Mirepoix (A Recipe Of Love Book 1) Page 2

  “Would you like an espresso or coffee?” I gesture to the shop we’re sitting next to. “I know your restaurant would have closed early last night but don’t know if you normally sleep in on your day off.”

  “Thankfully I have a manager who takes the morning deliveries so I haven’t been up quite this early in a while. So an espresso would be great, I’ll be right back.” I stop him as he tries to stand up and go inside waving him back into his seat.

  “MIKEY! Hook me up with another shot!”

  I sit back in my chair and see he’s staring at me again, as are half the customers that haven’t witnessed the Frankie show in the past. The other half are regulars and are used to my shenanigans, I feel myself starting to freeze from the attention before getting distracted by Mikey. Mikey stomps out of the shop in all of his barrel chested glory, I have the stray thought that maybe if he didn’t resemble a stampeding bull so much I wouldn’t poke at him like I do. He does his best at looking down on me in an intimidating fashion but at only 5’6”, a scant 3 inches taller than me, it’s not very effective even if I’m sitting down. He grumbles at me in Italian, throws a few side eyed looks at Joe, then kisses my forehead while murmuring his goodbyes.

  “It’s a good thing I speak Italian fluently too or I might be jealous, even if he is old enough to be your father," Joe takes a sip out of the tiny cup that looks doll sized in his massive hands.

  “Grandfather, he was one of my Grandma’s beau's back in the day. Sorry about that, he refuses to speak to me in English. He’s worried I’ll forget my Italian if I don’t use it every day.”

  “And he’s apparently glad to see you in the sunlight since he was worried you had become a vampire. What was the bit about the gelato at the end?”

  “Old cranky pants said I still can’t get gelato or water ice for breakfast, even if I came in to see him while the sun was up, since Grandma would haunt him.” I pout. He has the best water ice in the whole city, I hadn’t even thought about asking for any but now that he brought it up I can’t stop. I think it should count if I get a fruit flavored one.

  “I hadn’t realized she had passed, I’m sorry.” Lowering his cup he pats my hand in a conciliatory fashion. I need him to go back to mocking or angry, I don’t want to see the more humane side of him or the thoughtful philosophical side. I finally glance at his clothes hoping he’s wearing something I can use to shove any positive feelings back into a box deep inside me. Today he’s wearing a faded gray shirt that looks like it has been washed a million times, I want to rub against that shirt like a cat. A pair of dark jeans hug his legs and lead to a pair of motorcycle boots. I feel my eyebrows draw together a line of confusion forming between them. This outfit matches the tattoos and hair better but are nearly opposite the outfit he wore to see me. Will the real Joseph Moretti please stand up?

  “It’s my day off. I get to wear what I want and be myself on my day off.” He must have noticed where my attention chose to focus.

  “So you can’t be yourself when you’re working? It’s your restaurant. I would think that would be the most you place you could be.”

  “No, I need to present myself a certain way according to my manager. She says I need to look professional and not like a street thug.”

  “Your manager sounds like a big old bag of stupid. Luckily you’re the one who has to deal with her and not me as I have a teeny tiny problem with authority and conformity. Are you done with the coffee? I don’t like sitting still long.” I grab my bag as I’m saying this giving him little choice but to swallow the last bit.

  “Okay so what are we doing here since I highly doubt it was just to grab a cup of espresso, no matter how great it was?” He questions as he stands and holds a hand out to help me up. I don’t think he’s even aware of his actions, simply a gentlemanly action he was raised doing.

  “That’s easy. We’re doing my weekly grocery shopping.”

  “We’re going grocery shopping?” He asks in disbelief.

  “Yep. I need to get my fresh produce and some herbs. I normally do it on Sundays but I know that the only day you’re closed is Mondays. You’re lucky I was willing to wait, since it means I have to miss out on my favorite bacon since the meat shop that carries it is closed on Mondays too.”

  “So watching you pick out apples is going to make me a better cook?”

