A Recipe for Love
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Evelyn Miller
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75.1K
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29
Chapter 1
DAHLIA
I never thought I’d be obsessed with the arms of a stranger. But, oh my god, these arms have me in a chokehold.
There’s some chef downtown who posts videos of himself cooking. The videos only show whatever he’s making and his arms, chef jacket pushed up to his elbows. They’re mouthwatering.
Perfectly tanned, muscles and tendons shifting with every flick of the knife, every time he places something on plates that look beautiful. Overpriced, but beautiful.
“Those arms could fix my entire life, to be honest,” my older sister, Audrey, sighs as we watch the latest Dolce Vita reel.
Dolce Vita is an Italian restaurant that’s only been open for a year. It looks delicious but is extremely expensive, which is why we’ve never been.
“Same,” I agree, our heads knocking together as we both try to move closer to my phone screen.
“I bet those fingers could do wonders.” She says it so casually that my head snaps up to her, then to her husband, Calvin, who is sitting at the meant-to-be dining room table, currently playing with his Lego, seemingly unbothered by her comments. Either that, or he didn’t hear her.
“What the hell, Audrey?” I hiss at her. She simply shrugs and rubs her growing belly. “It’s the pregnancy hormones.” She blames my poor, innocent unborn nephew.
“She’s been saying the most outrageous things lately,” Calvin pipes up, glancing up from the colorful blocks in his hands. “I’ve never heard her talk like this before,” he adds before going back to his building.
“Okay, that’s it. We’re going to Dolce Vita right now.” Audrey stands up slowly, then holds her hand out to me. “Come on, slowpoke. We’re going now!” she demands, shaking her hand in my face. “The baby is demanding that pasta right now, and if I don’t get it, I’m going to cry and yell and stomp around until I get it.”
Guilt overcomes me. I would love nothing more than to eat some overpriced pasta with my sister, but there is no way I can afford it.
“I wish I could.” I sigh, thinking about how tight things have become over the last month. I own a small bakery-café that was doing pretty well, but now my income has been cut basically in half.
“Things are really tight at the moment, you know, with Starbucks opening so close by,” I explain sadly.
I don’t expect sympathy from my sister, but I don’t expect her to roll her eyes at my misfortune.
“It’s my treat.” She flicks her hand as if it’s no big deal.
I hesitate, and she sighs when I don’t move.
“I will cry and scream at you at the same time. I needed this pasta five minutes ago. I said it’s my treat. Now get your ass up, Dahlia Noakes,” she orders, in her don’t mess with me voice.
Feeling like I’m in trouble, I jump up, ready to do whatever she tells me to do right now.
“Good luck!” Calvin chuckles as I pull on my shoes.
“Oh, you’re coming too,” Audrey tells him, making him put down his Legos immediately and jump to his feet.
“Of course, my love.” He smiles widely at her before giving me a scared look. “Looks like we’re in this together,” he whispers as he walks past me.
“I guess we can get through it, then,” I whisper back.
***
As we walk into Dolce Vita, my nostrils are instantly hit with the most delicious, mouthwatering smells that make my stomach grumble. A young girl who looks barely older than sixteen shows the three of us to a table.
I’ve barely sat down when Audrey is already ordering “the pasta from the video this morning for each of us.”
“What if I want something else?” I ask as the girl quickly scurries off.
“Too bad. I don’t have time to wait for you two to look at the menu and decide,” she states matter-of-factly.
The younger sister in me wants to push her buttons some more, but since she’s paying for my lunch…
“Just think, Mr. Hot Arms is making our pasta right now,” Audrey says as she starts fanning herself.
“You know I’m right here.” Calvin flexes his arms, making me snort. He is surprisingly muscular, but he’s nothing compared to the chef.
I look around the restaurant. It’s decorated simply but effectively. Most of the walls are a yellowish brick with white accents, and one large picture of an old couple embracing hangs perfectly in the middle of the wall.
I’m surprised how quickly we get seated. But then I realize the place is nowhere near as busy as I thought it would be. Maybe we just got lucky and arrived at the right time.
Thankfully, we don’t have to wait too long for our pasta to come out. I can’t stop the small moan that escapes my lips. Everything is seasoned perfectly, the sauce isn’t too rich or too bland, and the basil balances the tomato perfectly. Every single bite is perfection.
“Oh my god.” Audrey moans loudly, earning her a glare from the table closest to us. “This is seriously the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she adds.
“Again, I’m right here.” Calvin smirks, and I fake gag, making them both laugh. I love them both, but they’re fucking gross.
“Don’t be gross,” I tell them both before going back to my delicious pasta.
The three of us eat in silence, all too busy stuffing our faces to make conversation.
We really got here at the right time, because as we eat, the whole place fills up. Every single table is occupied. When we finish eating, Audrey looks extremely satisfied as she leans back in her chair and pats her tummy. “Baby boy is officially satisfied.”
“How was everything?” The young waitress suddenly pops back up and starts picking up our empty plates. I open my mouth to reply, but before I can get a word out, Audrey bursts into tears. I mean, she’s full-on sobbing.
“Oh, um,” the poor young girl splutters before she runs off.
“What’s wrong?” Calvin asks, rubbing her shoulder. Audrey opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see an extremely handsome man in a white chef’s coat walking up to our table, the scared waitress following closely behind. As he gets closer, I can see the frown set deep on his face.
And his arms. Holy shit! He’s Mr. Hot Arms!
I sit up straight and wipe my mouth quickly, wanting to make myself look presentable.
“Is everything all right?” His voice is deep, with a slight accent. My eyes are glued to his arms. They look even better in person, absolutely drool-worthy. In fact, if Audrey weren’t crying right now, I’m sure she would literally be drooling.
“It was perfect,” Audrey sniffles, wiping her eyes.
Mr. Hot Arms’s shoulders visibly relax, but I notice his frown deepens. “You called me over here because my food is good?” he snaps, making me frown. “I know my food is good. You’re being dramatic.”
“Wow,” I draw out, making his big, beautiful brown eyes snap to me. “Maybe instead of insulting a pregnant customer you should say thank you. I can’t believe this restaurant is still in business with that customer service.”
“And what do you know about the art of making delicious, beautiful food for someone?” he bites back, looking me up and down with a judgmental stare.
“I actually own my own bakery.” This man is such an asshole!
“She makes the best cannoli,” Audrey pipes up. “Oh, and her baklava is to die for,” she adds.
“Oh man, her baklava is just—” He makes a chef’s kiss with his fingers.
The chef’s face softens and his eyebrows raise, like he’s surprised.
“It’s on Sixth Street,” Audrey tells him with a little smile.
As much as I want to tell her to shut up, I really don’t want her to start crying again.
“It’s just a shame that Starbucks opened so close, and now business has slowed so much,” Calvin sighs sadly, making my eyes go wide.
Did he seriously just say that right now? I whack his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Shut up,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him.
“You’ll have to stop by sometime, give her some pointers so she doesn’t go out of business,” Audrey suggests.
What the fuck is happening right now?
“I don’t need his or anyone’s help,” I decline, even though I’m barely able to keep the bakery open. I’m determined to be successful on my own. I have something to prove.
I flick my eyes back at the chef, whose eyes are locked onto me. I squirm in my seat under his gaze.
“The restaurant business is really hard. It’s not for everyone,” he says.
I stand up and practically shout, “For someone who has such hot arms, it’s a shame they’re connected to such a dick,” I snap before pressing my lips together. Why the fuck did I just mention his arms?
He glances at his arms, then back at me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply turns on his heel and walks off, leaving the young and now very confused waitress behind.
“Can I get anyone more bread?” she asks meekly.
