Fire In the Kitchen (2 page)

Instead of being angry at her outburst, he laughed. He put his palms out at his suddenly interested audience and gave her his attention again.

Cassidy’s anger turned to shame at her erratic behavior. He must’ve been taking notes about coffee making, as the others had been doing and had every right to do. Spies from the new nearby café had only last week copied her chocolate chip cookies with fresh mint icing. It had left her paranoid. She couldn’t help how much this place and all the plans she had for it meant to her. But he must think she was a nutcase.

“Er…slight overreaction…don’t mind me…carry on.”

“Been burned before?”

She rubbed her arm. “Mildly singed.”

“I can assure you, I have no interest in your
originality,
other than trying your coffee, about which I have heard good things.”

“You’ve heard good things about my coffee?” She felt stupid, which didn’t sit well.

“Yes.” He pulled his coffee closer. “Shall we try again? Without the theatrics?”

He examined his drink and nodded at the hazel-brown crema on its surface. “
Eccellente
.”

He swirled the cup gently and then lifted it to smell its aroma, as if it had come from a vintage crop. He put the cup down and smiled at her. Not just a smile a customer gives to say thanks, but a big full smile that was so sexy Cassidy wanted to nibble on his bottom lip. She was surprised at the turnaround of her opinion of him. He was
not
the type of man she should see out of work hours. For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to drift to an imaginary world where she allowed herself to do just that. She liked what she saw in her mind, but knew it could never be a reality. Men like that were not in her realm. Dangerous thoughts like these played havoc with her composure.

She picked up a damp cloth again and wiped the area she’d recently cleaned, scrubbing at an invisible spot.
What’s so important about him that you have to seek his approval? Stop checking out the way he looks. His thick dark hair, his broad shoulders, his inviting full lips. Get a grip, invite your class back for part two of your coffee series next week, then send them home.

“Have you tasted it yet or are you happy to just admire it for the next half hour?” She sounded a tad harsher than she’d wanted to.

“I was waiting for you.”

So this is what it’s like to lose all control of your legs.
Cassidy held onto the bench. Tightly.

“Sources tell me you are a famous barista of Fremantle.”

“Haven’t made television status like one of my guests today, but the locals know me.”

“Let’s see if you are worthy of the famous title,” he murmured.

He sipped his coffee, moaning as he swallowed. Cassidy felt a sensual tug that stayed there.
Oh boy.
He took another taste and something contracted inside her when she heard his sigh of pleasure.

No more coffee tonight.

Upstairs to your flat.

Cold shower.

Bed.

“Do I still get to wear my coffee-making tiara?” she asked quietly, using a voice of control, though she felt anything
but
in control.

His eyes glimmered. “Make it a crown.”

“You sure you like it? I know it’s supposed to be, but it’s pretty strong for most tastes.”

Her head tilted toward his cup. She was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. For a reason she couldn’t define, a compliment from this man had become important.

The pilot light in his eyes followed every curve of her and she felt the temperature of the room escalate several degrees.

“Excellent body, just the right balance to my taste, a pleasure on the senses,” he said.

Cassidy coughed to cut the sensuous innuendo.

“Brazilian Bourbon Santos.”

She scrambled for it and held up the foil packet of coffee beans she’d recently crushed into exquisite grounds.

“One of the best in the world. Took me a while to get it through customs. I think it was worth it though, don’t you?”

He put down his cup and shook his head. “No, no I don’t.”

“Why not?” She felt her spine stiffen as she watched him stand straight and push the coffee cup back toward her with his index finger. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not my thing. It’s not that it doesn’t taste good, it’s the source of the blend that doesn’t sit well with me. Don’t take it personally.”

Cassidy wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from a self-righteous food snob. Particularly one who’d just rocked her world without even knowing it. “I don’t remember sending you a gilt-edged invitation to come here to taste it.”

