Ah. Ricco’s daughter. Interesting. Vincent nodded.
“Absolutely none. I’m great at taking orders. I’m normally the hostess and supervise the waitstaff. As far as cooking, what you see is what you get.”
I definitely like what I see. There was something about her, he couldn’t pinpoint it, but he knew he was drawn to her. But right now, he needed to stay focused on the issue at hand.
It had been years since he’d spent any time in a kitchen, usually he was only there for inspections or to review new menu options. He built a successful business but counted on his staff to handle the day to day. He might be a bit rusty, but he knew whatever he put out was sure as hell going to be better than what she had.
“You think you can do better than I can, because why?”
Vincent laughed. “First of all, most people could do better. Second, I am a trained chef, unless you couldn’t tell from my cutting skills.”
She looked him over from head to toe. He wasn’t sure if he was intrigued or insulted, but he found her boldness a turn-on.
“You are dressed a bit too fancy to be any cook that I’ve seen, but I won’t argue. You can handle a knife. What did you say your name was?”
“Vincent Moretti.” She didn’t seem to recognize his name. He was sure if Ricco was here, there’d be no question about his qualifications. “And you are?”
“Renita Gallo.” She extended her tiny hand to his. He found it amazingly soft and delicate as he took it in his.
“So how about I cook, and you watch?”
“No way. I cook, and you help,” Renita said firmly.
“Do you want people to eat or make that call?” He waited for her to answer.
“Fine. But I want to help.”
He nodded. “Okay, so tonight you learn the first rule in culinary arts.”
“Okay, what is that?”
“Don’t get in the way of the chef.”
Renita grabbed the bottom of the jacket which was almost like a dress on her and curtsied. “Of course, Chef.”
Her smile once again beamed. Maybe this week won’t be such a waste after all.
Chapter Two
Renita had to admit that having Vincent show up when he did had made things much easier. Although she’d felt that what she’d served yesterday was edible, once she tasted his food she was embarrassed by even the salad.
It was still early morning, but she wanted to check on her father. Picking up her cell phone she dialed his number. The call went through, but there was still so much static on the line.
“How are you feeling, Dad?”
His voice sounded weak. “My fever broke last night, and Maria has been checking. She’s almost as bad as you, checking me every hour. With the roads closed, no one can get to the store for medicine to stop this cough.”
Renita wished she could be there taking care of him, but her father had insisted she concentrate on the resort first. That didn’t prevent her from stopping at Maria’s, his neighbor, and asking her to keep an eye on him. And when she asked, Marie seemed very eager to do so. They were both the same age and their spouses had passed away. She didn’t normally believe in fate, but she wouldn’t mind one bit if her father found someone he could share his life with. Leaving him alone in Vermont with no family around was what held her there.
“I’m glad she’s taking good care of you.”
“How is the restaurant? Did you follow my recipes?”
No, but don’t worry. I have this. Or maybe I should say Vincent has this. “Everything is perfect, Dad. Don’t worry about a thing. Just think about getting well.”
“How many of my staff showed up?”
“One.” She knew that wasn’t going to go over well, but she hadn’t planned for his response.
“One? That’s it, I’m coming in.” She heard her father call out, “Maria, get me my clothes. I have to go to the resort.”
She knew her father was stubborn enough to do it, even bypass the closed roads and trek through the woods if he had to. But she almost burst out laughing when she heard Maria answer him.
“Ricco, you get back in that bed right this minute, or I’ll take all your clothes and throw them in the snow. Do you hear me?”
Her father was swearing up a storm right before the line went dead. She resisted the urge to call back. Maria seemed to have everything under control, so she had to make sure she did the same here. If not, nothing was going to stop her father from coming in, sick or not.
There were many things she didn’t enjoy about a chef’s life. Getting up way before dawn to prep for breakfast was one of the biggest. Renita was a morning person, but this was too much. Normally, you could find her on a slope as the sun rose, glistening on the fresh powdered snow from the night before. Until her father was well and back in the kitchen, her skis weren’t going anywhere, and neither was she.
Even before she opened the door, she could see the lights were on in the kitchen. She was positive she’d turned them off last night. Please let it be one of the sous-chefs.
When she opened the door, even with his back to her, she knew exactly who it was. Vincent. Really?
He wasn’t dressed up this morning. Instead, he was wearing a T-shirt, showing his muscular back, and a pair of jeans, hugging his butt nicely. Now this is a sight worth getting up for. Might even beat the sunrise on the mountain.
Renita felt her cheeks warm. Easy girl. This is not what you’re supposed to be doing. Dad has very strict rules about fraternization in the kitchen. A soft chuckle escaped her as she recalled neither of them were actually kitchen staff.
Vincent heard her but didn’t even turn around. “Good morning, Renita. How about you grab the eggs and crack about four dozen for me?”
Here she was having sweet thoughts of how sexy he looked, and he was all business. There were a couple cute remarks she was tempted to make, but she couldn’t afford to lose his help. Or my job.
She decided not to wear her father’s jacket and grabbed one of the plain aprons as Vincent had. Once in place, she prepared the eggs as he instructed.
“Okay, you’re going to add some milk and seasoning and whip them up so they’ll be ready for cooking. This will be one of the last things we do, so they won’t become rubbery.”
She did as he said, but he wasn’t clear on how much or what seasoning. Renita put a couple dashes of salt then some pepper. Then she felt him standing behind her, his hand covering hers, which still held the salt.
“Don’t be afraid of spices.” His voice was husky as he spoke.
Her hand trembled but not from anything except the pure raw desire that filled her as she felt his rock hard body
pressed up against her back.
“Relax. You can do this.”
Not with you so darn close. I’m not even sure I can breathe, never mind cook. “I think I’d do better if you told me how much, and don’t be so vague.”
“Recipes are so restrictive.”
“No, they mean you make something, and it comes out exactly as you thought it would,” she said firmly as she tried not to think of him still behind her. He stepped back slightly but not enough for her nerves to settle.
Vincent placed his hand on her shoulder and urged her to turn to face him. It was bad enough without looking into his honey brown eyes.
“Not the adventurous type?”
Oh, this is what they mean about don’t play in the kitchen cause you’re going to get burned. “Mr. Moretti, I—”
“Vincent.”
“Vincent, is that how they would teach me in culinary arts school?” She swallowed and hoped her answer got him to focus on what the task was. Feeding the guests.
“They teach chemistry and how things come alive when you put the right combination together.”
Oh, I’m coming alive. And this is not the time nor the place. “I think we should keep the chemistry lesson for another time.”
He laughed lightly before heading back to the oven and pulling out homemade biscuits. They were golden brown and smelled heavenly. She wanted to tell him she’d be willing to sample his buns, but that was only going to get her right back where she didn’t want to be.
Who am I kidding? It’s exactly where I want to be, just not where I should be.
