Take Me Home Tonight (20 page)

And then he'd ignored her as if the gift she'd given him had meant nothing.

It had meant
too
much. More than he could handle right then.

“He likes her, just not that way,” his dad said. “I get it. You'll go through a lot of those kinds of girls before you meet the one you can't stay away from. And believe me, you'll know. It'll hit you right between the eyes.”

“Why'd you lead her on if you knew you didn't want a relationship?” Lee asked. “You know Mimi's not the girl you hook up with. She deserves a guy who loves her, appreciates her, just . . . gobbles her up.”

“I don't know what you think is going to happen. Soon as Dad signs that contract, we're back in the studio. I'm not gonna have time to be anyone's boyfriend.” But he couldn't get his dad's words out of his head.
Those kinds of girls
. Mimi wasn't one of them. She was . . . different. Unique. She fit him in a way he didn't completely understand.

He did want her. He appreciated the hell out of her. And damn straight he wanted to gobble her up.

“My point right there,” his dad said. “When it's the right
girl, a guy doesn't talk about timing or any of that crap. He just takes her.”

“Hello?” That familiar voice gutted him. Tentatively, Mimi entered the kitchen. With her hair in braids and her skintight jeans and tight tank top, she looked like a hot biker chick. “I wasn't sure if you guys remembered I was coming early today.”

“We remembered,” Jo said.

“Hey, Meems.” Lee gave her a hug. “How'd you get here?”

“Violet gave me a ride.”

Mimi dropped her messenger bag and went to the sink to wash her hands. “Is this okay? That I came early?”

Calix had to fix it. He snatched the hand towel off the counter and stood beside her. “Hey, sorry I left without you.”

She gazed up at him, confusion, hurt, plain in her eyes.

“I had a situation.” He lowered his voice. “With Gus.”

She took the towel from him. “Let's just get to work, okay?” She joined his mom at the island.

“We'll let you get to it.” His dad motioned to Lee, and they left.

Calix hadn't noticed all the prep work his mom had done, but she'd laid out little bowls, each with a different herb inside.

Drying her hands, Mimi sniffed the thyme. “Oh, good. I really wanted to work with seasonings. I only know the basics.”

She was shutting him out. Just like her dad. She only wanted to surround herself with positivity.

“Calix?” His mom's voice carried a note of impatience.

“Right. Okay.” The last thing he wanted to do was mess with her the day of her competition, but he had to fix it. After the lesson, he'd talk to her.

Don't you hold back with me, Calix Bourbon.
He'd never forget those words. And the look in her eyes when she'd said it?

He would never get enough of that. Of her.

He could have her. He just needed to slow the hell down.
Date
her. Not get so damn carried away.

Quickly, he washed his hands and got down to business.
“Remember to taste everything. Every ingredient you get, taste it before you use it. It'll give you a sense of how it works with the other ingredients. Second thing is to use salt. Don't be afraid of salt.”

“Got it.” Still not looking at him.

Dammit. Maybe he should talk to her now. Clear the air.

His mom nudged him. “You want to pick up the pace? She's got a train to catch
.”

Right.
He looked down at the counter, each bowl filled with a different herb. “If you're using fresh herbs, you want to add them later. Dry spices, early. The more a seasoning cooks, the deeper the flavor. The less time it has to cook, the sharper the flavor.” He got a whiff of her perfume, and it sent him back to the beach. Their bodies grinding together with the frantic need to get closer.

Fuck.

“I should be writing this down,” Mimi said.

“Nah,” his mom said. “It'll make sense once you do it.”

Focus.
“And if you're going to used dried herbs, make sure to crush them before you add them.” He wanted her to look at him, give him one of her smiles. The one she reserved for him—because she trusted him.

“It releases the flavor.” Jo elbowed him, making him realize he just stood there.

“Generally, you can use a teaspoon of dried herbs for a tablespoon of fresh.”

She held up a sprig of parsley, addressing his mom. “Do I want to tear, chop, or use a mortar and pestle?”

The French doors opened, and Shay breezed in. “Hey, you guys. What's all this?”

