Bet on My Heart Page 6

  “The cannolis weren’t sweet enough. The éclairs needed to be creamier, not custardy. The German chocolate cake didn’t have enough chocolate and tasted too much like uncooked flour.”

  A look of relief crossed his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m relieved that I’m not spinning my wheels here.”

  “When I worked for my grandmother, all the homicide detectives would take their breaks at her shop. They used to talk about going through people’s trash. They said everything you ever needed to know about someone was in their garbage.”

  “I’m disgusted that I’m fascinated by that fact.” He opened a trash bag and tossed gooey strands of pasta into it.

  “I know, right?” She nodded at him. “I resent the fact that I have to think about my trash beyond which bin I toss it in. If cops can go through your trash and learn so much about you, so can criminals. I started shredding every piece of paper I threw away. I own a paper shredder that the CIA would love.”

  He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You have something to hide?”

  “Just because I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean someone’s not out to get me.”

  He grinned. “Interesting.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  He laughed. “You see the world in a very different way from me.”

  “It’s a blessing and a curse.” She started to turn away, but turned back. “Have you had breakfast yet? I’ve been experimenting with cinnamon rolls and plan to make some this morning for the staff to try. Do you want some? I’ll have them ready in a couple hours.”

  Donovan shook his head. “I don’t think I’m going to eat for the next five days.”

  She laughed. “I’d be more worried if you found a dead body in there.” She gestured at the Dumpster.

  “Again, the way your brain works is sort of fascinating. And when you have a moment, I’d like to use you as a guinea pig.”

  “And feed me what?” She wasn’t enthusiastic about the menu he’d chosen. The Casa de Mariposa wasn’t Paris. “If you want to know what locals expect to eat in Reno, you need to go to the Reno Food and Wine Festival. It’s in two weeks. You need to incorporate half of what Reno eats with half of what the Continental crowd eats. Find a happy middle between American cuisine and French cuisine. Nina did a terrific job promoting the restaurant. Now all you need to do is keep people coming back.”

  Donovan waved her off and she retreated from the smell and the too-bright lights. Once inside the kitchen she shared with Donovan, she settled down to making the day’s desserts. By the time she’d measured the flour into the mixers, she noticed the fire extinguishers were missing. They’d also gone missing the day she’d started at the restaurant. What was going on? She also found a bottle of cleaning fluid on her food-prep table which was a big health department no-no. She searched the kitchen and finally found the fire extinguishers in a cabinet. And after putting away the bottle of cleaning fluid she scoured her worktable and went back to her cinnamon rolls.

  She’d just pulled out her last batch of cinnamon rolls when Donovan walked in. Small droplets of water clung to his hair from his shower, and she hid a smile, remembering the image of him sitting on a stool surrounded by discarded food. He sat down at his desk, and placed a pad of paper in front of him.

  “Here,” she said, sliding a spatula under a cooled cinnamon roll. “You need to eat comfort food after your experience with the trash.

  “No comment.” He sat down, sniffed experimentally and grabbed a fork as though just discovering how hungry he was. He ate half the roll before he stopped to look at her as she waited expectantly. “This is...truly wonderful.” He dug in again.

  “Good. I just wanted to wash the smell of garbage out of your nose.”

  “It’s working.” He practically inhaled the rest of the roll and held up his plate for a second.

  She obliged him and decided to have one herself. She served a roll onto a plate and sat down across from him.

  “Dare I ask what’s in here?”

  “No,” she responded with a smile. “A lady must have some secrets.”

  “So I have to marry you to get your secrets.” His smile contained a tone of teasing mischief.

  She leaned toward him, turning on the flirt just a little. “Yes.”

  “Yes to what. Marriage or secrets?”

  “Yes,” she repeated, trying for a mysterious tone.

  He sighed. “I need some coffee.” He stood and stretched.

  Hendrix heard his back crack and she hoped he hadn’t hurt himself bending over all that trash.

