Month of Sundays (9 page)

“Easy. I installed hidden cameras in your apartment. I’ve been watching every move you’ve made for days.”

She was clearly joking, but the thought of Griffin seeing her in her most unguarded moments made Rachel blush. Griffin’s gaze was too intense. Like the feeling you get after great sex when one more touch would bring not pleasure but pain. Rachel already felt in over her head. She tried to deflect Griffin’s attention before she was completely overwhelmed. “If you’ve been watching me, you must be bored out of your mind.”

“Quite the opposite. I’m fascinated.”

“Why?”

“From what I hear—and from what I’ve seen for myself—you have a lot of great qualities. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re loyal to your friends.”

“You make me sound like a golden retriever.”

Griffin pressed forward. “You’re also sexy as hell, even though you don’t seem to think so.”

“Fifteen pounds ago, maybe.”

Griffin put a finger to Rachel’s lips. “I didn’t meet you fifteen pounds ago. I met you last week. And I think you’re sexy right now.”

Rachel wanted to draw Griffin’s finger into her mouth and suck on it like a lollipop. Then she reminded herself she had given up sweets. “I think you need to get your eyes checked.”

“My eyes are fine.” Griffin lowered her hand until it came to rest on Rachel’s leg. Rachel could feel the heat even through the thick fabric of her corduroy pants. “Every time I have a conversation with you, you always find a reason to put yourself down. I’d love to know why.”

“Why do I prefer self-deprecation to self-aggrandizement?” Rachel shrugged. “It’s easy. It’s expected. It’s what I’m used to.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you got used to something else.”

Rachel wasn’t ready for this conversation. No way. No how. She liked spending time with Griffin, but after the comment she made in B&B about not wanting kids, Rachel thought it best if she didn’t get too involved with her. They could meet for lunch or dinner each Sunday like they planned, but as friends, not potential lovers.

As she tried to keep from wondering how being friends with benefits would work, she noticed a
Cream of the Crop
marathon was playing on TV. She jerked her chin at the screen. “I adore that show. Are you familiar with it?”

Griffin was noncommittal, her expression uncharacteristically muted. “I’ve seen a couple of episodes, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan.”

“I would. It’s one of my guilty pleasures. I’m not sure what I’m addicted to more—the food porn or the contestants’ histrionics. You should try out for it.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather watch you compete than the arrogant assholes who think they’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

Griffin smiled. “How do you know I’m not an arrogant asshole, too?”

“If you were, I think you would have shown your true colors by now.”

“So you trust me?”

“In my experience, it isn’t in my best interest to trust beautiful women.”

“I don’t quite know how to respond to that. Should I thank you for the compliment or work even harder to gain your trust?” Griffin answered her own question. “I think I’ll do both.”

When the party finally began to break up, Rachel offered to clean the kitchen while Jane and Colleen entertained the last of their guests. Griffin joined her. In her element, Griffin rolled up her sleeves and took control. “I’ll rinse and you’ll load?” she asked, filling half of the double sink with warm water.

“Yes, chef.”

Griffin flicked a dish towel at her, but Rachel could tell by the playful glint in her eye that she enjoyed being teased.
Note to self: tease her more often.

They quickly found a rhythm. Griffin scraped dried food into the garbage disposal, rinsed a dirty plate or dish, and handed it to Rachel so she could load it into the dishwasher. Then they did it over and over again.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Griffin asked.

“I don’t have to go back to work until Tuesday, so after the obligatory family dinner with my parents on Christmas Eve, I’m going to put my feet up and enjoy the long weekend. Unless, of course, I give in to temptation and head to the office. I get more work done on the weekends when no one’s around and the phone isn’t ringing off the hook. What about you? What are you going to do before you cook dinner for all us poor slobs who are too lazy to do it for ourselves?”

“Cook lunch for people who can’t afford a decent meal.”

“What do you mean?”

“My family feeds the less fortunate every Christmas and Thanksgiving. Even though I haven’t been able to be with them this year, I’ve tried to keep the tradition going. For Thanksgiving, I convinced Kathleen and Ava to open the restaurant for lower-income families. We’re going to be closed on Christmas Day, so I’m going to head up to the Bronx. A friend of mine runs a soup kitchen up there, and I offered to help her serve meals to the homeless.”

“Is it too late to change my answer? Way to make me look bad.” Rachel nudged Griffin with her hip to show her she was being only mock serious. Griffin nudged right back.

Drop-dead gorgeous and a sense of humor. Talk about the total package. Well, almost.

Griffin had a lot of good qualities, but before tonight, Rachel would have sworn the only thing she took seriously was her job. Her passion for cooking was so great any woman in her life must feel like a mistress. Rachel wasn’t up for another round of feeling second best.

She placed a serving platter in the dishwasher. “When I make my New Year’s resolutions each January, I always resolve to donate my time to a worthy cause instead of dropping a check in the mail and writing it off on my taxes, but I never do.”

“No time like the present. I’m sure Piper would be ecstatic if I brought an extra set of hands.” Griffin fished her cell phone out of her pocket and thumbed through the screens. “If you give me your number, I’ll give you a call on Sunday and we can head over. It’s going to be a long day. Maybe we could meet for breakfast first.”

Griffin’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, but when she lifted her eyes, they shone with what appeared to be excitement. Rachel bit her lip to keep from smiling.
It’s breakfast, not a date,
she reminded herself. As she and Griffin exchanged numbers, she felt herself getting lost in Griffin’s eyes.
Not a date, but close enough.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”

“Not really.”

“I know a really cool jazz club in the East Village called Avenue C. The house musicians are out of this world and recording artists often drop in for late-night jam sessions. Last year, Wynton Marsalis and Wendy Harrison got into a cutting contest that went on for hours.”

