Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Slater wrinkles her nose as she acknowledges the truth of my words and changes the subject. “What do you know about Escoffier? They sent me an invite to their kitchen to learn how to make beef bourguignon and peach Melba. I’ve never had peach Melba before, and no one can make beef bourguignon better than you.”
Slater’s given up reviewing restaurants and instead goes to various eateries and has them teach her—and her over a million subscribers—how to cook the restaurant's signature dish. She gets invites from places all over the world. After she has the baby, we’ll start traveling to other countries. Slater’s pretty stoked about it, and I’m thrilled for her.
I grin at her compliment. “Peach Melba is poached peaches with a raspberry sauce served with vanilla ice cream.”
“Yum. That sounds amazing.”
“I’ll make some right now.” I’ve heard that tone in her voice before. It’s the one she gets when a craving strikes her. We’re in the twentieth week of her pregnancy, so it’s one I’ve heard frequently before. I reach for the fruit bowl and grab three fresh peaches. We’re lucky it’s peach season.
“Really?”
“Chef Escoffier made this dish for the opera singer Nellie Melba. Originally it was only poached peaches and ice cream, which he served on the back of a carved ice swan.” I heat a saucepan with two parts water to two parts sugar with a pod of vanilla, a stick of cinnamon, and when it’s boiling, a squeeze of lemon juice. “He later added raspberry. Some say it was to add tartness. Others for color.” In another pan, I place frozen raspberries, water, sugar, and lemon juice, cooking it down until it forms a nice syrup. “Famously, Ferran Adrìa, one of the leaders of gastronomical cooking, made this dish at his last service before he retired from the restaurant business.” I poach the peaches in the syrup until they are tender but still firm and then transfer them to an ice bath. “He had silicon molds made that looked like a peach stone and then, using the mold, recreated three stones from almonds, peaches, and almond milk, which he freeze-dried and then served with a peach crust and custard.”
After the peaches are peeled, cut, and placed on top of the vanilla ice cream, I carry the dessert over to Slater with a cup of the ginger tea. “Not as pretty or innovative as Adrìa, but it will do in a pinch.”
Slater’s eyes roll back as she takes the first bite. “If I hadn’t agreed to marry you before, this would have convinced me.”
“Now you tell me.” I steal a kiss between bites. “Mmm, you taste good.”
“It’s the raspberry sauce.”
“No, it’s you.” I take the spoon from her fingers and dip it into the ice cream until the metal is good and cold. Her eyes widen as she watches me unbutton her shirt and push the fabric to the side. “I’ll do a taste test.”
I place the frozen spoon on her bare tit. Her cry of surprise turns to a moan when my lips warm up her cold skin. “Now for the comparison.” I scoop out a small portion of ice cream and raspberry sauce and spread it all over her lush breast. “Pretty good,” I admit after licking it all off.
“You’re a demon,” she pants. Her fingers pull at my T-shirt. “And I’m going to be so mad if you don’t get your clothes off immediately.”
“I’m not done with my experiment yet. I’ve still got other areas to explore.” I slide the spoon under her waistband and down between her legs until the cold heats up against her hot pussy. Her hands move from my shirt to my head. I laugh against the rise of her belly. “Thought we were taking my clothes off.”
“New plan.” She widens her legs. “I thought you always liked dessert before bed.”
“Oh, baby, you know me so well.” Like I said before, there’s no creation on earth that I could concoct that would be better than Slater’s honey. If she hadn’t come on to me first, I would have kidnapped her and held her captive in my lair, feeding her peach Melba and beef bourguignon until she agreed to be my bride. But fate worked in my favor.
Her dirty martini led to a proposition, which led to a baby. We made a heart connection, and it can’t ever be broken because love is what binds us together. The love that’s sweet and sticky, savory and salty, all the good flavors and seasonings in the world mixed together to create an explosive, lasting concoction that only Slater and I will have ever tasted. Love’s our ultimate dish, the only thing we will ever need on that plate called life.
Epilogue
SLATER
“Those things are pumped?” Frankie pokes my boob, making me laugh.
“It’s the dress.” I tug at the top, trying to cover up some of my girls that are trying to escape. “And I have a real bra on.” I swear for the past five years I’ve been pregnant. Not that I’m mad about it. I’m not complaining that my husband can’t keep his hands off me.