“Hey,” Jo said, preoccupied at the island with Mimi.

“Can I borrow Calix?”

“You can have him later.” Jo focused on the mortar and pestle. “He's working right now.” Then, she looked up. “Shouldn't you be at work?”

“We don't start till Memorial Day weekend.” She and some of their friends were lifeguards. “Besides, it won't take long. Bones got his Jeep stuck on the beach. We need a few beasts to give him a push.”

The best thing he could do for Mimi would be to leave her alone. She needed her focus on the competition, not on the shit he'd thrown at her. “Sure.”

His mom shot him a look.

“You got this?” Besides, he needed a break. Needed to clear his head. He'd come back ready to talk to her long before she had to leave for the train.

“No, Calix,” his mom said. “I don't got this.”

“Swear it won't take long at all. Please?” Shay gave her little girl smile.

He walked away. “Yeah, sure thing.”

At the French door, he jerked it open. He shouldn't have done it—should've walked right out—but he couldn't help himself. He cast a glance over his shoulder.

The hurt was blatantly scrawled all over Mimi's features. What was he supposed to do? Yes, he wanted to go back in there, carry her off to his cottage, and fuck the living daylights out of her. Yes, he wanted her. Of course he wanted her.

Look at her
. Those dark red braids, the flush of color in her creamy cheeks, that fiery spirit. He'd been locked in his own head for three fucking years. Of course he wanted Mimi Romano.

But he couldn't have her.

His dad was wrong. Maybe timing didn't matter for normal people. But it did for people trying to keep their moms from walking into the goddamn ocean with rocks in their pockets.

Shay's hand reached for his, clasped it, and tugged. “Come on.”

And so he followed her out of the house.

Because he needed to figure out what the hell he was doing.

*   *   *

Even
before he hit the sand, he heard the engine gunning.

Calix jogged the rest of the way and then slammed his palm on the hood. “Don't hammer the throttle.”

Bones immediately jerked his foot off the accelerator. “What?”

“Come on. You start letting some air out of your tires, and I'll shovel.”

“Cool.” The door opened, and Bones hopped out. “Thanks, man.”

Laughter had him glancing toward Shay as she pulled off her T-shirt and shorts, stripping down to her bright yellow bikini. She saw him watching and shook her hips to the beat from someone's boom box. With a lazy look in her eyes and a sway of her slender hips, she blew him a kiss.

He bent over and got to work digging out the sand in front of the wheels. At the other end of the Jeep, Bones squatted with his tire gauge. “Not workin' today?”

“The producer quit. My dad's gonna take over, but not for a few days.”

Bone shot him a look. “Your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“So things're going good then?”

“No change.”

Bones nodded, looking back to the tire. “Cool.”

Finished, Calix tossed his shovel to the sand. “I'll grab some branches.”

As he headed toward the path that led back up to his property, he turned to watch his friends. Mimi was right. They let him stay the same, never challenged him. It wasn't their fault—he didn't invite their input. Because it was his problem to handle. And, of course, he thought he'd had it under control.

But Mimi didn't wait for invitations. When she cared passionately about something, she threw herself in. His skin tightened at the idea he'd lost that. Her passion. He wanted her to pour it all over him. He wanted it to sink into his every crevice. He wanted to feel it in his aching bones—like water, bringing him back to life.

Because that's what she was doing. Bringing him back to life.

Awareness pinched his nerves, sending a stinging sensation throughout his body. “Bones?”

His friend looked up from the tire.

He motioned to the others. “Have them grab some branches, okay? You should be good to go.”

“Yeah, sure, man. What's up?”

“I gotta get back. I was right in the middle of something.”

Bones nodded. “Thanks for the help.”

Calix raced up the path. With each step he took, one thought pounded through him.
I can have her
. He could have Mimi
and
be there for his mom. How had the two become mutually exclusive?

As if his own happiness would cost him his mom.

And the kicker of it all? Mimi was right about something else. Hopper would
hate
to see his family so unhappy. No music, no laughter? What kind of way was that to live?