  “So what did you learn?” she asked once she’d finished her roll.

  He finished setting up the coffeemaker and leaned against the counter while the coffee dripped into the carafe. “People don’t seem to like fish much.”

  “I love a good salmon or tilapia and eat it twice a week. I don’t know why people don’t like fish. I’ve eaten all over the world and Americans really like their beef. They may not eat as much beef as they used to, but when they do, they want it to be spectacular.”

  “You mentioned once before, that you’ve eaten all over the world.”

  “My parents travel a lot for their business. They own an import-export business. I traveled with them until I was fourteen. I learned to eat some of the most unusual foods. I ate fish eyes in China. Sheep guts in Scotland. Goat’s milk in Africa. Puffins in Iceland. I ate tahini and couscous in Morocco. You name it, I’ve probably eaten it.” She stopped for a second to think. “I wouldn’t eat crickets or grasshoppers in China. I know they’re a delicacy, but I just couldn’t get past the idea or the crunch. I tried them one time before and I’m particularly happy I will never have to eat them again.” Her parents had insisted she try everything. Just one bite. If she didn’t like it, she didn’t have to eat it.

  “I don’t see anyone wanting crickets or grasshoppers in this hotel,” Donovan said. “You’ve had quite a life. You said you traveled until you were fourteen. What about school?”

  “My mom homeschooled me. We had lots of time on planes and in taxis going from place to place. She made every moment count.” Her mother and father loved traveling. No place in the world was too dangerous for them. She had fun parents. Not many children had the opportunities she’d had. She’d thrived, though she had to admit she’d been happy to settle down with her grandmother and later here, in Reno. She still wanted to travel, but not now while she was establishing herself. “My parents were a little surprised when I came to Reno, though.”

  Donovan’s eyebrows went up. “Reno has its own highlights. I traveled a lot when I was in Europe trying different foods in different countries. Admittedly nothing as exotic as you.”

  “What was your favorite food?”

  “Anything French, but my favorite is coq au vin. I was never a big beef eater as a kid. I could cook chicken a thousand and one ways.”

  “I can respect that,” Hendrix replied.

  “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Whatever I’m eating at the moment. I love desserts. The gooier and sweeter, the better.” If she had a favorite it would be a sweet summer berry cream pie she’d had once at a tiny, hole-in-the wall restaurant in San Francisco. She’d never been quite able to duplicate it. And when she’d gone back to talk to the owners, the restaurant had closed and no one knew where they had retired to or she’d have hunted them down and made them talk. In a nice way, of course.

  “Why food? What attracted you to cooking?” She asked curiously. Donovan had the kind of looks that could have landed him on the cover of GQ. But he’d chosen food and she wondered why.

  “My grandma first realized I had a talent for cooking. She kept me in the kitchen and out of trouble. She kept my brothers, my sister and I so busy, we didn’t know up from d
own most of the time. How she kept everything straight, I don’t know, but she always knew exactly where we were at all times and where we were going next.”

  “She sounds like a general. My parents were more laid-back, more about experiencing life than regulating it.” Her parents hadn’t kept her on a tight leash, but like Miss E, they’d kept her busy. If she wasn’t learning how to tell the difference between counterfeit luxury goods and the real thing, she was learning how to speak a new language. “I’ve played in the Lalique glass factory in France. I saw the master designers create the drawings and the molds. The glass blowers let me blow glass and watch the artisans use all the different techniques in creating their masterpieces. I had a lot of fun and I learned a ton about glass blowing.” She still had a little vase that she’d blown herself and dropped into a mold of delicate floral designs. One of the other artisans had finished it for her because she’d had to leave, and when it arrived at her parents’ San Francisco home, she’d known she would treasure it always. Her very own unique Lalique vase.

  She had a number of little treasures. In Morocco she designed her own tile. In Japan she learned how to perform the tea ceremony and design her own kimono. But her favorite treasure was from India, where she’d carved and painted her own Ganesh statue. She still had her very own elephant god.

