South Beach Love Page 4

  “I’ve been busy, mi amor,” he teased right back and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek.

  “Is your favorito still mango?” she asked, slowly walking back to the counter. There was a slight hitch in her walk as if one leg pained her, reminding him that Luis and Lucy were getting older much like Little Havana and his parents.

  His throat choked up and his heart ached with that realization. Stifling his sadness, he followed her and said, “Still mango, Lucy.”

  The older woman smiled and scooped small chunks of fruit from a bowl into a metal mixer glass before adding condensed milk, regular milk, and sugar. She placed the glass into the blender and whirled it until the contents were frothy, then added crushed ice and blended it some more before pouring the shake into a glass for Tony. She stood there, expectant, while he drank it.

  “Delicioso, Lucy. Even better than I remember,” he said and wiped away his shake moustache with a napkin.

  Lucy stroked a cold hand across his cheek. “It might not be so hard to remember if you visited more often. Your mami misses you.”

  Of course, I get the guilt trip, he thought. He should have remembered that his mother still shopped here, and that Lucy and she were also both regulars at their local church’s rosary night.

  “I miss her too, Lucy. I promise I’ll be better,” he said and hoped he’d be able to keep that promise.

  Now that he was armed with the sweet, delicious, ice-cold mango shake, he decided he could brave the Miami weather for the almost two mile walk back to his parents’ home. Luckily, a stiff breeze at his back propelled him there and mitigated the heat.

  When he turned the corner onto his parents’ block, he once again caught sight of his sister’s Jeep, but he couldn’t run away again. It was time to face whatever her latest demand was head-on. As he pushed through the door, the excited chatter of his mother and Sylvia talking snared his attention as did the harrumph from his father, who was still in the same position as he had been earlier that morning—the same position he spent most of his time in, just as he had for years. Newspaper in hand, bifocals halfway down his nose as he sat in his decade-old recliner. His father peered over the edge of the glasses and at a squeal from one of the women in the kitchen, he said, “Hijo, you better get in there before they get mas loca and have you feeding all of Little Havana.”

  Since Tony thought that the plans had already gotten well-past crazy, he sucked in a breath and girded himself for whatever new insanity awaited him.

  Chapter 4

  “Chef, there’s someone out there who says he’s an old friend.”

  Sara peered over the half wall that separated her restaurant’s open kitchen from the dining area. As her hostess jerked her head in the direction of the front door, Sara craned her neck to see an older, but unquestionably memorable face, at the hostess podium. A face she had dreamed about more than once as a teen.

  “OMG,” she heard from beside her. “Is that Tony Sanchez? The Tony Sanchez?” said Jeri, her business partner, fellow chef, and long-time best friend. Inches shorter than Sara, Jeri had to rise on tiptoes to peer over the half-wall.

  “None other,” Sara said as she grabbed a towel to dry her hands and shot a quick look at a starstruck Jeri. Her aqua blue eyes were wide with surprise in a face of flawless café con leche skin. “Can you handle things for a few minutes?”

  At Jeri’s nod, Sara rushed out to greet Tony. She told herself not to make too much of how his smile widened when he spotted her, or how his eyes, those melty chocolate-colored eyes, warmed as he settled his gaze on her. But it was impossible to stop how her heartbeat raced with the knowledge that he was here and seemingly happy to see her.

  Hugs had always been freely given by the Sanchez family, but she held her hands out to him to avoid a hug, uncertain of how she’d react to the embrace. “It’s been way too long, Tony.” Nine years and eight months, give or take. Not that she was counting.

  Liar, she told herself. Even though Tony had left Miami behind, she’d eagerly followed all his accomplishments. Even dared to wonder if he’d ever make Miami his home again.

  Tony took both her hands in his and playfully wagged them. “You’ve grown up, chiquitica.”