  “No, meeting the shop owners, being willing to try new suppliers for different staple ingredients will make you a better cook. Also I think you need some spontaneity in your life.”

  “Grocery shopping is spontaneous?”

  “It is with me! I don’t have a list. I don’t even know what I want to make for dinner tonight. I’ll see what jumps out at me and yells ‘make me’ and base the meal around it. It could be the perfect cut of meat, it might be an amazing cheese, it could even be some ripe juicy apples. Oh look the cheese shop is open already! Let’s go see what they brought up from the caves today!”

  “Caves?” I hear from behind me as I rush into the shop, mind consumed with the delicious cheeses I’m going to be busy sampling shortly!

  I’m currently crouched down staring in the meat case. My eyes are probably the size of saucers and I look like a little kid at a bakery eying cupcakes. I can’t help myself though, the butcher just got done cutting gorgeous thick ribeyes. The marbling looks amazing and I know this is what I will be having for dinner. I have some herb butter in my freezer I made last weekend and I can get some potatoes down the street the size of a football that will bake to perfection. Throw in whatever vegetable looks good when I’m getting the potatoes and it will be a simple delicious dinner. I glance over my shoulder and see Joe talking to the butcher.

  He looked sceptical when I dragged him into the cheese shop, but after sampling the great cheeses brought up that morning from the cave, as well as the fresh mozzarella, I think he started to open his mind. Now standing in one of my favorite butchers shops I think I may have won him over. I go back to examining the ribeyes. The question stuck in my mind is am I buying 1 or 2 of the steaks? I look back again and he sees me looking. Him and the butcher both make their way over to me where I’m still crouched down in front of the case.

  “I have never seen a woman look at a cut of meat like that. Shoes and purses maybe, but never a steak.” He chuckles while towering over me next to the case.

  “You either haven’t been paying attention or haven’t been around the right type of women.” I pop up out of my crouching position like a jack-in-the-box startling him. I hear deep chuckles coming from behind him and peek around to see Anthony laughing at my antics. I very maturely stick my tongue out at him and inform him with my middle finger that I think he’s number one. I ignore Joe shaking his head at me again. I’ve decided to interpret it as bemusement instead of frustration or confusion.

  “So have you settled on the ribeye this time sprout?”

  “I’m 5’3” definitely taller than a sprout!”

  “Nope definitely a sprout.” He ruffles my hair as he says this

  “Yes, you big bully, I want some ribeye.” Anthony is even bigger than Joe at 6’6” and has a big bushy beard and a fade cut pompadour. His brown eyes dance with merriment as he antagonizes me. He’s like the big brother I never wanted and wish I could return. My mind drifts as I imagine auctioning him off to the women that would flock if they saw him in the main shop. He likes to hide in the back and let his dad stay the face of the business.

  He looks between me and Joe with an evil expression on his face, “So am I giving you enough to feed 3 grown men, since you eat 1 of our date night specials by yourself?”

  I pull back and look at Joe from inches away. “Wanna come to dinner?”

  “Yes if for no other reason than to see you eat that much steak. You’re tiny and I don’t think it’s possible.”

  I pat his arm and lean back around him to look at Anthony, I may need to invest in a pair of stilts around these giants. “Okay 2 monster ribeyes and full chicken. Remember to have my butt ready for me to pick up on Friday!”

  As Anthony walks around the counter to the back to get my meat I hear “Your butt?” hissed in my ear.

  “Yeah, my Boston butt. I’m going to do up a massive amount of pulled pork this weekend and don’t have the room in my fridge for it. Luckily Anthony has a massive fridge at his house and agreed to take it home with him. He has to remember to put my rub on it Thursday so I can put it directly into the smoker when I get home on Friday.”

  “Wait, I’ve been in your apartment, there’s no smoker in it.”

