With less than a month until the release of A CHEF’S KISS CHRISTMAS, I’m ramping up the attempts to get to my goal of 1000 preorders before release day, 11.11.24.
So, here’s a little something from Portia’s point of view:
“Why do you all have such a penchant for walking around in freezing cold weather?” Portia asked as she huddled under her scarf, tugging it up over her mouth. “This has to be the coldest day since I got here.”
Colt, Abra’s husband, laughed. While he readjusted three-year-old Stevie on his shoulders, ensuring his little girl was safe and secure, he said, “If you think this is cold, Portia, wait another month. January and February are hibernation months in these parts.”
“I’ll be long gone by then, back to perpetually sunny skies and temperatures above freeze-your-you-know-what-off every day,” she responded.
Abra, who had baby Amelia in a carrier attached to her torso, laughed. Most of Amy’s family, including daughter Sasha, her husband, Steve, and their daughter Mikaela, along with Abra, Colt, their two kids, and Amy’s husband Andy, who was holding Blake’s hand while her mother and father were home with the newborn baby, all ambled down the wide Main Street of Dickens, making their way to the town Common where the annual tree lighting ceremony was due to start in a few minutes.
The town turned out en masse for the yearly event, the crowds shoulder to shoulder as they strolled along the sidewalks and in the streets, which had been cordoned off to traffic for the day. The shops along the main drag were filled with holiday shoppers and tourists alike, all providing a huge influx of cash into the town’s coffers.
The local eateries erected food booths along the streets, Dorrit’s Diner included, and sold everything warm and toasty for the cold day from hot chocolate to fried dough and roasted chestnuts.
As the group made their way closer to Amy’s booth, Portia spied a certain hunky chef cooking something on the portable burner inside the booth. Unlike her, he was without a coat, garbed in a long-sleeved sweatshirt and jeans with a logoed apron covering him and fingerless gloves on his hands. A black skullcap hid his salt and pepper curls. The closer they came, Portia was able to discern he was cooking hamburgers, a portable hot dog steamer next to the grill. The familiar and taste-bud watering aroma of the steamed franks made her lick her lips when it drifted over the cold air to her senses.
It had been a few days since their impromptu after-hours talk in Amy’s kitchen. Portia purposefully avoided the diner when Abra suggested they stop for a cup of coffee or a quick lunch because she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable should he know she was there.
For some reason, she wanted him to trust her, trust she wouldn’t reveal his secret. That didn’t negate the desire she had to find out what he’d been doing for the past two years, but she would keep his identity a secret, that was assured.
As a unit, they stopped when Amy called out to them, “Family! Come here.”
She came around the booth door opening and pulled first Blake into a hug, then kissed Stevie, Mikaela and Amelia in that order, before she lifted her cheek to her husband’s kiss. While Amy interacted with her family, Portia took the free moment to observe Tony while he filled orders.
Focused and determined were two words she thought described him perfectly. Eyes trained on the grill and the burgers he was cooking, a spatula in one hand, the other fisted on his hip while he waited until the perfect moment to flip the meat. His gaze was trained on the grill, nothing around him robbing his attention. Not the noise from the hoards moving about the street, not the pounding beat of the high school band playing at the Common, not even the squeals and shouts of kids running up and down the main drag.
For a hot second Portia wondered if he had the same concentration and dedication when he made love.
Startling, her lashes blinking through a rapid-fire series of tattoos at the uncommon thought, Portia felt her cheeks scorch.
“What’s wrong?” Abra asked from next to her.
“What?” Portia shook her head and turned it to her friend. “What?”
Abra’s brows inched together under the small expanse of skin Portia could see from beneath the woman’s woolen hat. “You gasped. What happened?”
“N-nothing.” She shook her head, digging for something she could say. If Portia was a determined woman, Abra cornered the market. The woman was an amazing researcher in addition to being an award-winning horror writer, and would talk a subject to death if allowed to. Portia knew her friend would question and pester her, ad infinitum.
Predictably, the writer’s eyes narrowed as she stared up at her agent. “You don’t usually gasp at nothing.” Abra looked over her shoulder in one direction and then the other. “Did something happen? Did you see something? Or someone?”
Wanting to nip the interrogation before it spiraled out of control, Portia reached out and laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Abra. I’m fine. Nothing is wrong. I’m just…cold.”
The writer didn’t look convinced. Not for a moment.
Amy overheard what she said though, and commanded, “Come here, girl and let me give you something to warm you up.” She tugged on Portia’s arm and guided her to the booth.
“Our hot chocolate is a town favorite at this event. Made with real milk and shaved chocolate, not that powder junk they sell at the supermarket.”
Tony had just turned from handing the customers waiting for their burgers their order when his gaze connected with hers across the booth.
Portia’s breath caught when he lifted an eyebrow and bobbed his head, once, toward her.
She tried for a smile but her teeth were clattering so much she worried it looked more like a grimace than a greeting. And not all of that clattering could be attributed to the frigid air. Most of it, if she was being honest, was because of the man standing in the center of the booth.
“Here, Portia.” Amy handed her a Styrofoam cup of steaming dark liquid. “This’ll get you warm on the inside for sure.”
She had no real memory of taking the cup because her attention was zeroed in on Anton – Tony -and watching him prepare another order. No wasted movements, every flip of his hands precise and intended for the sole purpose of preparing the food.
Why the heck was that so…so… arousing?
Good grief! I’m getting hot and bothered from watching a man flip cheese onto a slab of meat. What. The. Heck??
And don’t forget all the other DORRIT’S DINER DICKENS HOLIDAY ROMANCE STORIES….
Peggy Jaeger, Author 