The Boyfriend of the Month Club (15 page)

“Abuela, I need some advice.”

Abuela managed to keep one eye on the screen and gaze at Grace at the same time. “What’s the problem,
mi amor
?”

“I need to apologize to someone. I was thinking maybe a nice card or—”

“Man or woman?”

Grace hesitated. “Man.”

“The one who sent you the beautiful flowers?”

“No, not that man.”

She now had Abuela’s full attention. “There’s
two
of them?” Abuela’s forehead scrunched up. “I only saw one in my dream. And he definitely had flowers in his hand.”

“It’s not like that. I’m not romantically involved with this man. Or with the other one either,” she stressed.

Abuela chuckled. “That’s what you think.”

“No, honestly, I just really messed up with him and I owe him an apology.”

“So tell him you’re sorry.”

Grace bit her bottom lip. “It’s not that simple—”

“Do you know what your problem is, Gracielita? You make everything too complicated.”

“No, I don’t.”

“And you’re stubborn too.”

That’s exactly what Charlie had said about Sarah. But no one was as stubborn as Sarah.

“Flan,” Abuela blurted, cutting through Grace’s thoughts. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. When your
abuelo
Pedro was courting me, my mother used to make him flan. He couldn’t resist it. Make him a flan and he’ll throw himself at your feet.”

Grace didn’t want Joe at her feet, but maybe Abuela was on to something. She didn’t remember seeing dessert on Joe’s grocery list. A flan would make a nice addition to his Thanksgiving dinner. She could bring it to his office tomorrow afternoon, offer up her apology, and they’d be even.

“Good idea.” Grace looked around the pristine kitchen. “Where’s Mami?”

“Your parents went down to the church to help distribute the Thanksgiving food giveaway. Go ahead and make one. Your mother won’t mind. Just make sure to clean the kitchen before you leave.”

Grace had seen her mother make countless flans in her lifetime. But she’d never actually made one herself. “You know what’s funny, Abuela?”

Before Grace could finish, Abuela said, “Eggs, sugar, evaporated milk . . .” When Grace didn’t do anything, Abuela shooed her with her hand. “You know what goes inside!”

Grace began pulling out the familiar ingredients. She set the stove for medium heat, then dumped two cups of sugar into a skillet.

“The secret to a good flan is to make enough syrup so that the custard doesn’t stick. Did you put in sufficient sugar?” Abuela asked.

“I think so.”

Abuela chuckled at something on the screen. “This show is stupid. But it makes me laugh, and I don’t have to think so hard when I watch it.”

Growing up in a bilingual household, Grace had taken her knowledge of Spanish for granted. When she spoke English, she thought in English, and when she spoke Spanish, she thought in Spanish. But Abuela had learned English as a grown woman. There were certain sounds that were difficult for her to make, like the
y
sound in yellow. Grace found herself thinking of Joe and his “resume.” Exactly how fluent was his Spanish? she wondered. Grace had been to Mexico a few times, but to resort areas like Cancún and Acapulco. She’d seen the poverty, though. It was hard to miss. What was Guatemala like? And what had inspired Joe to go there right after dental school, at a time when he was probably anxious to start making money? He was a mystery, that was for sure.

“Give it a shake,” Abuela said, pointing to the stove.

Grace gave the skillet a jiggle. Watching the sugar melt was her favorite part, the transformation from solid to liquid as the white crystals morphed into a lovely brown liquid caramel, all gooey and hot. As a child the temptation to stick her finger in the syrup had always gotten her a whack on the bottom. But it had been worth it each time.

“You’d better get the rest going or all you’re going to have is a sticky brown mess.” Abuela might not be the best cook herself, but she certainly seemed to know how to direct.

Grace placed the remaining ingredients into a blender and whirled them together. She took a second to sniff the frothy liquid. The smell of vanilla wafted up, enveloping her in familiar comfort. She got out the pan her mother used to bake the flan, set it on the counter and frowned. Something was missing. . . .