  She laughed and tried to ignore the tingle building where her hands rested in his. Slowly she eased her hands free. “I couldn’t stay ten forever. You look good,” she said and prayed it didn’t sound too much like flirting. To cover for it, she blurted out, “What brings you to Miami?”

  “Family,” he said and glanced around the restaurant. “I ran into Rick the other day and he mentioned you had a place, so I decided to come by and say ‘Hello.’”

  “Well, hello,” she said, feeling more and more like a smitten teenager with every passing second. “Monica will get you a table.” She waved at the hostess and when the young woman came by, she said, “Please seat Tony as soon as you can.”

  He raised his hand in a ‘stop’ motion. “Por favor, no special treatment.”

  Sara peered around the dining room. Every table was full inside and a quick look through the windows confirmed the outdoor seats were all taken. Plus, there were quite a few people milling around outside waiting to be seated.

  “It may be a while,” she said with an apologetic grimace.

  Tony mimicked her action, scrutinizing the restaurant and outdoor area. “I can wait. I’ve got all night. And if I’m still here when the rush is over, maybe we can grab a coffee later?”

  Coffee? With Tony? Butterflies erupted in her stomach, but she somehow got the word out. “S-s-s-ure,” she stammered and without waiting for his reply, she rushed back to the kitchen before she embarrassed herself even more.

  “You’re blushing. I’ve never seen you blush before,” Jeri kidded as Sara resumed the final plating of the nearly complete orders.

  “It’s the heat in the kitchen,” she said.

  “Sure, Sara. The heat and not...” Her friend paused and looked over the wall to where Tony waited outside, just beyond the entrance to the restaurant. “That hot guy you obviously have a crush on.”

  “Not a crush,” she said and jerked tickets off the board to place them and the finished plates on the counter. Like clockwork her servers came over to pick up the meals and take them to their respective tables.

  “Sure thing, Sara. Whatever you say,” Jeri teased as she finished up an order of sliders by topping them with slices of perfectly grilled foie gras. When she was done, she passed the plates to Sara for the final touch of caramelized onion compote before a toasted brioche bun top completed the slider and the order went up on the counter.

  “Please, Jeri, leave it alone,” she pleaded and with a reluctant nod, her partner returned her focus to the new orders while Sara prayed that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself with Tony when it came time to chat with him. She’d tried to keep her crush a secret from him and if he’d ever noticed it, he’d been gentleman enough not to mention it.

  She wanted to keep it that way.

  He had his restaurant and life in New York and she was here in Miami and never the twain would meet.

  But in the back of her mind, she wondered, “What if?”

  It had taken an hour for Tony to finally get a table. Despite the wait and the late hour, patrons still milled around outside for a spot at Sara’s restaurant while others enjoyed their meals at metal bistro-style tables. At the center of each table was a galvanized metal tin with miniature orchids in full bloom along with a small votive candle. It made for a romantic setting despite the bustling crowd. At the corners of the fenced in outdoor space sat sago palms in large earthenware pots. All around the base of the palms a riot of color cascaded down from various flowering plants.

  The place suited Sara, or at least what he remembered about her. She’d always been friendly and a hopeful romantic. He’d caught her reading romance novels more than once when he and Rick had d
ropped in unannounced for a swim at the Kellys’ backyard pool. He’d even suspected that she’d kind of had a crush on him, but he hadn’t acknowledged it because she was just a kid—not to mention, his best friend’s younger sister.

  But she’s grown up, and very nicely.

  He drove away that thought. No matter what, she was still Rick’s sister and a chef to boot. He had no intention of repeating that mistake.

  After the hostess flagged him down and led him to a table along a wall that provided a clear view of the kitchen, she quickly advised him that Sara would be sending him a plate with all of her favorite dishes and some wine for him to sample.

  “Thank Sara for me, please” he said and sat back to soak in the ambiance of the interior.