  “No, the smoker is behind the building, on the patio. I wanted to put it on the roof but I’m pretty sure it would violate some fire code or another.” I’m still standing inches away and all I want to do is pet his t-shirt. I’m a very tactile person and it looks incredibly soft, add in that he smells like cedarwood again, which means the shirt likely does too and it’s like catnip for me. I’m so wrapped up in ideas on how I can get the shirt off of him to steal it I’m not really paying attention to the conversation.

  “I didn’t know there was a patio behind your building. Do you share it with the other residents? How do you know they won’t mess with your smoker?”

  “The only other resident is Lindsay and she won’t touch my smoker or she won’t get nummies! She knows the rules!” I’m now thinking of how he’s so big and I’m fun sized so I could definitely make the shirt into a dress. It would lose that amazing scent the first time I wash it but would still be soft. At least I assume it’s soft. It looks really soft. I should touch it just to be sure.

  “Wait that’s a five story building and I know there’s an office for a PR firm on the first floor, do you have two floor apartments? There’s no way there’s a vacancy in a building like yours in Sout
h Philly.”

  “No, they’re single floor apartments. Her PR firm is on the 1st. I live on the 2nd. She lives on the 3rd. The 4th is packing and storage. The 5th is manufacturing.” I’m trying to figure out how to touch his shirt without giving him any weird ideas. He is looking rather tall, broody and gorgeous today though. He also has been a good sport and made conversation with all the shopkeepers and didn’t roll his eyes at anything other than my oddball behavior. Maybe I could accidentally trip over my own feet and have to catch myself using his chest to stop my fall…

  “Wait, I thought you didn’t make and sell your food? How can you afford the rent on a place that size in the city?”

  “I don’t rent it either. I own it outright.” Must touch the shirt. I start sneaking my right hand up to brush the bottom of the shirt. He probably won’t even notice if I just touch the bottom of his shirt. He’ll think it’s the wind blowing it. Wait, we’re inside. Wind from the door opening that might work.

  “You’re what 25? How do you own an entire building in one of the most expensive cities in the country? If you’re not making food what do you need to manufacture and store?”

  “I’m 29, so thanks. I inherited it from Gram. Soaps and lotions mostly, I make some random clothes and sell them but that’s more of a hobby than anything.” Someone bumps into me from the side and I finally get my chance and catch myself with my left hand spread on his chest. It is just as soft as I imagined. The chest under it is rock solid and unyielding against my hand, I can’t help petting him a few times. The combination of soft fabric over hard muscles and the scent of him has hypnotized me, at least that’s the excuse I’m giving if he starts asking uncomfortable questions like ‘Why are you petting me weirdo?’.

  Luckily I am saved from any awkward questions by Anthony popping up beside us, with my neatly stacked white butcher paper wrapped packages, shouting “Stop molesting the man Frankie!”

  I react with my normal grace and poise by jumping so high I’m shocked I don’t hit Joe’s chin with my head, while shrieking loud enough I expect to hear car alarms going off and dogs barking. I glare at Anthony for making me look like an idiot, I can do a grand job on my own thank you very much! I snatch my packages out of his hands and shove them in my tote, moving stuff around attempting to find my wallet I’m interrupted with a hand on my arm and Joe’s deep voice.

  “I’ve got this Pixie,” he says as he hands folded bills to Anthony waving off the change “now where to next?”

  “Salt bar! I almost forgot! Let’s go!” I’m nearly bouncing in my excitement and drag him to and out of the door rambling about different salts and herbs I need to buy today. Totally blaming it on the cedarwood and t-shirt/chest combo.

  4

  Running around my apartment I make sure there’s nothing embarrassing laying out, I don’t want Joe to find one of my bodice ripper romance novels or a comic book to give him further ammunition to poke at me about. After introducing him to the wonder of the salt bar where you can purchase different fancy salts from all around the world, I promised him I would answer his questions about my Grandma and my building when he came over for dinner. While I wanted to take him to the market this morning and invited him to have dinner with me, kind of, I wasn’t up for spending all day with him.

