Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [56]
Adam felt like a total shit. He’d wanted to get her to open up, sure, but did he have to choose such a painful subject? Obviously noticing his awkward discomfort, Miranda laughed a little and said, “Don’t look like that. It was a long time ago and we made it through just fine.”
He didn’t buy that for a second—the hollow sound of that laugh told him plenty about the residual effects of those years of struggle and worry.
“I admire your persistence. Not a lot of people could’ve done what you did, so young. And I bet Jess appreciates it, too.”
She made a funny little grimace that should’ve been ugly, but instead was ridiculously adorable.
“I’m not so sure about that. We haven’t talked much since he came home.”
“He’s settling in okay at the restaurant,” Adam offered, feeling hopelessly inadequate.
“I know. And I’ve been meaning to thank you for that, for giving him a chance.”
Adam shifted his weight.
“Frankie and Grant were pretty insistent. And they were right, he’s smart and quick on his feet, charming to the customers, and gets along with the brigade.”
That brought the smile back. Adam matched it, relieved.
“He did turn out pretty wonderful, didn’t he?”
“You should be proud.”
“I am. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”
“About what?”
Miranda shook her head. “It’d be easier to make a list of what I don’t worry about with Jess.”
“Give me some examples.”
She started ticking things off on her fingers. “I worry that he won’t finish school, that he won’t get a good job, that he won’t meet a nice girl, that he won’t settle down and have a family—”
“That he won’t have the life your parents wanted for him?” Adam asked in a burst of insight.
Miranda paused, arrested. “I never thought about it like that.” She blinked. “And wow, I did not mean to start talking about that. Have you ever considered a career as a journalist? The way you turned that interview around demonstrates a high level of innate ability.”
Adam laughed. “Nope. It’s the kitchen for me, forever and always.”
“Then what are we making next, Chef?” she said with a deep breath, recovering herself. “Because I really think I’ve had enough with the poaching.”
And obviously she’d had enough with the sharing, too. Christ, getting personal info out of her was like trying to peel a tomato without blanching it first. He decided to let her off the hook. For now.
“Before we quit, I just wanted to mention you can poach lots of things other than eggs, in many liquids other than water. Every variable changes the outcome, but the basic technique is the same.”
“Very interesting, professor,” Miranda quipped. “Are you sure you didn’t go to culinary school? You seem to have quite the knack for teaching.”
“Half of running a kitchen is teaching,” he said, crouching down for another foray into the disorganized mess that inhabited his cabinets. “Showing the line cooks how to do what you want done, how to make it come out perfect every time. I don’t expect my cooks to read my mind and know how I want things. It always drove me bat shit, working for guys like that.”
Again, no comment from Miranda on Devon Sparks, and Adam quirked a half-grin to himself. It changed to a full grin when his fingers tangled with the spindly rounded end of a whisk.
“Got it,” he crowed, standing up to his full height and twisting a little to get the kinks out of his back. Waggling his brows suggestively, Adam asked, “Are you ready to give the good people at Hellmann’s a run for their money?”
FIFTEEN
Miranda worked to contain her “ick” face.
“Let me be sure I understand—we’re making mayonnaise? Right here in the kitchen?”
“Yup.” Adam nodded enthusiastically. “It doesn’t spontaneously generate in those jars with the blue lids, you know. In fact, it’s one of the oldest classical French sauces. And a very cool illustration of one of the wackier properties of eggs.”
She enjoyed the way he talked about eggs. Such a humble, boring food, but it was as if he could look inside and see the potential for greatness