South Beach Love Read online

  Sara nodded and glanced toward Tony for his take, wondering how he felt about it. “I understand,” she said. “It’s why we always try to have several new dishes each season.”

  “Totally agree,” Tony said. “I’ve been testing out some different recipes in mami’s kitchen while I’m visiting. I’m hoping to add at least one of them to the menu when I get back home.”

  Get back home, she repeated to herself. He is going back home in three weeks. With that thought all the joy of the amazing meal diminished.

  Juli beamed at their approval and clapped her hands excitedly. “I’m so glad you understand. You’ll have to come back and sample the new menu once we’ve finalized it.”

  “I’d love to do that, especially since I plan on being in Miami more often,” Tony said and shot a quick look in Sara’s direction.

  “We’ll definitely be back,” she said, feeling hopeful again since Tony planned on being in Miami more often. It made her wonder if whatever was growing between them could survive a long-distance relationship. If she was willing to risk her heart to a man who would be flitting back and forth between New York and Miami.

  “Definitely,” Tony confirmed and met Sara’s gaze head on as if to let her know he was serious about his promise. That she could trust him with her heart. A heart that raced once again, spreading warmth through her with the promise in his smile.

  Adriana offered to get them some desert, but Sara waved her off. “Seriously I could not eat another bite.” Tony agreed.

  “All this has been fabulous and filling,” he said and dipped his head in thanks.

  “Gracias,” Juli said and after saying their goodbyes, the two women walked away, chattering excitedly about their new menu and the stamp of approval it had been given by Tony and Sara.

  The waitress came over a second later to ask yet again if they wanted dessert, or perhaps some coffee, and when they demurred and Tony asked for the check, she said, “No check. Bosses’ order. It’s our pleasure, chefs.”

  “Thank you and please let Juli and Adriana know they’re invited to come by Munch anytime as my special guests. You as well,” Sara said with appreciation.

  When the young woman stepped away, Tony peeled off a number of bills and left a generous tip on the table for the waitress and other staff, once again earning brownie points in her book. After he did so, he glanced at his watch and said, “It’s still early. Would you like to take a stroll through Lummus Park?”

  Because she was having a wonderful time and hated for the night to end, she said, “I’d love to.”

  He rose and held out his hand to her. As she had done earlier, she slipped her hand into his and they walked out of the restaurant onto Ocean Drive. The crowd had grown heavier and the street was filled with an assortment of vehicles cruising along despite the “No Cruising” sign posted on a nearby streetlamp. As one vintage and heavily chromed Chevrolet Bel Air convertible drove by, the sounds of Latin music blasted from its speakers and filled the night.

  Tony escorted her to the curb, waited for a break in the vehicles, and then they darted across the street. They walked away from the sidewalk on one of the paths beneath the palms and sea grape trees in Lummus Park, moving farther from the noise and traffic until they were on the winding cement path that ran adjacent to a low seawall next to the beach. Beneath the moonlight, several couples strolled along the path hand-in-hand, enjoying a cool late spring night.

  An inline skater zipped by, his wheels whirring on the cement path, interrupting the quiet by the beach wall. As a sea breeze picked up, Sara shivered, and Tony tucked his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his warmth.

  “Are you okay?” he asked and glanced at her.

  I am now, she wanted to say, thinking that being held by him felt even better than she had imagined as a teenager when she had fantasized about her older brother’s best friend. He held her near with his muscled arm and grinned at her, awakening those butterflies in her stomach. Dragging warmth to her cheeks which she hoped he wouldn’t notice in the dim light of night.

  “I’m good. This is really nice,” she said and rested her head against his shoulder, savoring the feel of their bodies bumping together as they walked, tucked tight against each other. So nice. So right, she thought and drove away any doubts or misgivings.