“You won’t need one to get me to leave either.” He pulled several notes from his wallet and asked without looking at her, “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. One-hundred percent satisfaction or no charge, that’s our motto.” Cassidy stopped herself from biting her lower lip and pointed to the sign she’d quoted from instead.

He shrugged and tossed the notes on the counter. “Interesting experience meeting you, Cassidy.
Ciao
.”

Feeling disappointed and unsure of what had just happened, Cassidy watched him leave with the others. The middle-aged woman wobbled on her high heels and he righted her, preventing her from falling. She held onto his arm for longer than was necessary, but instead of gently prying her hand off him, Dante didn’t seem to mind helping her to her car.

Everyone bade their farewells and promised to be back, all except for Dante, who turned to tip an imaginary hat at Cassidy and left.

She’d been tested by one of the nation’s best chefs and, for reasons unknown to her, had failed. Although it was one of her passions, she wasn’t a qualified cook, and she thought she was okay with that. But she
did
know her coffee. What she’d made for him was good. Very good.

So he could stick that in his “Chef’s pipe” and smoke it.

Dante slammed his car door and raised the collar of his jacket against the early morning’s sharp wind. He refused to admit to himself the reason sleep hadn’t come easily last night was because of the unconventional barista he’d met the night before. He’d hoped she’d be a solution to one of his work dilemmas, but meeting her hadn’t gone to plan. Things had now progressed from a terrible storm to a hurricane.

Although he’d had some recent media complications, his beachside restaurant, Azzure, was thriving and booked solid for the next few months. From the street, it looked charming and welcoming. From the water, it looked as if it belonged to the landscape, or even commanded it. It had white walls befitting any seaside restaurant and a glass-walled gelato café bar spilling onto the beach. If one couldn’t afford Dante’s sophisticated fine-dining experience on the floor above, one could still have a piece of his dreams in the beachfront café.

He followed the restaurant’s seashell path that embraced the ocean view. He stood by the bar to watch his beautiful dark-haired sister weave her way around the relaxed customers.

Dante had designed the menu for the café downstairs to be simple but always made with fresh, local ingredients by chefs he had patiently—and sometimes impatiently—mentored. It wasn’t just about the good food. It was about the surroundings, the ambience, the experience he’d painstakingly created. His café and restaurant had been built on a yearning for culinary perfection. The public called it an overnight sensation, but it had taken him many years of experience to create the illusion that it had come so easily.

His sister winked at him as she briskly walked to the coffee machine and loaded coffee into the tamper and banged it on the bench. Although she was looking out for her customers, watching staff, and making coffee at the same time, she appeared relaxed and confident. He approached her and she kissed him on both cheeks.

“What took you so long?” she asked. “The savages upstairs are getting restless.”

“
Ciao, bella
.” Dante ignored her question and returned her kisses. “Good to see the café’s full.”

“It’s
always
full, even with all the drama going on lately. Please tell me you hired her.”

Sophia dealt out saucers like they were cards. She placed the coffees she’d just prepared on to them and signaled a waiter for service. “I know you want a really special person doing this, but I’m running on empty. My kids have forgotten what I look like, and this was only supposed to be a temporary gig.”

“Would it help if I told you I
almost
hired her?” He smiled with a lopsided grin.

“No. Dammit, Dante. What was wrong with this one? Not enough skill? Not enough understanding of the roasting process? What? What?”

Sophia’s eyes darkened, leaving no doubt to onlookers they were related. A waiter appeared and balanced the coffees on his wrist and hand.

“Table seven is ready to order,” she told him as he took the beverages away.

Dante nodded toward another table, saying, “It looks like ten is ready to order, too.”

“Do I tell you how to run the restaurant upstairs?”

Sophia didn’t wait for an answer. She walked away from him to the table he’d indicated, smiled pleasantly at the customers as she took their order, and then returned with a scowl reserved only for her brother.

“When I need your help to run the café, I’ll ask for it, like when I asked you to go and check out that amazing barista I’d heard about and hire her. If her café was on the beach like ours, we’d have serious competition on our hands.”

