Читать книгу A Valentine's Wish - Betsy St. Amant - Страница 11

“What have I gotten myself into?” The whispered words drifted toward the pink-painted ceiling, riding the wake of a delicious chocolate aroma. Lori planted her hands on the glass display counter and eyed the cozy boutique. Black iron tables for two snuggled in various corners of the shop, inviting patrons to linger over their coffee and chocolate. Fresh roses offered a splash of pink in the center of each table, and the black-and-white tiled floor appeared freshly scrubbed. Bella had left the Chocolate Gator in pristine condition—Lori hoped she’d be able to return it in the same shape after nearly two months.

Nice as the New Orleans native was, Lori couldn’t help but wonder if Andy’s aunt Bella was slightly off her rocker. In her mid-fifties, she practically oozed grace and charm with a Southern flair—just like her boutique. But trusting a near stranger with her business, on the sole recommendation of her only nephew, seemed a bit crazy. Sure, there was a chef and a college student working part-time at the register a few days a week, and yes, Lori had often chatted with Bella while buying those signature chocolate crocodiles, but was that enough to merit such responsibility?

Lori strode to the front door and flipped the white cardboard sign to read Open. She shouldn’t complain. Less than a week ago she didn’t have a job, and now she was running one of the trendiest boutiques in New Orleans—not to mention total access to those yummy little milk chocolate and caramel crocodiles. She sneaked a glance at the chocolates arranged on doilies in the display case. Even with her discount, she just might end up eating her paycheck. Literally.

The swinging kitchen door splayed open, nearly banging into the wall behind the register. Lori jumped as a tall, olive-skinned man in a white apron strode across the floor toward her. This had to be the chef Bella had mentioned. It would be in Lori’s best interest to impress him, so that any reports going back to Bella would be positive. She offered a nervous smile. “Hi, I’m—”

“Lori, yes. The new manager Bella sent.” He grinned and dipped into a low bow, the white strings of his apron dangling close to the ground. The scent of mint chocolate drifted to Lori’s nose. “I am Edmondo Renardo Rossi, but you may call me Monny.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Monny.” She offered her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He caught her palm and squeezed. “We shall make—what do they say?—beautiful chocolate together.” He winked.

A half snort, half laugh escaped Lori’s mouth, and she tried to cover it with a cough. When Bella told Lori about the chef, she must have forgotten to mention he was the Italian drama king. “Wow, your accent is strong.”

Monny released her hand and straightened his shoulders with pride. “It should be. I am from Napoli, and am here in America to learn Cajun cuisine and desserts. My family owns a business and wanted me to bring new cultures to our restaurant.”

“I see. So you’re learning the ropes on desserts right now, apparently.” Lori motioned toward the streaks of dried fudge on his apron.

“Ropes?” Two brown eyebrows meshed together as one.

Lori pointed toward the kitchen. “Learning how to bake.” She pantomimed stirring in a bowl, then felt ridiculous. He didn’t need sign language; he obviously spoke English. Her cheeks warmed.

“Ah, si.” Monny kissed his fingertips in a broad gesture. “Before Bella hired me, I worked at the Gumbo Shop. You Southern Americans, you like the spices.”

The bell on the door tinkled. Lori jerked. She’d gotten so distracted trying to decipher Monny’s accent, she’d forgotten she was there to work. She hadn’t even opened the register yet. Or fanned the pink paper napkins on the counter as Bella said she did every morning. Or more importantly, sampled a crocodile before they sold out.

“I’ll have my usual.” An elderly, slightly hunched gentleman in a pinstripe suit hobbled toward the counter, a heavy cane accentuating his steps. A cool winter breeze floated in behind him, stirring Lori’s hair. The door shut with a clank.

“Ah, customers. Time to work.” Monny lightly patted Lori’s cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. “Ciao.”

“Wait, what’s his usual?” But Monny was gone in a puff of flour and charm. Lori hurried into position behind the register, shaking her head to wrench back to reality.

“Good morning.” She put on her best smile. “I’m taking over for Bella—”

“Who are you?” the old man barked, lips nearly hidden behind a thick gray mustache. “Where’s Bella?”

“She had a family emergency. I’m Lor—”

“I said what’s your name, dearie? You deaf?”

Lori winced. “No, sir, I said my name is—”

“Ah, forget it. Young people have no manners nowadays.” He thumped one gnarled hand on the counter. “Give me my usual.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know—”

“Don’t tell me you’re out of black coffee and dark chocolate raspberries.”

Lori exhaled for the first time in what felt like minutes. “Of course not. Right away, sir.” She reached for the coffeepot—the empty coffeepot. “Uh, just a minute.” She opened the white cabinet doors under the coffee station. Where were all the beans? And how was she supposed to work that glittering monstrosity of a coffee machine?

Panic cramped her stomach in time to the impatient tapping of Grouchy Man’s cane. She was going to fail on her first day of work. Make that her first ten minutes of work. She’d never get to eat chocolate again. Why couldn’t the other girl, the college student, what’s-her-name-with-the-eyebrow-ring, have been working today?

Lori shoved her hair out of her eyes with an impatient flick, then paused. The list. Bella had said she would leave a list of instructions in the register since she hadn’t had an opportunity to train Lori in person. Anything else she needed she could ask the chef or Eyebrow-Ring Girl or could call Bella’s cell.

Lori unlocked the register and grabbed the list with a triumphant hand. Redemption, in the form of neat penmanship and sheets of lined notebook paper. Thank You, Lord. She skim-read until she found the section labeled Coffee.

The instructions were two inches long.