  Chapter 10

  It just feels way too right, Tony thought, but this was Rick’s baby sister. This was Sara of the scraped knees and braces who had annoyed them by following them around all the time. Only he was anything but annoyed right now as she leaned into him and laid her head against his shoulder. This was a beautiful woman…a woman he wanted to get to know better. Maybe even take their relationship to a different, more permanent place, because everything he’d learned about Sara—past and present—said she wasn’t a temporary kind of woman.

  “It is nice,” Tony said, “as long as nice is a good word and not anything like cute which you hate so much.” Even though he was a little afraid to complicate things by really exploring what he was feeling, he couldn’t resist her. And even though he was going back to New York, he’d do whatever he could to keep his promise to come to Miami more often. Not just because of the call of home, family, and friends. Because of Sara, he finally admitted to himself.

  “Nice is not anything like cute,” she said with a laugh and a wrinkle of her nose, a quirk he was becoming accustomed to

  “Glad to know. That dinner was amazing, wasn’t it?” And it wasn’t just the food that had been outstanding. He had loved having Sara there with him to enjoy the exquisite meal and to get her take on the dishes.

  “It was. Juli and Adriana have such smarts about what they do. I’m looking forward to seeing what they accomplish with that new menu,” Sara said and peered at him from the corner of her eye.

  “You’ve got smarts too, Sara. Munch is unique and your recipes are innovative and fantastic. What made you go in that direction?” He wanted to know more about what made her tick.

  Her shoulders shifted up and down against his arm. “I’d sit in the kitchen and watch my mom and grandmother cook. Listen to the stories my grandmother told about the Old Country. She had loved growing up in Ireland.”

  He remembered Sara’s grandmother and the faint hint of a brogue when she spoke. Her wonderful cranberry orange scones. “She was a wonderful woman. Did she teach you her family recipes?”

  “Not at first since she didn’t want to encourage me after I said I wanted to be a cook. Like your family, mine wanted me to go to college. But I finally convinced my grandmother to teach me so I could pass the recipes to my kids. People remember foods like that. When they eat it, they remember the stories and their history. That’s so important.” The tones of her voice were full of the same passion she cooked into her recipes. Passion which she would bring to every aspect of her life, he knew. That passion was enticing. Irresistible as he imagined being the focus of that passion.

  “Comfort foods that fill your soul and not just your belly,” he said, better understanding her choice and what drove her to do what she did. It was another thing that they had in common. Another thing that intrigued him and made him want to get to know her even more.

  She nodded. “Foods that rouse emotions make the meal about more than just the food.”

  “I get that,” he said. He’d once felt the same way about the food he prepared in his restaurant and lately, he was feeling that way about the recipes he was creating for the quinceañera.

  “What about you? With your training and everywhere you’ve worked, what made you go Latin rather than French or Italian?”

  He thought about it for a millisecond. With a dip of his head, he explained. “I worked at a number of high-end places. The chefs were torture to work for and like you, I’m not a fan of tweezers and fancy portions you need a magnifying glass to see.”

  She chuckled and high fived him. “Her
e’s a ‘Big No’ to temperamental chefs and their tweezers.”

  “For sure. Anyway, many top chefs were doing French or Italian, even if they were doing the food in all kinds of over-the-top ways. I’m not French or Italian. I’m Cuban and I’m proud of our food traditions. I wanted to show people that Cuban food could be just as high-end and luxurious.”

  “And you’ve succeeded. Paraiso Cubano is top-of-the-line. I know it’s been difficult for you since you made it big, but you deserved that star and all those awards,” she said without hesitation. Inside him warmth grew with her praise. With her understanding of what he had accomplished with no hint of the jealousy or competition he’d gotten from his ex-girlfriend.

  “Gracias. I’m humbled by your approval,” he said and placed his hand over his heart.

  “I definitely approve, and I’ll be eagerly watching to see what else you do at your restaurant,” she said. The warmth dimmed as it occurred to him that it would be a long-distance kind of watch. Which made him ask, “And what about you? What do you want to do with Munch?”