“You need to make a
baño de Maria
. So that the flan doesn’t stick to the pan,” Abuela said.

Of course. Grace got out a large rectangular pan and filled it with an inch of hot water, then set it aside.

“Did you preheat the oven?” Abuela asked.

“Yep.” She’d done that first thing. She wasn’t totally incompetent. She could make
arroz con pollo
, but that was pretty much the only Cuban dish she knew how to make. Maybe she should get Mami to teach her how to make some staples, like
ropa vieja
and
picadillo
. Grace stored that away as one of her New Year’s resolutions.

Once the sugar melted, Grace poured the caramel mixture from the skillet into a Bundt pan, quickly swirling it around to evenly distribute it. Satisfied the entire pan was coated in the caramel, she set it aside to let it cool. Abuela glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, then went back to watching her show. After the caramel had set, Grace poured the liquid flan mixture on top, then placed the Bundt pan inside the larger pan filled with hot water and put the whole thing in the oven.

There! That wasn’t so hard.

“Don’t forget to cool it well before placing it in the refrigerator,” Abuela said. “But when you’re ready to flip it, make sure it’s been at room temperature first. Do you have a plate to serve it in?”

Grace nodded. “Thanks, Abuela.”

“For what? You already knew how to make a flan.”

12

I’ll Take What’s Behind Door Number One, Please

Wednesday was busy. The Thanksgiving holiday exodus into Florida had backed up southbound traffic on I-95, which meant tourists were stopping at the store. Florida Charlie’s hadn’t seen this much business since last February during Speed Week. Grace was supposed to get off work at three, but it wasn’t until almost five that she was able to sneak away. She dashed home, took the flan out of the fridge, and drove to Sunshine Smiles. There was no time to ease the flan out of the pan so Grace would just have to give it to Joe as is and explain to him how to flip it.

She parked alongside the building and carefully lifted the pan out of the passenger seat, then glanced around the parking lot. The place was empty except for two cars, neither of which were a black Range Rover. She was too late. Joe must have already left for the day. Grace felt a ping of disappointment. Which was silly. The flan would keep. She could bring it to Joe on Monday and he could share it with his office staff. Except she had to admit, she’d been looking forward to seeing him again. Not because she was anxious to apologize and eat crow. Who would look forward to that? But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she was attracted to him. In a completely superficial way, of course. And even though she had no intention of doing anything about that attraction, it never hurt to look.

Since she’d driven all the way over, she should check to make sure Joe wasn’t in the office. Besides, she could leave the flan with one of his staff. Surely they had a fridge inside their break room. She had her hand on the office door, when it opened from the other side, bringing her face-to-face with Tanya. The older woman’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“Grace, it’s so nice to see you!” Tanya hugged her. “What are you doing here? You didn’t have an appointment, did you? Melanie and I were about to close up.”

Grace looked beyond Tanya to see Melanie standing in the doorway with a large wicker basket in her hands.

“I ran into Dr. Joe at Publix on Sunday and he mentioned he was cooking Thanksgiving dinner. So I made him a flan.”

“How nice,” Tanya said, but Grace thought she detected a trace of knowing humor beneath the words.

“That makes six dozen cookies, three cakes, four dozen brownies, one torte, and a flan,” Melanie said. She took the pan from Grace’s hands and placed it inside the basket. “Dr. Joe’s patients have been very generous this holiday. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Patients were bringing Joe baked goods? Apparently, the office staff weren’t the only ones enamored of good ol’ Dr. Joe. Tanya must think Grace had some sort of crush on him. Well, she would just disabuse her of that notion this instant.

“The flan is more of an apology than a holiday gift. I thought, well . . .” There was absolutely
no
delicate way of saying this. “I thought Dr. Joe had fired you,” she said to Tanya. “So I called him out on it in my patient satisfaction survey.”

