South Beach Love Page 5

  He held her hand to steady it while he took a bite and that buzz of electricity traveled up her arm again. Caused her heart to beat erratically again. She told herself not to read too much into the almost intimate gesture of sharing the food with him.

  “Love the sauce. Is that ginger in there?” Tony said.

  She nodded, pleased, and double-dipped the remaining piece into the mango sauce so that she could have a taste, as well, forcing herself to ignore that his tempting lips had just been on it. “A little lime zest as well.”

  Tony took the final churro and swirled it around in the last sauce, a chocolate chili pepper mix. He presented the last pastry to her for the first bite.

  As her gaze met his over the long cylinder of the churro, sharing the sweets suddenly felt like a too-intimate act. She eyed the sweet, coated with the spicy chocolate sauce she’d made and then glanced past the bite to Tony. He waited there, an expectant smile on his face. A second later he said, “They say never trust a chef who won’t eat their own food.”

  “They say a lot of things, but they might be right with that one.” With a chuckle, she took a bite and the warm heat of the ancho chili powder she’d mixed into the chocolate teased her tongue. As she had done before, Tony swirled the remaining piece of the churro in the chocolate sauce and popped the last bite into his mouth.

  “Wow, that is wonderful. A perfect balance of sweet, spice, and heat,” he said.

  She dipped her head in gratitude. “Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “It’s well-earned. Everything I tasted today—all your favorites—were fantastic,” he said and looked all around the restaurant. “Judging from the crowd, they love your food too.”

  Sara peered at her customers and smiled. “I’ve been lucky.”

  “Talented,” Tony corrected and continued. “How did you decide to be a chef?”

  Sara was more than pleased by Tony’s praise. She was about to tell him that he was the reason she’d embarked on that career when the waitress returned to the table. “I’m sorry to bother you, chef, but you’re needed in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you, Mandy,” she said before turning her attention to Tony. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized, truly regretting that she had to leave him since they’d been having such a good time. A time she wanted to repeat, but she hesitated the barest second before blurting out, “Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

  He grinned and his eyes twinkled with surprised pleasure. “How about dinner tomorrow? When do you close?”

  She grimaced. They stayed open for the after-party crowd and it had become their custom to share a meal after they were done rather than before service. “Two a.m. is when we normally do our ‘family meal’ for staff. You’re welcome to join us.” That would make it far less dangerous than having dinner alone with him.

  Although he seemed a bit disappointed—at the late hour? Or at the idea that it wouldn’t be dinner alone? —he smiled and said, “That’s usually when we do ours at my place as well. I’d love to join you.”

  She was both pleased and anxious about his response. “I look forward to it.”

  She rushed back to the kitchen while breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself in front of Tony.

  Jeri, who had just finished plating an order when Sara entered, tossed her a wry grin. “Looks like the chef approved of more than just the food.”

  “Shut up, Jeri,” she said playfully and snapped a kitchen towel at her fellow chef. “Let’s get back to work.”

  “Yes, chef,” Jeri said with an impudent chuckle and Sara couldn’t help but laugh as well.

  The night hadn’t gone as she’d expected what with Tony visiting, but thankfully his visit had ended well. Very well, she thought, already looking forward to seeing Tony again. But even as she contemplated that, she warned herself not to get too involved with the handsome chef. He was only visiting and wouldn’t stay for long. And he was Rick’s friend which complicated things even more.

  It was better that she keep it at a friendly level with Tony. Just friends, she tried to convince herself as she turned her attention back into prepping meal orders. She had to focus on her business, her niece’s quinceañera, and nothing more. Especially not the handsome and talented Tony Sanchez.

  Chapter 5

  Roberta Lane stared at her editor as if he’d sprouted two heads. “You want me to do a story on what?”

  Marco Ramirez placed the two invitations on her desktop. “I want you to cover these two quinceañeras—as well as any others that you can find—for a story on how these traditions are making a comeback in Miami.”

  She spread her hands wide in a pleading gesture. “I don’t know a thing about...about—” She grabbed one of the invites, struggling to recall the name of the events.

  “Quinceañeras,” Marco repeated, enunciating each syllable.

  “All right, but again, I don’t know a thing about what a quinceañera is,” she said.

  “They’re like a Sweet Sixteen, but at fifteen instead.”

  Roberta grimaced. “I don’t do kids, Marco, you know that. My kind of lifestyle is charity events, weddings, art gallery openings—the kind of parties attended by the crème-de-la-crème of South Beach.”

  Marco glared at her from beneath his furrowed brow. “Get off your high horse, Roberta. I hired you from the free local newspaper.”

  “And I’ve worked hard to prove that I can do much more than that,” she reminded him.

  With a frown, he said, “Don’t get so full of yourself. You’ll do as I say if you don’t want to end up doing the classified ads again. Besides, these two events are going to be attended by some of Miami’s better-known residents, including moi.”

