttered something inaudible about laundry and exhaled gratefully at the site of Moneka trying to get everyone’s attention.

There was something different about her. I’d never noticed how petite she was before, how graceful. Her shoulders were slender when they weren’t squared in hatred toward me. Her face was glowing and her features soft when she wasn’t furrowing her brow at something I had just done. Everything about her seemed changed, the way she walked, the way she laughed, the tenor of her voice. It was as if Ms. Hyde had gone home for the night and here was Dr. Jekyll, ready to entertain us and serve us a meal.

“First of all, I just want to thank all of you for coming. Crave has been a dream long in the making and it would never have been possible without each and every one of you. Since I am a chef and this is my restaurant, I could think of no better way to thank you than by serving you a meal made from scratch by yours truly.”

Moneka’s broad smile was inviting. I felt drawn into it. I no longer felt the need to prove anything to her. I just wanted to eat her food and be in her company.

Some mild conversation at the table told me that my crew and I were among friends and investors. Many of the guests had contributed substantial sums of money to the endeavor. Some had contributed their expertise. I recognized one man who had helped with the décor; he had called himself an “interior decorator and gentleman for hire”. Now he was telling a loud, and apparently wildly entertaining, story at one end of the table. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. The wine I was drinking was settling in nicely and I was working up quite the appetite, though for what I wasn’t quite sure.

Moneka’s meal came out in roughly five courses. First, we were given salad. Not a great start for a guy like me. I’m not a salad guy; I’m a steak guy. I hoped the main course had some meat in it. Although I picked at it skeptically for a good five minutes before Kaila’s icy stare shamed me into taking a bite, I was pleasantly surprised. I couldn’t begin to identify what was in it short of almonds and oranges, but the flavor worked and I supposed that was all that mattered when it came to food.

After that, there were two rounds of appetizers. I had thought the salad was the appetizer. With each new dish, I kept wondering if it was the main dish as I worried over how small it was. However, my skepticism soon dissipated. With each new taste, I became more and more convinced that Moneka was the best chef in the country.

When the main dish finally came out, I was not disappointed. A beautiful cut of juicy steak sat on my plate with a side of something delicious and garnished with something equally as delicious. I was blown away. All the other Americana restaurants on this stretch be damned, Crave was going places. I suddenly felt a smattering of pride for having been involved in its creation. I refurbished more than just the insides of a building; I had created a place that made stuff like
this
.

As the guests finished their meals, they began milling about the restaurant, admiring the end results. The place looked complete. There was one week left and a few repairs and alterations to consider. But to the untrained eye, the place was damn near perfect. Pride welling in me once again, I meandered over to the crowds, introducing myself as the contractor and answering any questions I could.

The evening grew older and many of the investors had left, all with pleased looks on their faces. Soon the only remaining occupants of Crave were myself, Kaila, Sonia, Kaila’s date, a couple of my crew members, and Moneka. Sonia gave a whoop and hopped behind the bar.

“The hard stuff is for the night owls,” she announced as she busted out some tumblers and a bottle of scotch.

We all dutifully gathered around the bar, easing ourselves into the leather stools, still not broken in, and helped ourselves to Sonia’s drinks. I found myself sandwiched between Kaila and her date.

When Sonia came by, I eyed her up and down. I was in the mood for some company, and she’d expressed an interest in the past. Maybe I could learn more about her mystery tattoo.

“Hey Sonia” I said. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Are you flirting with me sailor?” She topped off my glass.

“Nah. Just looking for a rescue.”

“Looks like you’re doing just fine.” Sonia winked back and headed to the other end of the bar where Moneka was chatting up some of my crew members.

I was struck again by how radiant she looked tonight. She’d taken off her cardigan. Her bare shoulders glistened with sweat from the kitchen. I wanted to go over and talk to her, but had no idea what I’d lead with. I couldn’t banter with her they way I could with Sonia. Sonia and I had an understanding. Sonia was the obvious choice. But something about Moneka placed her a cut above the rest and drew me to her in a way I’d rarely felt drawn to a woman. I excused myself and made my way to her end of the bar.

“I wanted to thank you for the dinner and the drinks. The food was delicious.” This seemed like a nice, safe conversation starter.

“Thank you. Sonia tells me you’ve been enjoying the company as well.”

Thanks, Sonia.

“I just figured you get a couple drinks in you and let the animal out.”

“I can hold my liquor better than that.”

“Ok.” Moneka’s skepticism was palpable. I could tell she was hamming it up to get under my skin, but I let it get to me anyway.

“Yeah. I was pounding Irish Car Bombs while you were in diapers.” I tipped my scotch up and finished the tumbler in one gulp, bringing it down on the bar with a click for emphasis.

Moneka raised her eyebrow at me. “You are only five years older than me. You must have been the hardest eight-year-old this side of the Charles.”

“You know what I mean. But you can keep stalling if that’s what works for you.”

“Stalling? Is
that
what I’m doing?”

“Yeah.”