  She shrugged and he could see that his last words had taken some of the light from her eyes. With a shake of her head, she said, “A second location maybe because we have a prime spot now that I’d hate to lose. We have enough patronage for that, but there’s the question of financing and also time. Jeri is a single mom with a little girl, and I worry it might be too much for her to handle another place.”

  “Unless she has someone like Rick to help her out,” he said, recalling how taken his friend seemed to be with Sara’s partner.

  Another shrug came from her. “Rick and Jeri have a complicated situation. I hope they’ll be able to work things out, but they certainly haven’t figured anything out yet.”

  “What about you? Wouldn’t another restaurant take up too much of your time?” he blurted out and wanted to bite his tongue. It would sound too much like he was asking about any other guys and heat flooded his cheeks in embarrassment.

  She stopped and turned to look at him, her gaze searching his face and then darkening to emerald with emotion. “I don’t have anyone in my life who would mind me being busy with Munch or another location. Maybe if I did...”

  “You’d reconsider your dream? Don’t you want someone who would understand? Who could be a partner in what you did?” Maybe even someone like me, he wanted to say, but held back, conflicted.

  A sad smile blossomed on her lips and she cradled his jaw. Swept her thumb across his cheek tenderly. “Of course, but we both know that it’s not that easy with our profession. It would take a unique person to understand and be a partner.”

  He’d learned that with his ex. For that reason, he couldn’t offer anything of value to Sara at that moment, but he could offer comfort. Understanding.

  “I know, Sara. Maybe we’ll both find that person in time,” he said and laid his hand over hers, both taking and giving comfort with that simple touch. He took hold of her hand and they walked together again until just a block later they reached the end of Lummus Park. They turned west to walk up 14th Street in companionable silence, each lost in their thoughts about the earlier conversation, until they reached Pennsylvania Avenue and Sara’s condo building.

  Sara dug her keys out of her bag and then stood jiggling them until she stepped onto the small step by her front door. It put her nearly eye-to-eye with him and her gaze locked on his, searching out his features as if trying to decide what was really happening between them.

  He wished he knew as he took a step closer and laid a hand at her waist, not wanting the night to end.

  “Sara,” he said and shifted until his lips were so close to hers that the warmth of her breath spilled against his. He imagined closing that last little distance, but held fast, not wanting to pressure her. Not wanting to hurt her if it became more.

  When Sara stepped back, it was clear that their earlier conversation had troubled her, much as it had him. Even though he wanted to learn more about her, spend more time with her, he knew that it was problematic for so many reasons and so he let her drift away toward the door to the condo.

  Sara opened the door, turned, and stood there, uncertain. “I guess this is goodnight. I had a lovely time. Thank you, Tony.”

  “I had a wonderful time also, Sara, and I meant what I said at the restaurant. I’m not going to stay away from Miami for so long again,” Tony said, determined to keep his promise.

  Sara leaned against the door and crossed her arms. “I believe that you mean that, Tony. And I hope it’s true. I really do. I hope we can spend more time together. Get to know each other better.”

  If it was possible, she sounded both hopeful and defeated at the same time. “We can do that. I have a few errands to run in the next day or so, but after that –”

  “You call me when you’re free,” she said.

  Before he could say a word or do what he’d wanted to do since yesterday—kiss her like there was no tomorrow—she raced into her building and closed the door without looking back.

  He stood there for the longest time, fiercely conflicted about what he was feeling and what to do about it. As a light snapped on in a window a few stories above him, he imagined that it was Sara getting settled for the night.

  With a sigh he walked away and said, “Good night, chiquitica. Dream of me.”

  Sara and Dolores sat at the kitchen table squeezing citrus for the fresh juices to marinate the roast pork that Dolores wanted to be the main dish for Samantha’s quinceañera.

  “I appreciate you sharing your family recipe,” Sara said as she pushed down the handle of the juicer and orange juice sluiced down into a glass. She’d lost track of how many sour and regular oranges, lemons, and limes she’d squeezed to make enough liquid for the marinade.

