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Ouch. The subtle jab at her Motown performance made her wince, but she kept a straight face and sifted a fine dusting of powdered sugar over the warm scones like softly falling snow.
“You know what they say. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” She paused for just a beat before smiling to add, “Honey.”
* * *
All it had taken wasone look from Carly’s chocolate-brown eyes and a hot little kick of her lips as she spoke, and Jackson had all but forgotten about the food.
All things considered, that was a pretty big deal.
“I suppose you think that one should count double.” His attempt at a frown was a poor disguise for the amusement lurking beneath it, a fact he was sure Carly could sense.
“Of course.” She slid the plate with the scones across the island. “Here, you don’t even have to sing for them.”
Jackson paused, even though his mouth watered at the sight of the two thick triangles of flaky goodness in front of him. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
Carly shook her head, propping her elbows on the butcher block as she leaned across from him at the corner of the island. “Nah. I usually eat a little later in the morning, closer to when I leave for the restaurant.”
“Wait, I thought the restaurant was only open for dinner during the week. When do you go in?”
“Well, now that we’re pretty established, most days I start around eleven, but it depends. Some days I meet with the restaurant manager, Gavin, which is impossible to do while we’re open because he and I are both slammed during a service. Other days, I like to supervise food deliveries to make sure everything’s fresh and we have what we need.” She shrugged, as if the laundry list of daily tasks was as easy as a stroll down Main Street on a cool Sunday morning. “Oh, and I have to hook up with my sous chef to talk shop before the kitchen opens, review specials, plan food orders, that kind of stuff. Then there’s the tasting menu to consider…”
“Whoa. I had no idea it was so involved,” Jackson replied, struck not just by what Carly was saying, but how her face looked when she said it. She looked so totally relaxed and in her element that he didn’t want her to stop talking, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. “What’s a tasting menu for?”
Her expression softened even further, pretty eyes animated with a glowing excitement that hit Jackson like a boulder on a downhill slide.
“Every night before a shift starts, my sous chef Adrian and I make a couple of regular menu dishes and at least one of the specials family-style, and the staff all sits down together to eat. That way everyone can experience what they’re bringing to the patrons firsthand, whether they cook it or serve it. It helps everybody get to know the food, if that makes sense,” Carly said, dropping her chin into one palm. “Then everyone has an idea of how the flavors go together, why the colors and textures of each dish are important, and how it all makes the food more than just a meal.”
Jackson scratched his head. “I don’t get it. How can you make the food more than a meal?” He was all for good eats and everything, but this just didn’t make sense.
“By turning it into an experience.” Carly swept her hair off her shoulders and gestured down at his plate. “Here’s a perfect example. See how the powdered sugar is so fine on top of the streusel here? Two different textures, and that’s before you even get to the scone itself, which adds yet another layer.”
Her brown eyes sparkled like liquid amber. “The colors do the same thing. Break one in half, and look at the blueberries against the dough.”
Huh! Hell if she wasn’t right. The colorsdidmake it look mouth-wateringly good, and the crumbly piles of brown sugar-laced topping seemed to fade right into the fluffy cake of the scone. “Wow. That’s pretty cool,” he murmured, lifting the plate for a better look.
“Now keep it right where it is and breathe in.”
Her face was wistful as he inhaled. Jackson was no stranger to breakfast pastries, but he was utterly unprepared for the bold knockout punch of the scone’s aroma, a combination of lemony tang and heady butter that made his mouth water and his tongue demand not just a taste, but a bite that would fill him entirely.
“All that and you haven’t even taken a bite.” Carly smiled, as if she’d just shared a secret with him. “So, even though those things are subtle, they build anticipation. Add to it things like smell and presentation, and you have yourself an experience.”
Jackson blinked. “And I thought I was hungry five minutes ago.” His stomach sounded off like a car with a busted muffler, which made both of them laugh.
“By all means, complete the experience. Eat,” she encouraged, burying a smile in her coffee cup. She didn’t have to tell him twice.
The first bite sent so many flavors and textures through Jackson’s gray matter that he couldn’t pick one and stick to it. Tender, flaky dough melted against his tongue, leaving behind the signature salty-sweetness of both the butter and the sugar, and the grainy crunch of the streusel balanced out the soft, jammy quality of the blueberries in every bite.
“Mmmf.” Jackson tried to slow down, he really did, but the flavors were so intense and incredible that both scones were gone way too soon. “Man, those are insane.” The lingering taste of brown sugar played on his tongue as he brushed the crumbs from his hands, following the deep, caramelized sweetness with a sip of savory breakfast blend.
Carly’s laugh was humble and soft, yet it drove right into him all the same. “Thanks.”
The conversation had smoothed into silence while he ate, but Carly didn’t seem to be pushing for him to go, so Jackson took another wild stab at easing more laughter out of her. “So, are you fluent in Italian? Or do you only know the curse words?”
Her head sprang up, bouncing a few dark locks off her shoulders. Although he’d swear her olive skin flushed just slightly, she pinned him with a bold stare that canceled it out. “Well, my brothers all delighted in teaching me the curse words first, but yes. I am actually fluent in the rest of the language too.”
Jackson’s fascination went from a flicker to a steady stream, and something odd snapped to life deep in his gut. “Okay. Impress me.”
“You want me to curse at you in Italian?”