  “I’m kind of wondering the same thing as your parents. Why Reno?” Donovan asked.

  She paused the conversation to check her cinnamon rolls. She needed to start the next round of pies. She liked this kitchen—it felt right, but she needed a larger worktable and larger ovens. The demand for her desserts wasn’t that high, yet. But the restaurant and the diner went through about fourteen cakes, seventeen pies, a couple dozen tarts, four pans of brownies and five dozen cookies a day. The spa went through four dozen cookies a day. She knew the demand would grow as the hotel became more popular.

  “Why Reno?” she repeated as she lathered ganache on the cinnamon rolls. “Reno sounded interesting. Because big cities are just big. I wanted to experience something different.” When she finished putting the ganache on the rolls, she popped one onto a plate and handed it to Donovan. “Try this.”

  He took an experimental bite, chewed thoroughly and looked up at her. “Heavenly. You put apples in the rolls. What’s in the ganache? It tastes...different.”

  “Unsweetened apple cider,” she answered promptly. “Just a little to get the right taste.” She slid a roll onto a plate for herself and took a bite. “It’s almost there. Maybe some candied walnut. Or...crystalized dates.”

  He nodded as he took another bite. “The adventurous eater would try the ones with dates, but the average eater isn’t going to want dates on their cinnamon rolls, they just want butter.”

  “I agree butter is great, but people use too much butter and it clouds the taste of their foods.”

  “That’s how people roll.”

  She didn’t answer him as she finished her roll. She licked the fork and found Donovan watching her.

  “I like to eat,” she said, “and I’m not going to apologize for it.”

  “I like women who eat.”

  “In your business you should.” She took his plate and put it in the sink, then opened the refrigerator to remove her bowl of chilled dough already formed into individual balls to start the crusts for her pies.

  He reached over to touch her face. She started, but he gently wiped a bit of ganache from the corner of her lip. Then he licked his finger. He smiled at her and she tilted her head, walked straight up to him and kissed him.

  He tasted of ganache and cinnamon. His breath held a hint of apple.

  She drew back and he stared at her, then he reached for her and kissed her again.

  Chapter 6

  “She kissed me,” Donovan said, a little in awe that Hendrix took the initiative. “And I kissed her back.”

  Hunter grinned and Scott shook his head as he bounced the basketball to Donovan and he in turn, bounced it to Hunter. They went to the gym several times a week to do, as Miss E. called it, man stuff. Which really meant sweaty stuff. Donovan had to do something to keep in shape with all the food sampling he did.

  “That’s how it starts,” Hunter said. “One kiss and you’re hooked. Next thing you know, you’re buying a ring and being forced to pick out a china pattern and wedding invitations.”

  “A smart man will simply agree to whatever china pattern his fiancée wants,” Scott added. With his own wedding looming on the horizon, he was surely deep in the throes of wedding mania. Donovan felt sorry for him. Nina was a bundle of energy that never seemed to stop moving, yet Scott followed right along behind with a big dumb look on his face.

  “I’ve already done the marriage thing,” Donovan said. “The kiss didn’t mean anything.”

  “Then why are we being unmanly and talking about it?” Scott asked.

  “She is my employee and could sue me for sexual harassment.”

  Hunter laughed. “She’s cute. She’s a bit funky, but Maya loves the way she dresses and definitely loves her brownies.”

  “She’s odd,” Donovan said, “but really nice.” And she liked to eat. That was a huge plus in her favor. “She and Kenzie bonded over eyeliner.”

  “Can two people really talk about eyeliner for twenty-five minutes?” Scott asked. He threw the ball into the hoop.

  “What possesses parents to name a kid Hendrix?” Donovan mused as he stole the basketball from Hunter.

  Hunter grabbed for the ball. “Her grandma is like some legendary hippie in the Bay area.”