He burst into the house, expecting to hear their voices, but it was dead quiet.

“Ma? Mimi?”

“They left.” His sister appeared in the doorway, holding her sketch pad.

“What do you mean they left?” Where would they go?

“Mom took her to the train station. Mimi couldn't concentrate. She just wanted to get to the city early. Get her head on right.”

Because of him. Because he'd acted like a pussy and treated her like shit after she'd given him everything last night. “I'm such an asshole.”

“Nah. An asshole wouldn't see that he'd messed up. And he definitely wouldn't care.”

As he hurried down the hall, he fished his keys out of his pocket.

“Where you going?”

“Gotta get her back.”

He'd gotten the train schedule off his phone, so he knew he could get to Hicksville before Mimi. The moment he pulled into the parking lot, he called her.

The call went straight to voice mail, which meant she'd likely hit Ignore.

He texted her.
I was a dick. But I'm at the Hicksville train station, and I need you to get off.

She responded instantly.
Do NOT mess with me right now. The only thing on my mind is the competition.

Done messing with you. I'm taking you to the competition.

Oh, fun, you and Shay?

She turned him on. Everything about her.
No, saucy girl. You and me.
The horn blared, signaling the arrival of the train.
You're here. Get off.

I did get off. Wasn't all that rewarding.

Seriously, she could make him smile like nobody else. Before he could respond, another text came in.

What say we let your mood swing a few more times, see where it settles?

I deserved that, sweet pants. Can admit I freaked out. Now give me a chance to make it right.

The train pulled into the station, wheels clacking, brakes squealing. He got out of the truck, leaned against the hood, and folded his arms across his chest.

He had no idea if his feisty girl would forgive him so easily.

So he sent her one more text.
Wanna be with you.

When the train came to a complete stop, the conductor announced the next station and reminded passengers to mind the gap.

The moment the doors opened, Calix straightened. The odds were against him, especially when he considered the way she'd distanced herself from her dad.

But damn, he really needed her to get off that train.

He needed to make it right.

He needed
her
.

He hadn't taken a full breath since the night he'd walked in on his mom unconscious in her bed. Mimi had changed him. Changed everything.

Passengers poured out the doors, hurrying down the stairs to get into taxis or waiting cars. He looked for those dark red braids. The doors closed, and the train pulled away from the tracks.

Fuck.

He deserved that. She needed to focus on the competition. Not on his bullshit.

“You better know what you're doing.”

He swung around to find her opening the passenger side door. “I do.”

As he got into the cab, he breathed in that familiar scent.
Funny thing about Mimi, she could wear her hair in braids, dress down in yoga pants and T-shirts, but she still exuded refinement and grace. “I'm—”

“Don't want to hear it. You punked out.” She jammed her bag on the floor between her feet. “You got your shit together?”

“I do.”

“Then drive.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed. She didn't even look at him, just kept her gaze out the window.

“You want to talk about spices?”

“Yeah. I do.” After a moment, the muscles in her leg relaxed.

“So, today it's either gonna be soup or salad.”

She didn't respond.

“I think you're best off going with a theme. And don't try to get too inventive because you'll muddy the flavors.”

“But what if I get weird ingredients that don't work together in a theme?”

“Then you put together the things that will go together and find a way to add the weird thing creatively. Let's say they give you kale, and it doesn't go with your potato leek soup. What can you do with it?”

“Puree it and put just a little in the soup?”

“Well, kale's pretty bitter. So, if you're going to work with kale, you might want to blanch it first.”

“To get rid of the bitterness. Like the decorative plant we tried to make edible.”

“Yeah, like that. But another way to go is to use it as a garnish.”

“Like parsley?”

“Like those fried onion things people put in green bean casseroles.”

“So, you mean slice it up and put it in a fryer?”

“Even simpler. Make thin strips, drizzle some olive oil on them. Make sure they're dry, by the way. Stick 'em in the oven—three twenty-five for fifteen minutes or so—and then salt 'em. Just use a little.”

“I love that idea.” She shook her head. “You're so funny.”