  The décor was simple. Sports photos and menus from various locations in Miami, some of them long gone icons, hung on the bright walls. The tables and chairs were a mix of rustic and industrial. Rough-hewn wooden tabletops blended with metal legs and bases. Metal chairs with tapered legs and curved backs matched the charcoal color of the table legs. Overhead, warehouse-style hanging lamps had shades in a mix of bright colors and cast warm light over the space.

  It reminded him of one of the first places he had worked during one of his summers off from school. As a good son to immigrant parents, he had gone along with his parents’ demands that he get a college degree, but with every free second, he had done everything he could to prepare for becoming a chef. Once he’d gotten his business degree, he’d struck out to follow his own dreams.

  But he’d never realized Sara had the same dreams and he wondered when she’d made that decision. He peered toward the open kitchen where he could see the chefs busily preparing dishes for their customers. In the familiar cadence of professional kitchens, Sara called out the tickets and the chefs answered back to confirm the orders. She smiled at her people as they brought up the dishes for completion, but as she worked her expression became determined, almost fierce. Her grey-green eyes narrowed and focused intently on the plates. Full lips thinned until she worried her lower lip while she worked. She clearly cared deeply about the plates that would be served to the diners. Her diners.

  She placed a completed dish up on the counter and it was efficiently whisked away by the waitstaff.

  Her smile returned then and her gaze softened. She is lovely, he thought. The little girl with the scraped knees, braces and too-red hair had blossomed into a stunning woman. Not to mention, a competent one, Tony thought and smiled at how smoothly the kitchen seemed to be running.

  Barely minutes later, one of the waitresses came over with a bottle of wine and a plate with an assortment of appetizers.

  The name of the restaurant and the menu he had perused while waiting outside had told him that Sara specialized in small plates of comfort food, but with fine dining twists. The plate before him had what looked like mac and cheese balls, a slider, and roasted asparagus wrapped in crispy prosciutto along with what he guessed was aioli, probably for the asparagus.

  The smells were enticing, and his mouth watered in anticipation. He picked up one asparagus spear and dipped it into the aioli. Delicious, he thought as the flavors of the garlic-scented mayonnaise blended with the delicate asparagus and slightly salty prosciutto. He quickly finished off the other spears before turning his attention to the mac and cheese balls.

  Crunchy breading on the outside gave way to a burst of comforting melty cheesiness in the center. His experienced palate detected a mix of multiple cheeses. Hunger and eagerness driving him, he snared the slider and bit in. Another explosion of flavors greeted him, but the finishing touch that pushed the slider into gourmet caliber was the thin slice of perfectly grilled foie gras taking the place of a more predictable cheese.

  He was so intent on the fantastic appetizers that he hadn’t taken a sip of the wine, a Long Island Cabernet Franc. The wine was lighter than a Sauvignon, less acidic, with a stronger perfume and notes of cherry, cassis, and pepper. A perfect complement for his meal.

  Impressive, he thought and wondered when Sara had decided to become a chef and what had inspired her to create food like what he had just eaten. Deceptively simple, comfort foods that were also inventive and gourmet which normally didn’t go together.

  It made him admire her and want to get to know the woman she had become even more.

  “Is everything okay, chef?” the young waitress asked as she came by to switch out his empty plate.

  “More than okay,” he said with an enthusiastic nod. Like before, his plate was filled with a trio of samplings from the dinner menu. A square of lasagna, a petit filet wrapped in bacon, and several beer-battered fish nuggets rested beside a pile of French fries.

  Although he wanted to dig into the food immediately, his appetite whetted by the appetizers, he held back to watch as Sara came out of the kitchen and made her way to various diners, stopping to chat with them and share a laugh. Her manner was easy and genuine with a full smile as her head tilted back and her body relaxed. Her grey-green eyes were alight with pleasure as she chatted with one man and a blush of color came to her cheeks at what he hoped had been a compliment about her food.