Lori licked her lips, darted a glance at the cappuccino machine staring menacingly down at her and then at Grouchy Man. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll serve you when it’s ready?”

She couldn’t tell if the frown was new, or if his wrinkles were permanently knit that way, but regardless, Grouchy Man stomped his cane toward a nearby table and planted himself in a chair, arms crossed.

Lori turned back toward the machine and drew a fortifying breath. She was so having a chocolate crocodile after this.

Andy tried the handle on the door of the Chocolate Gator. Locked. The hours posted informed him the shop closed at six, and it was fifteen past. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass into the dim boutique. He could barely make out Lori’s sprawled form at a table, one arm hanging limply over the back of her seat. Her legs were crossed, and she rubbed one bare foot with her free hand. Red high-heel shoes lay on the floor by her chair.

He winced. High heels on the first day at a new job? Big mistake—but knowing Lori and her accessory fetish, she’d be back in a different pair of equally ridiculous shoes tomorrow, and probably sporting a matching purse. He knocked on the glass.

Lori waved and gestured at her feet. As in, she wasn’t about to get up. Part of him couldn’t blame her; the other part wanted to point to her shoes and yell duh. He knocked louder.

“Coming!” an Italian accent bellowed through the glass. Andy jumped. The door was flung open to reveal a tall, dark-haired guy about his own age, maybe late twenties. “Ciao.”

“Uh, ciao.” Andy stepped over the threshold, taking in the chocolate smeared on the sleeves of the man’s white shirt and the flour dusting the top of his shoes. “I’m Bella’s nephew, Andy Stewart.”

“Ah, si! You are the one who secured this angel a job.” He gestured toward Lori, who grinned and offered an innocent shrug. Angel? Apparently this guy had never experienced Lori’s temper—or witnessed her reaction to an empty doughnut box.

Andy cleared his throat. “I guess I am. And you are?” The chef, obviously. But Andy wanted a name—and he really wanted the odd twisting sensation in his stomach that began the moment this dude called Lori an angel to quit.

“Edmondo, or Monny. I cook with Bella.”

They shook hands, Andy’s grip a bit tighter than necessary. He forced his palm to relax. “Nice to meet you.” His aunt told him months ago about her new chef from overseas, but failed to mention he was this young—and this Italian. Hopefully Lori wasn’t one of those crazy girls who got all excited hearing a foreign accent….

“Monny, say that thing you said earlier.” Lori flipped her long hair over her shoulder, the light returning to her tired eyes. “About chocolate.”

“You mean cioccolata, mi cara.” He winked.

Andy’s eyes narrowed. Cara? From the look in Edmondo’s eyes, that term of endearment definitely didn’t mean coworker. He pulled out the chair across from Lori and sank into it, the screech against the tile floor interrupting the annoying flow of foreign words from Edmondo. Just his luck, the guy could probably make the phone book sound romantic.

“So, how was your first day?” He scooted a vase of flowers to the side so he could see Lori’s face. She was his friend before this guy’s, and he needed to tell her what happened at the church. Monny could wait.

“Thanks for the job, Bella. You can’t train me in the shop? No problem, I’m a quick learner. I can figure it out, Bella. Of course I can make coffee, Bella,” Lori mocked, her hands covering her face.

“That good, huh?”

“Yes.” She peeked through her fingers at Andy and smiled. “But I loved every minute of it.”

He laughed and tugged her hands down to the table. “You’ve got flour in your hair.”

“Thanks for that, Monny.” She pulled free and patted at her head.

Monny flipped the lock on the front door and grinned. “Just be glad it wasn’t the raspberry crème.” He paused at their table. “I’ll leave through the back so you won’t have to lock the front door again. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.” Lori wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Maybe tomorrow will be easier since I’ll have help at the front.”

“You did a wonderful job.”

“Only because of your help.” She smiled.

Andy’s stomach rolled. Was Lori flirting back with this guy? The fake charm practically oozed from Monny’s tanned skin. Lori couldn’t be actually falling for it…right? He wadded a stray napkin into a ball and clenched it in his fist as Monny disappeared through the kitchen doors.

Lori met Andy’s gaze with a slight frown, gesturing at his white-knuckled grip. “Are you okay?”

He dropped the napkin and opened his mouth, and then hesitated before answering. If okay included his job being all but threatened, and this sudden burst of jealousy over one of his best friends, then sure. He shook his head to clear the random thoughts. Pastor Mike’s talk on marriage must have put crazy thoughts in his mind.

“Earth to Andy.” Lori waved a hand in front of his face. “I thought I was the one who was worn out. Don’t make me put you in the ring with that cappuccino machine.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “You might not come out alive.”

He leaned back in his chair, away from her teasing and the suddenly overpowering scent of her fruity perfume. Combined with the aroma hovering in the shop, she smelled like a chocolate-covered strawberry. What was wrong with him? This was Lori, the girl who passed hastily scribbled notes to him during church with smiley faces asking where they were going for lunch. The girl who ganged up with his youth group to spray him with Silly String one summer morning on his way into the office. The girl who knew most of his secrets, brought him back to reality when he got prideful and encouraged him when he felt like a failure.

The girl who’d been so close to his side for so many years that he’d failed to see what was directly in front of him.

Andy stared at Lori as if for the first time. Long brown hair swept into a partial ponytail. Eyes twinkling with laughter despite the fatigue lining the edges. A few freckles spattered across her nose that she never tried to cover with makeup. Lori. His best friend…and the woman who just might make the senior church staff—and him—very, very happy.

His lips spread in a slow smile. “Actually, yes. I think I am all right now.”