  I had plenty to fill my Monday as it was. It might have been Joe’s day off, but it was another work day for me, luckily my work day is fluid and as long as I got the work I needed to done, it didn’t matter when I did it or how long it took. After Joe dropped me off at my building and I stashed my purchases away I dealt with the boring details of my work first. I got all my orders that needed to go out today boxed up and shipped out first. Thank god for delivery companies that do pickups since I don’t drive it would be a nightmare getting the big heavy boxes of soap to a post office or delivery shop. After dealing with the boring administration stuff that goes with a small business I got to go up and play in my secret laboratory as it has been deemed.

  I love my manufacturing floor. I have everything set up perfectly, all my ingredients are organized in a way that makes sense to me but probably no one else. I want to have the ingredients I need close at hand in case in the middle of a batch I change my mind, which happens more often than I care to admit. Sometimes I’ll get halfway through a batch and decide I want a different color because the scent leads me in a different direction. I got caught up like I always do, which is what lead to my frantic dash around my apartment. I planned on making a batch of soap and then cleaning and giving myself plenty of time to get ready so I looked amazing but didn’t look like I actually made an effort.

  As I finish checking my throw pillows for unidentified food type stains, I realize what I’m doing. I don’t want him to see the mess that is my normal state of being. I’m not going to let myself acknowledge what that might mean. I’m going to blame it on the soft t-shirt and cedarwood haze from this morning.

  I pull a chrome and black barstool out from beside the island and sink down relaxing for a minute. I allow myself to look around my apartment and wonder how Joe will interpret it. His first time here I don’t think he allowed himself to be distracted from his mission of figuring out how he was defeated, which wouldn’t have permitted himself to analyze my space. The loft itself as well as the entire building is narrow but deep. When you walk in the door, the kitchen is to the left with the fridge and sink against the front wall and the stove on the far left. My island I had installed to give me more counter space serves to divide the kitchen space from the living room but maintain the open floor plan. There’s track lighting in the kitchen but no overhead lighting anywhere else in the loft. Moving into the living room there’s the dining area on the right with my long table and chairs in black with clean lines. More often than not when I get invaded we eat at the island so the table collects all the flotsam of my life, one of the things I made myself deal with during my cleaning spree.

  The big u-shaped microfiber couch dominates the rest of the living room. It sits facing my large flat screen television mounted between large industrial looking windows with frosted glass. Since the frosted glass protects my privacy I didn’t bother with blinds or curtains to block out the light that trickles in. Philadelphia row homes are typically side by side so I lucked out with the few feet separating mine from the one on the left side which allows me to have windows. I have small end tables scattered everywhere holding plants and lamps, and 2 massive ottomans in lieu of a coffee table. On the back wall of the living room the hallway leads to the bathroom and bedrooms, I have bookshelves on either side of it with books taking up every inch possible.

  Not visible from where I’m sitting my bedroom on the right side of the hallway, with its giant bed. I may be tiny but I need plenty of space to toss and turn so I bought myself a California king that takes up every inch of space on one end of the room. There’s barely enough room beside the bed to walk so I got a headboard that has drawers and cubbies in it to hold all the stuff that is normally kept in night stands. I have a clamp on lamp anchored on the side since I can’t have a lamp next to the bed. At the other end I have my closet that necessitates an organizer due to how small it is, it has bars for my few dresses and clothes that need to hang up, the rest of it has shelves and cubbies for my shoes, shirts and leggings that are my everyday uniform.

  My bathroom and office is on the left side of the hallway. A couple years ago I finally gave in to my urges and expanded the bathroom taking a few feet from the spare room and made it an office. I figured no one ever stayed over and if they do the ottomans can be shoved into the open u of the couch making it essentially a giant bed. I also had a service elevator installed on the back wall of the building that opens into my office, Lindsay’s office and the manufacturing and storage floors to help bring in supplies and move out deliveries. The only people who know about it are the people who put it in, ourselves, and the city people who approved its installation.