My adrenaline was pumping now. The scotch seemed to have veered straight into my bloodstream. I didn't come here with the intention of getting blindingly drunk, but if I could see perfect Moneka Hart get even a little messy, it would be well worth it. Moneka Hart, with the rigid budget and detailed plans. Moneka Hart, with the pristine kitchen and strict expectations. I wanted to take her down a peg.

“What do you say, Moneka?” I goaded.

“
Moneka?
So we're on a first name basis now, huh? Ok.
Cole
. Fine.” She downed her Scotch as well.

I motioned for Sonia to pour us shots, vodka, and to keep them coming.

Pretty soon, we were huddled over a table, empty shot glasses neatly stacked on both sides. When we had started, I had images of us stacking the glasses precariously high. Sonia would swoop in and clean them up despite our protestations. We’d ask her how we’d know who was winning if she kept clearing the scoreboard. Kaila, her date, and my crew members would be watching, impressed that we both could hold out for so long. It played like a movie in my head.

In reality, we each had maybe four shots between us before it was clear that things were going to get too messy too fast. The trick was being the last one to admit it. One look at Moneka’s eyes told me that she would rather start tap-dancing on the table than take another shot. I didn’t blame her; I’d about met my vodka quota as well. But one of us would cave first, and I knew it wasn’t going to be me.

Sonia handed us another pair of shots. “Take it easy guys,” she offered, clearly concerned that her job tomorrow would be cleaning vomit off her nice new bar.

The stench of the vodka made my head reel. What was sometimes an inviting aroma had become noxious and the room tilted with every inhalation. I tried to give my fingers purpose, gripping the glass firmly, counteracting the effects of the booze on my brain. Looking across the table, I could see a similar struggle in Moneka’s eyes. A subtle grimace fluttered across her face for just a moment. It was soon replaced with a renewed resolve.

Somehow her competitive spirit made her even more attractive. Her hairline glistened with sweat. After shot three, she had pulled it tight into a ponytail, illustrating how ready she was to get down to brass tacks. Her skin was dewy, a droplet of sweat rested on her shoulder, ready to ride down the length of her arm. I wanted to reach out and touch that droplet. I wanted to rest my palm on her shoulder and feel her movement against my skin. But then our eyes made contact and, with a smirk, she downed her third shot. Well, there was only one way to respond to that. I tipped the glass back and slammed it down.

“Took you a while to tackle that one, Moneka. Getting tired already?” I knew I wanted this to end as much as she did, but I couldn’t help myself. I loved seeing her squirm.

“I’m not the only one who’s slow on the draw.”

“Well, you know, ladies first.”

“Oh, please.”

“Fine then.” I grabbed the next shot from Sonia’s hand right as she was approaching the table and immediately downed it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Moneka’s uncertainty. I might win this thing after all.

Unwilling to go down without a fight, or a stretcher apparently, Moneka took her fifth shot. There was a brief moment where it looked like it might come back up. I sympathized. Mine was threatening to make an encore as well. Six shots, a scotch and a half, and four glasses of wine were plenty for one night.

As Sonia approached with the next round, Moneka and I shared a look of alarm. Moneka then immediately started laughing. It was clear that neither of us wanted this to continue. Part of me wanted to push it a little further, thinking that I had Moneka on the ropes and it would only be a matter of time. Another, smarter part of me knew that Moneka wouldn’t back down and we’d both be unconscious before eleven.

Moneka slammed her hand down and held another up to arrest Sonia’s movement.

“I agree.” I said, understanding her intentions.

“Good. Because, I have work to do tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I mean that’s the only reason. Otherwise…”

“Of course.”

There. We’d both managed to salvage both our stomachs and our pride.

Moneka leaned conspiratorially forward, as if preparing to tell me a drunken secret. “Want to have some water?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I laughed.

A relieved Sonia handed the vodka to my crew members and poured two pint glasses of water behind the bar. As she placed them in front of us, she said, “good decision kid,” and ruffled my hair.

“You’ll make an excellent bartender Sonia.” I called after her as she went to pour herself another drink.

“I already am,” she called back.

Moneka and I nursed our waters for a while. It wasn’t long before the nausea brought on by the sudden influx of vodka had worn off and I was enjoying a pleasant drunkenness.

Around 11:30, Kaila's date had ducked out, clearly perturbed that Kaila was not going with him. My crew members had also gone home for the night. Sonia poured us each another tumbler of scotch, stating that we could handle it again now, before retiring to the other end of the bar with Kaila. I didn’t have to look their way to know that they were whispering and glancing our way. Self proclaimed matchmakers are literally the most irritating people on the planet.

“Well this is a nice silence.” Moneka caught my eye and smiled wanly.

“Sorry. Is this awkward? I’m just a little drunk.”

“A quiet drunk, huh? One in a long list of things that I don’t know about you.”

“Well what do you want to know?”

Moneka contemplated her open invitation. She scrunched up her face, making a show of trying to come up with the perfect question. I suddenly wanted to kiss that face.