“I know.” He flipped on his blinker, changed lanes. “My riffs on kale are worldwide.”

“That would be funny, as in surprising. I mean, no one who looks at you would figure you'd know how to make a garnish out of kale.”

“Wait, so you're saying I'm
not
a badass?”

“Brace—this is going to suck to hear this—but you're an incredibly creative and sensitive man.” Her phone rang, and she leaned over to pull it out of her messenger bag. “You're so much deeper than you let on. And don't worry. I'm not talking about your feelings for me.” She hit Ignore. “Let's talk about salads.”

He'd done that. Made her think he didn't care about her. “Let's do talk about them.”

“Salads?”

“My feelings for you.”

“Nope. Salads or nothing.”

“You want to concentrate on the competition? Let's get it out in the open so it won't be a worm in your brain.”

“There are no worms in my brain.”

“You think I don't have real feelings for you. That's a worm in your brain.” He tapped the brakes when a sea of red lights appeared on the highway before him. They'd left early enough, though, so she wouldn't be late. “Look, it's a pretty strange time in my life, and I'm doing the best I can, but the truth is the only time I'm actually happy is when I'm with you.” She deserved everything, but he wasn't offering much of anything. He felt pretty shitty about that. “I don't have a lot to give right now, but I do want to . . . date you.” He chanced a look at her. “Is that enough for you?”

Those big eyes, filled with so much emotion, made him feel reckless, hungry. Like he could press his foot to the pedal and keep driving west. Just her and his truck.

The temptation was overwhelming.

She watched him for a moment. “Yeah. That's enough.”

And just like that the bands around his chest snapped.

*   *   *

With
figs, butter lettuce, a ball of fresh mozzarella, and beef flank, Mimi knew she should've gone with soup. Salad was too obvious. But she'd only had thirty minutes, and if she'd tried for a soup with those ingredients, she'd have failed.

She'd never made soup before, though her nonna had made an amazing pasta
fagioli
.

Alena had made
botvinia
, a cold Russian soup made of greens and fish, only she'd used the beef flank instead. According to the judges, she'd needed some kind of sweet-sour liquid that required five days to ferment, which of course, she didn't have. Plus, the butter lettuce didn't have the same texture, color, or weight as spinach or sorrel, so she'd gotten the lowest scores of anyone so far.

“Ms. Romano,” Verna said in her upbeat tone. “Please tell us what you've made.”

“I've prepared a
Caprese
salad with grilled steak flanks and a fig and balsamic vinaigrette.”

“Thank you. Chef Alonso?”

“I like it. I thought everything worked well together. Pureeing the fig into the dressing was inspired. And while my colleagues might disagree because it is, after all, a basic salad, I'm going to give you a five for quick thinking. First, I like that you pan-fried the steak because I'm assuming you knew you didn't have time to marinate.”

“That's correct, Chef.” Well, actually, her nonna had always pan-fried steak flanks, so she'd done what she knew.

“And, secondly, you handled all the ingredients and preparation, including charring the pepper, and still managed to cook a perfect steak. I also liked how you stabbed it before preparing it and inserted fresh herbs. That gave it a sharper, more flavorful taste.”

“Thank you, Chef.” She couldn't help cutting a quick glance to Calix, who sat in the same spot as last time, third row, right on the aisle. His smile burst with pride. Affection for him slammed her. He'd done so much for her in so little time.

“I'm going to give you a five for presentation because, come on . . .” He tipped his plate, though he'd eaten more than half the salad. “Isn't that the prettiest salad you've ever seen? The green, the red, the white. It's the Italian flag. Gorgeous. But I'm going to have to give you a three for innovation because, well, you used the ingredients in your bag in exactly the manner they were presented.”

She nodded in agreement. He'd been more than generous.

“Chef Zoe?” Vern said.

Aaaand
the judge who'd tip the balance in the other direction.

Mimi dug her short fingernails into her palms behind her back. She may have made a freaking salad, but she only had to get one more point than Alena, the lowest scorer.

