"Don’t apologize," Mr. Hayes answered before she could. "Is there anything that I can do?"
"Actually, I was thinking that we could drag one of those tables back here. It would make this a whole lot easier and you’d be able to see what goes into the dishes."
Tracy hadn’t even considered that.
"Of course. That’s a great idea. Mr. Hayes," she turned back to him. "You two can handle that, right?"
"No problem."Each man took an end of the table. It wasn’t an easy feat, either. The tables were made of solid mahogany that had been polished and buffed to a sparkling finish that made it hard to get a good grip.
Gordon backed through the doors, sliding his feet backwards as he went so that he didn’t trip over anything. Mr. Hayes followed, the corner of his bottom lip clenched under his upper teeth. Both of them were visibly exerting themselves and something about it made the tender flesh on the inside of Tracy’s thighs begin to tingle.
The feeling was subtle, but seeing the two of them exerting themselves to please her gave Tracy a sudden rush of joy.
"There," Mr. Hayes sighed as the table set down with a thunk. "I’ll grab the chairs, Gordon. You go ahead and take care of the kitchen."
The chiseled chef looked over with a smirk, "I think that I can handle that."
After a few minutes, Tracy and Mr. Hayes were seated comfortably in a pair of plush chairs, with another seat next to Tracy for Gordon. The two of them faced the kitchen where Gordon Baxter was hard at work.
"I brought some champagne, Mr. Hayes," Gordon called to him without looking away from his station. "It’s in the cooler. There are glasses in there, too."
"Excellent. I’ll be right back,” Mr. Hayes said. He touched Tracy on the back of her neck softly before walking away, giving her a little chill. When he was gone, she turned back to the kitchen.
"What are you working on now?" she asked, watching him with wide eyes. He grinned at her, and the heat of his gaze made her core heat.
"Ah," Gordon reached into a metal bin and scooped up a small ball of rice. "I made some risotto yesterday and stuck it in the cooler overnight."
The way that he moved around the kitchen so effortlessly was amazing to Tracy. Seeing anyone perform a skill that they’ve mastered was a treat, but seeing a chef on her payroll do his thing was even more rewarding. There was an easy dexterity in the way that he handled his tools that was fascinating to her, almost entrancing.
Gordon pressed his thumb into the ball of creamy rice, forming a little divot.
"So I take it and form the risotto around a piece of this amazing buffalo mozzarella that I found just a block from here. Then it gets breaded and fried up really quick."
He quickly made five more before dropping them all into a bowl of bread crumbs and tossing them, coating every piece evenly. When that was done, he turned around and dropped each one into the hot fryer.
"For the base," he continued, turning around to pluck down two rectangular appetizer plates, "I whipped up a tomato coulis with garlic, thyme and a couple of other things yesterday."
Mr. Hayes returned with three glasses and a bottle of champagne on ice, and served all three of them. Tracy knew that he was there, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the skilled chef performing in front of her.
Gordon grabbed a small saucepan from the back of the stove and used a large spoon to put a dollop of the smooth, red sauce on the far end of each plate. Then he jerked the end of the spoon through the mound, pulling it into a decorative wisp of crimson. On top of each one, he placed two small beds of micro greens and topped those with the hot, crispy rice balls.
"Then I’m going to top this simply with a sprinkle of some crisped pancetta, a dusting of fresh Parmesan and a sprinkle of chopped parsley for color. And that’s about it."
He wiped his hands on a towel hanging from his waist before setting the plates down in front of the couple. Tracy looked at her plate, almost afraid to destroy his masterpiece. Al
most, that is, if it wasn’t for the tantalizing aroma wafting up and accosting her nose.
"Dig in," he politely demanded with a smile. "It’s called arancini."
Tracy grabbed her fork and sank the side of it through the golden-brown sphere. She scooped up a piece, using her knife to sweep up a little bit of everything, and slipped it into her mouth. A sudden burst of flavors, from the sweet tomato to the salty pancetta and all of the other subtle flavors in between, filled Tracy’s senses. She mumbled her approval through the mouthful of food and closed her eyes, allowing the elegant layers of flavor to melt into one on her palate.
When she was finally able to swallow and open her eyes again, she exclaimed, "Holy shit!"
Mr. Hayes looked at her sideways and raised his eyebrows. He was struggling to keep from laughing. "That good?"
Tracy let herself chuckle and fell back against her seat. "Yeah. That is amazing, Gordon. Honestly. I don’t even have words right now."
The battle-hardened chef smiled with genuine happiness and replied, "Thank you very much. That is why I do this."