  “I think it’s interesting that her parents named her after Jimi Hendrix. I’d never name a kid that, but it’s something you don’t forget.” Scott blocked Donovan’s shot.

  Hunter grabbed the rebound. “I met her grandmother once when I visited her shop. I had some friends who raved about it, and I wanted to see for myself.”

  “What’s it like?” Donovan asked, hoping to get a sense of Hendrix’s mindset.

  “Hippie, Tea and Me is a really famous tea shop,” Hunter said. “The news did a puff piece a few years back. So I’m assuming her parents are a bit Bohemian, too, which makes the name Hendrix seem pretty logical.”

  They moved up and down the court for a few moments. The echo of the basketball filled the small court.

  Donovan admired his older brothers. They’d taught him to be a man. And not once during his childhood did they poke fun at his fascination with food. Hunter built things. Scott blew things up. And Donovan created food sensations. Food made people get out of bed in the morning.

  Donovan showed his love for his family through his cooking. For Scott’s sixteenth birthday, he’d made a cake shaped like a pistol. When Hunter turned eighteen, he’d shaped carrots and raw potatoes into Lincoln logs and built a log cabin. One year, he’d made little cupcakes with playing cards tucked into each one for Miss E. And for Kenzie’s tenth birthday he’d shaped a cake around a Barbie doll and created a wedding dress out of buttercream frosting.

  “I’m going swing dancing with her,” Donovan suddenly announced during a silent pause.

  “You have three left feet,” Hunter said with an amused grin.

  Scott burst out laughing.

  “No, no, no, Scott. You do not have the right to laugh. I watched you take tango lessons so that you can dance with your bride.” Donovan tossed the ball at him.

  Scott tossed the ball at the hoop and hollered when it slid in. “Nina does not take no for an answer.”

  “What makes you think Hendrix does?” He couldn’t even convince himself that he didn’t like that she took control of things.

  “Because she looks like so sweet and funky in her own way.” Scott leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from his face.

  Scott hit Donovan playfully on the back as they headed toward the
door and the showers.

  Donovan enjoyed being with his brothers. They had all slipped back into their easy friendship as though they’d never been apart for the last fifteen years. They’d only seen each other on occasion, usually a reunion for Miss E.’s birthday, but nothing permanent.

  Coming together to support their grandmother in her endeavor had made him feel closer to his brothers and Kenzie. In the car headed back to the hotel, he wondered if they felt the same way.

  Hunter nodded. “I didn’t think Miss E. was in her right mind. I was ready to have her committed.”

  “Me, too,” Scott admitted. “But I think she has something going here and I’m willing to help her build on it.”

  “I looked at last week’s cash receipts. The amount of money this place makes in a week is almost staggering, and this is just a small casino.” Hunter swerved to avoid a bicyclist taking up a good portion of the road.

  “And it brought us all back together again,” Donovan mused. “It’s a bit unmanly saying this, but I’ve missed you guys. I missed being a family.”

  Hunter nodded. “I have to admit the same thing. Maybe Miss E. isn’t crazy.”

  Scott nodded. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

  Donovan agreed. “I don’t think this was about her getting the casino. I think this was about her bringing us all back together. She’s always been a master manipulator.”

  Scott took out his phone. “How do you spell that?”

  Donovan punched his brother on the arm. Hunter laughed as he turned into the parking lot of the hotel. He pulled his SUV into a space and turned to look at Donovan in the backseat. “Miss E. wants us to be a family again. Having us all over the world, with only phone calls to touch base, didn’t suit her. She wanted us back together.”

  “So she could get us back under her thumb?” Donovan mused.

  “But we’re not,” Scott said. “She’s always been a long-leash parent. She’s let us make our own mistakes, but the minute you made one she pulled that leash back in.”

  “Is she pulling our leashes now?” Donovan asked. As the youngest boy, he’d chafed the most under Miss E.’s thumb.