Dante paused as he thought again about the attractive young woman with those wildly patterned pants and bright top beneath her apron. Her clothes had fit her in all the right places, and the memory of her short, spiky blonde hair and cheeky grin reminded him why he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Too messy.

Too friendly with strangers.

Too distracting
.

“You asked me to bring back the best, yes or no?” He held out his palms to try to placate Sophia.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She placed a short black coffee in his hands. He nodded in thanks and took a sip. “Was her coffee as good as that?”

“Better.”

Sophia threw her hands up in the air. “So what was the problem?” Dante thought about where Cassidy worked, with the cuckoo clocks on the wall, the ridiculous indoor hills hoist, and her welcoming grin. Her sparkling eyes were green, or perhaps they were blue…either way, they were as refreshing as a dip in the sea on a hot day.

“Whoever owns the café she works in is obviously as kooky as she is. She seems to have free rein. I need a top-notch, loyal barista I can rely on. She’s not the type of girl who would take well to instructions.”

“Girl or woman?” Sophia prompted. “I heard she was about twenty-five, twenty-six.”

“I don’t know.” Dante’s voice had an exasperated edge. “She’s nothing like I expected. I didn’t stop to notice what she looked like.”

His sister sighed.

“Which means you
did
,” she said. “Admit it, nothing unusual; you fancied her and you
never
work with women you date. Did you ask her out?”

“Of course not. She simply didn’t have what it takes.”

“Liar, I know you too well. You drive me
pazzo
.”

“Look, she wasn’t my type. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t anything remotely close to it.” Dante put his hands on his sister’s shoulders and squeezed to lessen her anger toward him. “She wouldn’t have been a good fit. She’d have done her own thing, said whatever she thought to whoever would listen, without a filter.”

“You mean she wouldn’t have done things
your
way and she has a mind of her own. I like her already. I should have gone and checked her out myself.”

Dante rubbed her arm with affection. “So you’d be happy to have things less than perfect in your café and you wouldn’t be headstrong about having the right person, like I am?”

“I can’t help the blood running through my veins…so, touché…for now.” Sophia’s temper was quick, like Dante’s, and never lasted long. “While you were out,” she said, “did you stop punishing yourself for having to fire Carlos this morning?”

Dante felt the disappointment come back. “I can’t believe my best chef would try to destroy me, after all this time.”

Sophia’s voice was gentle. “He was more than just your number one assistant, he was your best friend, your cousin.”

“Not any more. I can’t believe his betrayal, especially with the media. My first overseas holiday in as long as I can remember and he destroyed my reputation in five weeks.” Dante ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I’ve failed our family, our friends…I’ve failed them all. Now he’s going to make it even worse by spouting his lies on prime-time TV while he competes in that ridiculous cooking competition everyone’s talking about.”

Sophia put his hair back in place. “How’re you going to fix this?”

“It can’t be fixed. Everything I’ve worked for has been destroyed.
Distruggere.
” Dante’s voice had a low growl. His hand returned to his hair and he unconsciously messed it up again.

Sophia’s voice was still gentle, reminding Dante of their mother. He felt his breathing become more controlled. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked.

“Maybe I’ll audition for the damn competition myself, let the public get to know me again, support local food causes, let them know I haven’t really turned my back on them. Make a difference. Damn Carlos. What’s he trying to prove?”

Sophia nodded. “Yes,” she said, “damn Carlos. He’s always been jealous of you. Even when we were kids. Not meaning to be the pessimist, but things could end up worse if you enter and he beats you.”

Dante’s shoulders relaxed as he realized he’d made an important decision. “If he continues to use my recipes and doesn’t have the originality to come up with his own, he might come across a few roadblocks. I can beat him, in the kitchen at least.”

“Bravo.” Sophia patted his shoulder.

“Table two is ready to order,” he said.

Sophia flicked his backside with a towel. “Get out of my café and sweet talk the few chefs you have left upstairs.”