Tanya looked taken aback. “Why would you think that?”

Melanie frowned. “You didn’t give Dr. Joe all tens?
Everyone
gives Dr. Joe straight tens.”

“The firing thing was a misunderstanding. Or rather . . . I jumped to the wrong conclusion. And I actually
did
give Dr. Joe and the staff all tens. It was the free text portion of the survey where I blasted him.”

Tanya chuckled. “You didn’t read Dr. Fred’s letter, did you? I’m sorry, but Joe’s gone for the day. Why don’t you drop the flan off at his house?” Tanya plucked the wicker basket from Melanie’s hands and gave it to Grace. “As a matter of fact, you can bring him the whole basket while you’re at it.”

“Hey! I was going to give that to Joe myself,” Melanie said.

“I know, sweetie, but this way you’ll have time to make your Pilates class,” said Tanya.

Melanie looked genuinely torn.
Dr. Joe or Pilates?
Grace had to admit, Melanie knew how to work those pouty lips. Watching Melanie mull over the choice was fascinating. Grace wondered how much collagen implants cost these days.

“You’re right,” Melanie said finally. “I’d hate to miss Pilates class the night before Thanksgiving. Got to get a head start on working off all those carbs.” She said good-bye to Tanya and took off in her car.

Tanya wrote Joe’s address down on a slip of paper and handed it to Grace.

“Doesn’t showing up at his house uninvited cross the line in the patient-dentist relationship?” Grace asked.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t give out his home address,” Tanya said, “but I’ve known you for a long time, so I know you’re not some crazy stalker.” She smiled at her own joke. “Poor Joe was worried all day over this dinner. He’ll be relieved to know dessert is a done deal.” Tanya hesitated a moment and added, “You’ll be doing Joe a big favor. I’d do it myself, but I’m on my way to babysit my grandkids and I don’t want to be late.” She looked like she was going to say something more, but then changed her mind. Grace had the distinct impression the something more involved Melanie.

She might not be a crazed stalker, but she still felt uneasy standing in front of Joe’s two-story stucco townhouse. The ironic part was that he only lived a half mile from her place. No wonder she’d bumped into him at her Publix. It was his Publix too. The small front yard was neatly manicured but bare of shrubs or flowers. There was a ten-speed bicycle on the front porch and Grace could see his Range Rover tucked inside the otherwise empty garage. She rang the bell and hoped that Tanya was right about Joe not minding a surprise visit from one of his patients.

He didn’t look surprised to see her. He looked relieved.

“I come bearing gifts.” Grace handed him the basket. “There’s a flan—that’s from me—six dozen cookies, three cakes, four dozen brownies, and a torte.” She frowned. “Or is it three tortes and a cake?”

“Thank God.” He waved her inside.

The living room was an exact replica of hers, except it looked like it still had the original carpet and the walls were painted the same boring beige color that had once adorned the walls of Grace’s town house. The only furniture was a leather couch and a plasma-screen TV. Joe could use some much needed decorating advice from Sarah. Maybe she’d give him her card and do them both a favor.

She gave the TV a double take. “A little hypocritical, don’t you think? What with your ‘no television in the waiting room’ policy?”

He shrugged, but he didn’t seem embarrassed getting caught. “Monday night football,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“So is it normal for you to get a house call from a patient? You seem like you were expecting me.”

“Tanya called to tell me you were on your way. Listen, I really appreciate it.” Something in his voice told her that the favor extended to more than just delivering dessert.

It wasn’t hard to figure out the reason Tanya had practically insisted Grace deliver the basket of baked goods herself. Grace wondered if Joe appreciated the way Tanya was looking out for him.

“Poor Dr. Joe. What are you going to do about Melanie’s big crush on you?”

“Just Joe,” he reminded her. “And the hell if I know. I can’t very well fire her. She’s Dr. Fred’s niece.”

“I know. I finally got around to reading the letter. You’re practically a saint.”