Coming this weekend. "Baby, it's Cold" is part of the
Comfort and Joy anthology. Yes, you will be able to purchase it on its own, but this is a really heartwarming and delightful anthology with stories by L.B. Gregg, Harper Fox and Joanna Chambers (three of my very favorite authors), so if were you, I'd buy the whole thing.
Before you ask, no, it's not available for preorder. The book launches on Sunday (Santa willing and the crick don't rise).
I do have a little taste for you. ;-)
Talk about Kitchen Nightmares! TV Chef Rocky and Foodie Blogger Jesse have been pals forever, so it should have been the most natural thing in the world to kick their relationship up a notch. Instead, it turned out to be a disaster. But Christmas is the season of love, and someone’s cooking up a sweet surprise…
I was putting the
bottle of champagne in the freezer when Rocky said from behind me, “What are
you planning on cooking?”
I couldn’t quite
hide my jump, but I managed to say calmly, “It’s a surprise.”
“Well, always with
you. But what are you hoping to cook?”
“Steamed mussels
in white wine and garlic.”
His green eyes lit
up. They almost glowed.
“Someone knows
what you like,” I said.
“It’s practically
the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”
We grinned at each
other and for a second it was like old times. “You know,” I said, “you’d have
been welcome tonight. We were friends a lot longer than we were whatever we
were. Mama was saying yesterday it won’t feel the same without you there on
Christmas Eve.”
“Let alone without
you there.” Rocky’s gaze was curious.
“That couldn’t be
helped,” I said.
“Because of this
mysterious romantic dinner Poppy was paid a fortune to cook.”
“Yep.”
Rocky snorted. He had
changed his blue flannel shirt for one of red and white plaid, and he had
shaved. He smelled of soap and aftershave. But then he believed he had company
coming.
“Believe what you
want to.” I turned away and began hunting for the bowls and pans and spoons I’d
need. Rocky watched for a few seconds and I tried not to get self-conscious. I’d
known him half my life, so it really didn’t make sense that he could make me
nervous just by staring at me. But he could. In fact, that had been part of the
problem between us. All those years of easy companionship had vanished like sugar
in water once we’d tried to take our friendship to the next level. It had been
a big disappointment to both of us, I think. We should have been great
together. But somehow it had been worse than starting from scratch.
“So how’ve you
been?” Rocky asked finally, going to the wine rack.
I shrugged. “Good.
Busy.”
“I saw you won Saveur’s
Readers’ Choice for best written blog. Congratulations.”
I glanced at him. “Thanks.”
Rocky studied the
wine labels, selected a bottle, brought it to the counter. I moved away,
filling a pan with water and turning up the stove burner.
Rocky poured a
glass of white wine and leaned back against the counter studying me.
“We’re going to
have sides? I’m impressed.”
“You’re getting it
all. Starter to sweet. Okay? Poppy picked the menu.”
“So then he’s
delirious?” Rocky’s expression grew earnest and concerned. “I had no idea he
was so ill.”
I laughed, set a glass
bowl over the pan of gently simmering water, and dropped in broken pieces of
semi-sweet chocolate. I’d done some of the prep work at home so I wouldn’t run
out of time or get distracted and forget some vital step. I’d figured Rocky
would probably hover. Expecting a chef not to hover when you’re preparing a
meal is like asking a boxer not to take a swing. I added the diced butter, a
pinch of salt, and left the mixture to melt while I set about pressing sponge
fingers into the walls and bottom of a deep earthenware dish. The dish—like
practically every other piece of crockery in the place—was decorated with pine
cones.
“Tiramisù?” Rocky
asked.
I nodded. Did some
more pressing. The sponge didn’t stick very well. I gave up and moved to the
stove, gave the chocolate and butter a stir, checked on my coffee. I removed
the pot, added sugar, swirled the mixture in the carafe. Some of the liquid
spilled out the spout. Rocky opened his mouth, then closed it.
I remembered I had
to add the Vin Santo and I hastily
set the coffee aside to scramble for the wine—trying all the while to look like
nearly forgetting the wine was all part of my master strategy.
I found the wine. Rocky
watched without a word as I dived past him to grab the corkscrew.
I got the wine
open, and splashed some of it into the melted chocolate. Rocky cleared his
throat. I stirred the chocolate and wine, glanced up at him.
“I got it.” I grabbed
the coffee pot and poured the hot, sweet coffee over the sponge which was once
again beginning to peel from the walls of the dish. I pressed the soggy sponge
back into place, managing not to yelp at just how fucking hot the coffee was.
Rocky began, “Are
you sure you—”
“Nope. I got it.”
I snatched up a
potholder and removed the glass bowl from the pan, drizzling chocolate all over
the coffee-soaked sponge. Cautiously, I smoothed the chocolate out to the
edges, trying not to tear the sponge to pieces. When I’d managed to cover the
sponge with an even layer of chocolate, I set the dish aside to cool and wiped
my forehead.
Finally the sponge
was sticking to the walls of the dish, so that was something. I found the
carton of eggs and snagged two small bowls. I cracked a couple of eggs.
Rocky made an
amused sound. I looked up. “That you
do with flair, I gotta say. Always.”
“Ha.” Me and
Audrey Hepburn. But cracking an egg with one hand was one of my two party
tricks. The other was flipping pancakes. Well, there was a third, but it had
nothing to do with cooking.
I separated the eggs,
whites in one bowl and yolks in another. I had Rocky’s full attention now.
Well, I’d had his full attention from the start, but now I had his considering
appraisal.
“Egg whites in tiramisù?”
he asked.
“I know it’s not
traditional, but this is the way my mama makes it.”
“I thought that might be her secret
ingredient.”
“Unfortunately now
I can’t let you leave this cabin alive.”
“With you cooking,
my chances were only fifty-fifty anyway.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Enough with the jokes about my cooking.” But it felt natural, comfortable,
joking back and forth like we used to.
Rocky grinned back
and swallowed a mouthful of wine.