“To be honest,” Chef Zoe said, “I didn't see any quick thinking. You charred a pepper, pureed a fig.” Her expression said,
Big whoopty-doo
. “So I'm giving you a two.”

Oh, fuckity fuckity fuck.

“Actually, I'll give you a three because you do handle situations calmly.”

I'll take that point.

“I saw you having trouble with the consistency of the dressing. You could've just added more olive oil, but you stayed calm, did a lot of tasting, and managed to pull off a beautifully balanced salad dressing. So, sure, I'll bump it to a three. And for innovation? While this is a beautiful presentation, I see nothing innovative whatsoever. Given your Italian heritage and your father's obvious preference for Italian restaurants, I'm going to guess this dish was a no-brainer for you. I give you a one. And a three for presentation.”

Okay, seriously? Using her Italian heritage against her? She hadn't brought up Alena's Russian heritage when discussing that soup. “Thank you, Chef.”

“I notice your father in the audience today.” Zoe nodded to the front row.

Like losing her footing on a staircase, a spikey tingle raced along her limbs. Shielding her eyes from the lights with a hand, she canvassed the audience. Only when her dad waved did she spot him.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. Holy shit. Her dad had come to the taping?

And then regret rushed in hard and fast. She'd been so focused on staying positive, she'd iced him out. “Hi, Dad.”

The audience laughed, so she guessed she might've sounded a little weepy.

After the initial surprise wore off, though, insecurity tumbled in. It was a good thing she hadn't known he was coming. She'd have been too self-conscious, too worried about making a fool out of herself.

“I'm sure he's pleased with your classically Italian dish,” Chef Zoe said.

Classic
Caprese
salad didn't have roasted peppers. No, it wasn't exactly innovative, but it still wasn't
classic
. “I'm sure he is.”

“Okay, hang on one second,” Verna said. “Dino Romano is in the house. How cool is that? Not to put you on the spot or anything . . .” The host pointed at him. “But you have got to be a judge on our next cooking competition.” Verna faced the camera. “I don't know if you're familiar with the name, but Dino Romano's responsible for some of our finest restaurants here in New York City.” She ticked names off on her fingers. “La Terrazza dell'Eden, Taverna Romano, Cielo, and so many more.” She approached him. “Do you cook?”

Her father flicked his hand back and forth several times. “Not so much.”

“That's not true.” Should she have kept her mouth shut? “My dad's a great cook. We've been cooking together since I was little.”

The audience gave a collective, “Aw,” and Verna flashed her bright smile to the camera. “You
guys
. Isn't that sweet? What kinds of things do you cook together?”

“My daughter's specialty is desserts. You've not lived until you've tasted her
torta Barozzi
.”

“Do you know I've never made that before?” Verna said. “I've tasted it, and it's one sinfully delicious chocolate cake. She better make that on the final show, right? And if not, I'm inviting myself over to the Romanos for the next special
occasion. I want one of those.” She clapped her hands, turning sideways to face the judges. “Okay, back to the competition. Let's finish up today's judging. So, Mr. Simmons? What scores do you have for Dino Romano's daughter?”

With one last glance at her dad, she tried to read his expression. Was he proud of her? Or disgusted that his daughter demeaned herself on reality TV? But the lights were too bright, and the Food Channel founder had begun his evaluation.

She would just die if she got booted off the show with her dad in the audience.

“Ms. Romano, this salad is not only delicious, but it's beautiful. And I love the dressing. I'm going to have to respectfully disagree with Chef Zoe on the innovation angle, because classic
Caprese
—and Mr. Romano can correct me if I'm wrong—does not employ peppers. And in this dish they not only add flavor but color. The toasted pine nuts gave it texture, which was nice since everything else was soft. So I'll give you a four for quick thinking—because like Chef Alonso, I was impressed with the number of projects you had going at once that you managed to complete to perfection, and a five, as always, for presentation because that is a beautiful plate. And a four, also, for innovation—I dropped one point because it is true that you didn't repurpose the ingredients you had in your bag.”

Relief swept through her, making her knees weak.

She'd made it. God, she'd made it past round two. “Thank you, sir.”