The oven timer went off, breaking the spell. I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear my head. “Roasted tomatoes,” I said, turning. Walker retreated to the other side of the breakfast bar and sat on a stool.
“Mind if I watch you work your magic?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, suddenly a frenzy of activity. What kind of magic was he working? It was like if he was within five feet of me, I couldn’t remember who I was. I needed a restraining order.
I fixed the plates for Mrs. Alexander and took them upstairs.
“Did I hear Walker come in?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, he’s downstairs. I promised I’d feed him, too.”
She fixed me with one of her looks again and then seemed to soften a bit. “Good, he could use it, he works too hard.” She looked at the plate. “Any avocado in here?”
“No, ma’am. You’ve got shredded pork on a bed of spaghetti squash with caramelized onions, kale, and roasted potatoes. Side of sauteed apples, new in the market this week.” I smiled, “September is the best month for fresh food!”
She gave me a look that made it clear she did not give a fig about what was fresh when. “Go on back and see to my son,” she said, but she was tucking into her food before I even left the room.
When I came back into the kitchen, Walker had poured some of the rich golden wine into a pair of narrow goblets.
“Ordinarily, it’s more of a dessert wine or paired with appetizers, but since you insist on having only one glass, we can have it with dinner.” He handed me a glass and lifted his. “To new friendships!” His eyes were locked on mine in a way that really infused “friend” with heavier meaning. I dropped my lashes and sipped from the glass.
“Wow, it’s sweet. But nice, I like it. I do think I want it with food, though, it feels like it will go straight to my head if I don’t.”
“I think that that would be okay,” Walker said, giving me this smoldering look. These Alexanders know how to use their eyes.
I pretended not to have heard him and plated some food for us. I’d like to say it was to avoid flirting, but I know that feeding a man can be as effective as unbuttoning the top buttons of your blouse.
“This is amazing. And it’s all local?” Walker asked between bites.
“Mostly. This time of year is great, it’s so easy to eat good food.”
He put down his fork at last and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “What makes you passionate about your food?” He made it sound so sexy, like I was making bikinis out of whipped cream or something. The truth wasn’t all that sexy, though.
“My mom. She wanted to go to culinary school, but got pregnant with me before she could go. Then she had to work instead. But she always made sure we had good food, as fresh as she could get it on our budget. We were broke, but we ate well. I’d see other people around us with health problems partly caused by their diets. It takes a lot more work to eat healthy on a budget and most people don’t even know how. So I want to make enough money that I can open my own cooking school for poor folk. Go back to Anacostia and help people break out of their ramen noodles and snack cake diets.”
Walker flinched visibly. “Ouch.”
“What?”
He cocked his head to one side, “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Um, I thought so? But clearly ‘Walker Alexander’ should mean more to me.”
He laughed. “I guess you didn’t read that 30 Under 30 Article.”
Oops. I grinned sheepishly. “Just the part about me.”
“Fair enough. I was technically 30 by the time it came out, but they put me in there, too. CEO of Rossi Brands, Inc, Heir to the Tiny Tina Snack Cake fortune? If you’d have come to the gala, you’d have met me.”
I’m afraid a recoiled a bit. Those Tiny Tina Cakes are nasty. Mostly artificial ingredients and priced so low they’re nearly irresistible. Of course, in school, it felt like everyone had them in their lunchboxes except my brother and I. Man, I wanted Mama to buy Oatmeal Fudge Pies so bad, but she said they were poison and for that dollar, we could have two pounds of pinto beans. Not what a kid wants to hear of course, but she was right.
“You don’t approve,” said Walker. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“Uh, no, not really. I think Tiny Tina cakes are, um,” don’t say poison, “not part of a healthy diet.” My voice sounded tight. I forced myself to lighten up a little and waved my hand around the room. “Clearly it’s done okay for you though,” I smiled, but I knew it probably looked more like a grimace.
“It has. But I happen to agree with you, mostly. While I think a healthy diet can include…rewards, I would like to find a way to both make our current snack cakes a little less, um, objectionable to some and to launch a healthier snack line.”
I picked up our plates and rinsed them in the sink. “Mmm,” I said, making the same non-committal noise my mother used to make whenever David or I carried on about some teacher treating us unfairly or some notion we had for better dividing our bedroom.
“That’s why I sought you out to cook for Mother, Andrea. I was hoping you could help.”
I turned to look at him, “What do you mean?”
Rising to come stand closer to me–I think he must have known he had a physical effect on my ability to think–he said, “Help me develop the new line. You make healthy and delicious food every day.”
It was hard to keep my thoughts straight with him so near. The desire to jump at a chance to spend more time around him was at war with what I knew to be true. “But there’s no way to make fresh, local food in a factory.”
Walker smiled. “I think you can help us figure out how to come close.”
He was watching me so intently. I wished I’d read that article in the paper so I’d know anything at all about him. “Looks like a movie star” isn’t enough to go on. I sat back down in the kitchen chair to give myself at least a little space. “Why me?” I asked him. “There are lots of chefs with chemistry degrees and chemists who like to cook. Why me?”
Drinking the last of his wine and refilling the glass, he paused. When he looked up at me, there was mischief in his eyes. My mom would have said “I see the devil in you, boy.”
“It’s pretty shallow. I saw your photo and wanted an excuse to meet you. So I researched a bit and could see that you have big dreams. Dreams it will be hard to achieve just by cooking for invalids and busy families.”
“So… you thought I was hot and then figured out what you could offer me to draw me in? Selling yourself a little short, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “Oh I know how to catch women using looks and money. Believe me.” His voice sobered up and he gave me that soul-searching Alexander look. “But there was something about your photo that really grabbed me. And when I started reading about you, it just made it clear that I needed to meet you.” He sat back down, too, and smiled, releasing me from that laser-stare. “But even I know looks are deceiving and the internet is full of lies, so when Mother needed a chef for a few days, I thought it would be a good chance to…”
“Audition me?”
“Yes, perfect!” He was so relaxed, so at ease with the idea that he could just see a thing–in this case a person (and in this case, me)–decide he wants it, and find a way to get it. No doubt at all that it would work. It was definitely a perk of being born rich and powerful.
“Really,” he added, “Mother needs a chef for a full week, but I thought I’d be sure you could get along with her first.”
“That’s flattering, but I can’t. I’m going on a trip with my best friend. We leave on Friday.”
He stopped grinning, but the smile didn’t leave his eyes. “Oh, somewhere fun?”
“Aruba.” I stifled my impulse to add “She’s a lawyer, she’s paying.” I could never have afforded a vacation if Kiera wasn’t funding it, but I didn’t need to tell Walker that. No need to appear utterly destitute and at his mercy.
“Good for you, but too bad for me. I was h
oping to perfect my help-flirting technique. You know, get in shape for the Christmas party season.” He grinned that devilish grin. “I do want to talk to you some more about my business idea, though. Could you meet with me when you get back?”
“Sure,” I said. I mean, what could it hurt, right? It has nothing at all to do with making sure I get to see those green eyes again.
Walker lifted the bottle of Sauternes my way. “Are you sure you won’t have another?”