  These kinds of events were out of her wheelhouse. A quinceañera? She’d have to research just what that meant, which would take a lot of time from her other assignments. But as she looked at her boss, it was clear she wasn’t getting out of this one. Continuing to argue wouldn’t change her boss’s mind, but it would tick him off. Better to stop protesting now, and just try to get through this story as quickly and painlessly as possible. She bit back a sneer and picked up the two invites. “At least they’re in nice locations. I’ll get the interviews set up and arrange with the photographer to get some shots of the girls preparing for the parties and then later at the events. Is there anything else you’d like me to do for the story?”

  Marco cupped his jaw, thoughtful as he considered her question. “It would be good if we could find an exciting angle. Something that will draw attention to the magazine. We need a boost in readership.”

  Without waiting for her reply, Marco left her office.

  “An exciting angle, huh?” she murmured to herself and examined the invitations again.

  She quickly jumped on the Internet to try and find out more about the two girls. Thanks to some articles in a local paper about a soccer championship, she realized that they went to the same exclusive prep school. Two teen girls having big parties within a day of each other. Drama, she thought, recalling her own teen years.

  “You want gossip, you’ll get it, Marco.”

  Chapter 6

  As Samantha rushed out of the high school building, she caught sight of Angelica sitting on the ledge of a planter by the curb, apparently also waiting to be picked up after soccer tryouts. Most everyone else had already left.

  Angelica’s head was bent over a notebook, focusing so intently on whatever she was drawing that she didn’t notice as Samantha walked up to her. Samantha couldn’t avoid seeing the colorful images that Angelica had sketched in the notebook once she neared her rival.

  “What’s that?” she asked, intrigued by the drawings.

  Angelica’s head snapped up and she laid her hand over the paper to hide what she was doing. “Just some doodles.”

  Samantha
shrugged and tried not to let Angelica’s attempt at secrecy bother her. “Looked interesting. Are they for something at your quinceañera?”

  Angelica hesitated for a too long moment before showing her the pictures and blurting out, “They’re favors. I was thinking of putting together a small bottle of sour orange juice, a grinder with dried garlic, and a packet of cumin seeds. Miami spice, get it?”

  Samantha nodded and chuckled. “Totally.” Because Angelica had shared, she said, “I’m still trying to figure out my favors, but mom and I are doing centerpieces with cigar boxes, flowers, and vintage postcards from Havana.”

  Angelica narrowed her gaze, as if in thought, and said, “How about for favors, you go with chocolate and candy cigars? You could wrap them in a bundle like they do with some of those fancy cigars our dads like to smoke.”

  Samantha imagined exactly that, with brightly colored ribbons to hold the candies in place. “Thanks. I like that idea. What are you doing for your centerpieces?”

  Angelica did an uneasy lift of her shoulders and flipped to another page in her notebook. It was filled with images of spice jars and bottles similar to what she had been drawing for the favors, but the designs were not as elegant or balanced.

  “Pretty bad, right?” Angelica said after Samantha’s prolonged silence.

  “Not so bad,” Samantha replied with a shrug. She pointed to one design in particular. “Why don’t you use real fruit instead of the bottles? Make it like a still life with oranges –”

  “—limes, lemons and everything else you use to spice up Cuban food,” Angelica jumped in, whipping to a new page in the book and immediately starting to sketch.

  “And you could mix in orange blossoms and other flowers in between the fruits,” Samantha added, picturing how lovely the centerpiece would look.

  The blare of a car horn shattered the picture that had formed in Samantha’s mind and grabbed their attention. Angelica’s mom screeched to the curb in her new lime green Wrangler. She seemed surprised to see Samantha and her daughter chatting and waved awkwardly.

  Samantha returned the greeting as Angelica hopped off the ledge, shoved her notebook into her knapsack, and hurried toward her mother’s car. But as she reached the door, Angelica turned, smiled and did a slight wave of her hand. “Thanks, Samantha. See you tomorrow.”

  Samantha returned the wave and offered a hesitant grin. “See you.”

  The Jeep rushed away from the curb with a squeal of tires just as Samantha’s mom pulled up in the family’s late model sedan. As Samantha slipped into the passenger seat her mother said, “Was that Sylvia Rodriguez? She always had a lead foot. It’s a good thing she’s a lawyer so she can get out of all those tickets she must get.”

  “Yes, that was her—she just picked up Angelica after tryouts,” she said.

  Her mother scrutinized her intently. “Everything okay with you and Angelica?”

  Samantha tilted her head and pondered her mother’s question for a moment. “Surprisingly yes. More than okay actually,” she admitted. It was quite a surprise, considering that just three days ago Angelica had been all Drama Queen over the quinceañera invite.

  Her mother opened her eyes wide. “De verdad?”

  Samantha nodded and chuckled. “For realz.”

  With a tilt of her head, her mother said, “That is truly a surprise.”

  As her mother pulled away from the curb, Samantha murmured, “Most definitely.” But as surprising as it was, she couldn’t deny it had been nice to be able to talk to Angelica, almost like she was a friend. In truth, she wished they could be friends instead of rivals since they had so much in common. They were both good students and enjoyed the same sports. They had a number of other friends in common, but rarely spent time together with them.

  Maybe today is the start of a change. A good change, she thought, but didn’t say since it was still too new and uncertain.