  Dolores smiled and squeezed the last of the limes. “My pleasure. After all, I know you don’t normally make traditional Cuban foods in your restaurant.”

  She didn’t, which made her think back to the other night and what her friend Juli had said about spreading her wings and trying something new as well as her discussion with Tony about how important highlighting that cuisine had been to him. “Can’t hurt to learn, and if this comes out as good as I expect it to, I hope you don’t mind if I steal the recipe for the restaurant.”

  Dolores grinned and reached for a big pink grapefruit. “As long as you keep this secret to yourself. The grapefruits make all the difference in the marinade. My papi taught me that.”

  Sara mimicked locking up her lips and said, “They’re sealed.”

  Once they’d squeezed a few of the grapefruits and added that juice to the rest, Dolores held up her hand. “Time to taste.”

  She grabbed a spoon, dipped it into the combined citrus juices and nodded. “I think we’re there.”

  Sara didn’t really know where “there” should be, so she grabbed another spoon and tasted the juices. The citrus combination was tart with just a hint of sweetness, a good mix to offset the fattiness of the pork. “Tasty,” she said.

  Dolores grabbed a bowl with a mound of garlic they’d food-processed earlier. She dumped it into the bucket with the juices, added a goodly amount of cumin, several bay leaves, and finally salt and pepper. “Now we’re ready,” she said, grabbing the bucket and gesturing toward the large leg of pork that they’d prepped. “Can you grab that?”

  Sara wasn’t sure grab was the right word. It felt more like dead-lifting the nearly thirty-pound piece of meat. But whatever it was, she wrapped her arms around it, hefted it against her apron, and followed Dolores as she carried the bucket out into the garage where her brother kept a second refrigerator. Dolores set the bucket down and opened the fridge door.

  The lower shelves of the fridge had been removed to allow the bucket to fit. “Time to put the pork in,” Dolores said and helped Sara to slowly lower the leg of pork into the marinade.

  Toget
her they wrangled the heavy bucket into the refrigerator and closed the door. “Now it sits overnight,” Dolores said and clapped her hands to signal that they were done.

  “Great. So what’s the next recipe I can steal...I mean, that you’ll share with me,” Sara teased and mischievously hip-checked her sister-in-law as they went back to the kitchen.

  The front door slammed shut and the tromp of soccer cleats across hardwood floors announced that Samantha was home from practice. She stomped into the kitchen and with a harrumph dropped her knapsack onto an empty kitchen chair.

  Sara and Dolores shared an understanding look that said “Drama.”

  “How was your day, mija?” Dolores said calmly.

  Samantha’s lips pursed with annoyance. “You know that reporter I met this morning about the quinceañera article?”

  Reporter? Article? This was all news to Sara, who peered at Dolores for clarification.

  “I’m sorry, Sara. Mija, I didn’t get a chance to tell your tia the good news. Sara, we got a call yesterday from a lifestyle reporter for South Beach Style. They’re doing a piece on the resurgence of quinceañeras and want to include Samantha’s event,” Dolores explained.

  It would be good news if Sara could pull off the traditional recipes and get a nice mention in the magazine. “That’s wonderful,” Sara said.

  “Except that they’re also including Angelica. You should have seen the look she gave me this morning when she saw me with the reporter and photographer,” Samantha said before she opened the refrigerator, and stood there scrutinizing the offerings.

  Color rose high on Dolores’s cheeks and she exploded into machine-gun rapid Spanish. “¡Esa chiquita me vuelve loca!”

  Samantha slammed the fridge door shut, empty-handed. “English, por favor, mami.” Her niece shot a look at Sara and said, “You can always tell when mami is really mad because she yells in Spanish.”

  Dolores lifted her pointed chin defiantly and glared at her daughter. “I did not yell. What I said is that Angelica makes me crazy. Every time I see that girl she puts on airs and seems to forget that all the parents grew up together in the Suaguesera.”