  Once again, he was struck that this was no longer the tomboy he’d known. Womanly curves filled out her chef’s clothing. Her red hair, always the bane of Sara’s young existence, had mellowed like a copper penny into a rich cocoa brown with streaks of gold and auburn. The pigtails he’d used to pull out of annoyance were gone, replaced with a sleek cut that emphasized her heart-shaped face and the full lips that still created that marvelous smile.

  He waited for her to come by his table, but she only shot him a shy smile that whispered “later” and warmed something inside of him. Something that made him feel both excited and worried. Excited because he wanted to get to know more about her. Worried not only because she was Rick’s little sister, but because she was a chef.

  When she returned to the kitchen, he finally gave into his desire to sample more of Sara’s amazing cooking.

  Each dish was perfect, from the sweet, more-than-likely home-made ricotta in the lasagna to the light and crunchy beer batter around the fish nuggets. It reminded him of a London street vendor’s fish and chips he’d had during a trip to receive one of his cooking awards.

  His only complaint with tonight’s meal was that there wasn’t enough. He understood why people were willing to wait so long for a seat. Not to mention that the nature of the menu, with its small plates, variety, and—most importantly—quality, was perfect for the kind of crowd you’d get in this part of South Beach: people coming off the nearby beach, heading out for a night of partying, or coming back from a night of partying.

  “Would you like some coffee? Dessert?” the waitress asked.

  Tony laid a hand over his stomach. “I’d love to, only–”

  “I’d be heartbroken if you refused,” Sara said as she slipped past the waitress with a collection of plates and sat opposite him.

  “You did mention having coffee together, right?” Sara said with a hesitant smile.

  “Far be it for me to break your heart,” Tony said and grinned.

  Did he realize that his grin already did all kinds of things to my heart? That just sitting here opposite him is something I’d dreamed of as a teenager with a crush on my older brother’s best friend?

  Sara suspected that it was totally possible that Tony could one day break it if she let her feelings for him blossom again.

  As Sara eased the plate in front of Tony, she smiled at the waitress. “Some coffee please, Mandy.”

  “Yes, chef.” The young lady returned the smile.

  “Thank you,” Sara said and after a nod, Mandy hurried away.

  “I hope you enjoyed your meal.” Sara was both nervous and eager to hear Tony’s take on her food. With his reputation as a chef his opinion mattered a great deal. But it also mattered on a more personal leve
l she had to admit. She’d hate for him to be disappointed in her.

  “It was excellent, Sara. And totally unexpected.”

  “Because of the name of the restaurant or me?” she said with a wrinkle of her nose.

  A soft smile graced Tony’s lips. “Never you, Sara. You were always kind of a perfectionist as a kid.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore, Tony,” she said and the heat of a flush rose to her cheeks. She told herself not to read too much into his praise. It might only be his being nice to an old family friend.

  “No, you’re not,” Tony replied. The husky note in his voice and the look he shot her confirmed that he had noticed she was a grown woman now. But now that he has, what am I going to do about it?

  Flustered, she organized the smaller dessert plates before them and offered Tony the first choice from the sweets she had brought over.

  He picked up a mini-cannoli and took a bite and murmured his approval of the treat. “Is that fresh ricotta in the filling and the lasagna?”

  Sara nodded and smiled, pleased that he had noticed. She picked up the other mini-cannoli and said, “We make it every day. The shells also, as well as the fresh mozzarella for the other dishes.”

  “Brava,” Tony said and finished off the pastry. He picked up another one, a churro, and dipped it into a caramel sauce, one of three sauces on the plate. After taking a bite, he once again hummed his approval and ate the rest of the churro in a single bite.

  They both reached for the second churro at the same time, fingers bumping together.

  A zing of awareness traveled up her arm and shot through her. She jerked her hand back. Tony did the same and she wondered if he’d felt the blast. A second later, he motioned for her to take the pastry which she did.

  She dipped the churro into the mango sauce, her personal favorite, and offered it to Tony, expectant. Will he like it as much as I do? And why is his approval so important anyway?