  “Isn’t that wonderful, Tony?” Sylvia gushed and slid a business card across the table toward him.

  He perused the card from the reporter for a local lifestyle magazine. Roberta Lane. Lifestyle Columnist. South Beach Style.

  “She’s interested in doing a story on quinceañeras?” he asked, wanting to make sure that he understood.

  “Sí. They’re apparently making a comeback in the area and she wants to cover a few of them and share why families think it’s important to keep up the tradition. She heard about Angelica’s quinceañera and wants to include us in the article. This will be amazing,” Sylvia almost gushed.

  From inside the family room, where his father sat in his recliner reading, he heard a grunt and a mumbled, “¡Locura!”

  He had to agree with his father. But then again, his sister had wanted the party to be a big splash. And he couldn’t deny that it could work out well for him, too—being back in the limelight might help his career even if he was staying in New York.

  “It’s a good thing, Sylvia,” he said and pushed the card back across the surface of the table.

  “I hear a ‘but’ there, Tony. This will give all of us a lot of publicity. She’ll probably want to interview you since you’re the hometown boy who made it big.”

  He shrugged off his sister’s compliment. “Some say success is 25% talent and 75% luck. I was lucky, hermanita.”

  “And I’ve heard success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. You worked hard for what you accomplished, Tony. You deserve your success.” Sylvia picked up the card and tucked it into her binder which had somehow grown even larger and pinker and was threatening to burst at the seams. He was worried that if it did bust open, it would litter most of Little Havana with lace, confetti, and glitter.

  “Sin duda,” his mother said, jumping into the conversation as she walked into the room to prepare some coffee.

  “Gracias,” he said and rose from the table to help his mother get the espresso maker down from the topmost shelf in the cabinet. “Mami, why do you put it where you can’t reach it?”

  His mother jerked her head of perfectly coiffed white hair in the direction of the family room and in a guilty whisper said, “Because getting it down for me is the only way I can get your papi to move from that sillón.”

  Tony leaned back to peer out the door of the kitchen to the family room and where his father sat in the recliner. He held a different newspaper in his hands while the noise from a Miami Marlins baseball game on the television played in the background. Cubans loved their baseball, especially his father who claimed to have once tried out with Castro for the Yankees.

  With a nod to his mother, he called out, “Papi, mami needs your help.”

  The newspaper rattled and the chair groaned as his father rose and muttered under his breath, “Esa mujer. I told that woman to leave it on the counter. Why can’t you get it, Antonio?”

  “I’m busy with Sylvita,” Tony shouted and hurried back to his chair. His father shuffled in, rose on tiptoes to get the coffee pot, and handed it to his wife. As he did so, he brushed a kiss across his wife’s cheek and hugged her. “Amorcito, por favor, keep it on the counter.”

  She tucked herself against his side and returned the kiss. “Amorcito, how else can I get you to move?”

  His dad mimicked a dancing pose and said, “We could go to the senior center tonight. They’re having a mamba band and I heard they’re really good.”

  “Are you asking me on a date, querido?” his mother said, a delicate hand splayed across her chest as she batted her eyelashes.

  “Dios mio, please stop,” his father teased and kissed her again.

  “Aren’t they cute?” Sylvia said and Tony couldn’t help but laugh. It was cute that his parents could still be so flirtatious with each other.

  “They are. It must be nice,” he said, almost wistfully, wondering what it would be like to have such love for so long.

  “You’ll find some
one, Tony. Maybe here while you’re in Miami,” Sylvia said and opened her binder to pull out some of the papers.

  With Sylvia’s words a picture of Sara flared to life. That smile and the tingle when they’d touched, which he’d tried to ignore. The way a lock of her coppery hair feathered onto her forehead, making him itch to brush it away. The cute little wrinkle of her nose, reminding him of the young girl who’d chased after Rick and him. But he immediately tamped down that spark of awareness.

  “My life is in New York, hermanita,” he said, even if he was enjoying his time in Miami way too much for the time being.

  “Your unhappy life is in New York. I know you and I can tell that you’re not enjoying what you’ve been doing.” Sylvia pushed a few of the papers in his direction, namely the draft of the menu he had worked up with her a few days earlier. She gestured to the papers and said, “This is what you want to be doing. Cooking. Every day.”

  “And what makes you think it would be any different here? Running a restaurant is always going to come with responsibilities outside of the kitchen, no matter where it is,” he challenged, perusing the menu and mentally making lists of what he would have to order to be able to prepare and serve the meal to the nearly two hundred guests attending the party.

  “It can be different if you’re different, hermanito. You’re trusting your chefs and manager back in New York. You can trust people here and you’d be closer to family so we could help. Maybe you could even get a partner,” his sister said as she yanked out a seating chart from the binder and started moving around the adhesive notes with people’s names.

  “A partner like my ex?” he said with a huff, earning a glare from Sylvia.

  “Dina was a huge mistake you should have seen coming. She was just riding on your coattails and on top of that, she resented your success.” Sylvia ripped a sticky note off one table to move it to another. At his questioning look, she said, “I heard the other day that these two friends had a fight a few months ago and aren’t speaking.”