“A cutting contest?”

“Think of it as a musical game of H.O.R.S.E. The same rules apply—anything you can do, I can do better.”

Rachel preferred classic rock to any other musical genre, but she couldn’t turn down the chance to see a woman take her licks in a profession dominated by men—and spend more time with her new friend. “Do you think Wendy might play tonight?”

“If we ever get to the bottom of this pile of dirty dishes, maybe we can find out.”

The pile seemed to be getting larger instead of smaller. Rachel made small talk to take her mind off how much work remained.

“I think I read somewhere that you’re part of a large family. Is that true?”

Griffin scrubbed the baked-on remains of an entrée off the bottom of a casserole dish. “I’m the youngest of six and the only girl. I grew up with five brothers who tortured me relentlessly but wouldn’t hesitate to kick the ass of anyone who even looked at me sideways. It was the perfect preparation for learning to deal with critics.”

“What do your brothers do? Besides defend your honor, that is.”

“Kieran’s the oldest. He’s a pediatrician. Ryan is a general contractor, Pearson is a bicycle cop, Duncan is a graphic designer, and Logan is a realtor.”

She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. When it didn’t stay, Rachel reached out and tucked it behind her ear. For a brief moment, Griffin pressed her cheek against Rachel’s palm. Rachel resisted the urge to grip the back of Griffin’s head and pull her closer. To bury her face in the side of Griffin’s neck and feel her pulse pounding against her lips. To slide her tongue across her skin.

“Of course,” Griffin said, returning to the task at hand, “I’ve had the perfect revenge.”

“How so?”

“Between them, my brothers have nine kids.”

“Enough to field a baseball team.”

“A softball team, you mean.”

“All your brothers’ children are girls?”

“Every single pink-outfit-wearing, tiara-sporting,
Hannah
Montana
-loving one of them.” She handed Rachel the casserole dish. “Jane tells me you’re an only child. What was that like? Was it lonely?”

“Not at all. I have a ton of cousins, so I never lacked for kids my own age to play with. Because it was just the three of us, my parents and I had a close relationship when I was growing up. Coming out to them was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t know how they’d react. I grew up in the burbs. As we all know, no one is gay in the burbs. Or at least that’s what it feels like when you’re a teenager trying to find your way in the world. Homosexuality was never a topic of conversation in my house. Politics? Yes. Sports? Yes. Traffic on the L.I.E.? Definitely. Gayness? No way. But when I fell in love for the first time and it was with a girl instead of a boy, my parents didn’t bat an eye. They were incredibly supportive. I shouldn’t have been surprised. They’ve always been there for me every step of the way. The only subject we ever disagreed on was Isabel. I should have seen the writing on the wall when they were adamantly opposed to her presence in my life, but—”

Griffin rested a sudsy hand on her arm. “Don’t beat yourself up for being human. We all have at least one bad relationship we wish we had never entered into.”

“Yeah? What was yours?” She couldn’t imagine Griffin crying over a broken heart. Breaking one? Definitely.

“My toxic relationship began when I was in culinary school. When I met Veronica Warner, sparks flew in every conceivable way. The competition was cutthroat and the two of us were always at odds. In the kitchen, all we did was try to top each other. In the bedroom, all we did was argue and have makeup sex. After a while, it became impossible to tell one from the other. When I first arrived on campus, I told myself I was there to learn, not chase girls, but I didn’t listen to my own advice. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten a figurative knife in my back.”

“Did Veronica switch the salt and the sugar during pastry week?” When the muscles in Griffin’s jaw tightened, Rachel immediately regretted her attempt at humor. The subject seemed not just sore but downright painful.

“There’s man law and there’s chef law. You don’t steal another chef’s recipe or take credit for a dish you conceived together. Ronnie did both.”

“What happened?”

Her expression as turbulent as a storm-tossed sea, Griffin dried her hands on a dish towel.

“It all comes down to a matter of integrity,” she began at last. “When we were in school, we used to spend all day learning classic techniques. At night, we were free to improvise. We’d take established recipes and put our own spin on them or try to come up with recipes of our own. We were all intent on finding a signature dish, one that the minute you taste it, you know it could have been prepared only by a particular chef. Or, in our case, a pair of chefs.

“One night, we came up with an idea for a dish, went into the test kitchen, and tried it out. Vegetable lasagna with truffles and portobello mushrooms. It turned out great and everyone loved it. We joked about heading to the nearest patent office to trademark the recipe—we’d put both our names on it because we had come up with it together—but we didn’t follow through. At least,
I
didn’t.

“The practical part of our final exam was preparing a three-course meal. Appetizer, dessert, entrée. I challenged myself and tackled Julia Child’s infamous beef bourguignon, one of the more difficult dishes to make because of the time and effort that goes into preparing it properly. Veronica said she planned to make an original dish, but she wouldn’t tell me what. When she presented her three courses to be scored, the entrée looked familiar but the name didn’t. The dish we had created had become something called Magic Mushroom Lasagna.”

“I can’t believe she took sole credit for something you came up with as a team.”

“Believe it. And now it’s her signature dish. She’s even copyrighted the name.”

“I don’t think a dish qualifies as intellectual property, but she stole from you nevertheless. Isn’t there a law against that? A man law not just a chef law?”

“Even if there were, I’m not interested in suing. I don’t care about the money or the credit. I just want her to respect me, and she refuses to do that.”

Her face reddened with anger, Griffin leaned against the counter. Rachel could practically see the steam pouring out her ears.

“What gets me,” Griffin continued, “is she’s always saying I’m not creative and I’m not original, but
I
helped her come up with the dish that separated her from the pack. I helped her get where she is, and she acts like I don’t deserve to be there, too.”