Snuggled against each other, we ate ice cream and listened to Chef Klara talk about how invigorating it was to plant the first herbs of spring.
“To me, springtime represents the celebration of fresh colors and flavors. After a long winter, we finally get to crush some of the season’s first herbs—chives and oregano—between our fingertips. How I used to love to pick these for my grandmother and then watch her sprinkle them over a lamb roast.” Klara, a curvy, middle-aged brunette with sky blue eyes, smiled at the camera. “Tonight, I’m going to walk you through one of my family’s favorite dishes: grilled tuna and spring herb salad with marinated tomatoes. And for dessert? Ripe, juicy apricots tossed with brown sugar and honey.” She grabbed a pot holder, opened an oven, and pulled out the middle rack, revealing a perfectly browned apricot tart. Klara described the heavenly smell in her kitchen and then added a conspiratorial whisper. “You don’t have to be Charlene Jacques to create wonderful pies and tarts. Let me show you some of her secrets.”
“Who’s Charlene Jacques?” Sean asked.
“She’s a famous pastry chef. Her show comes on before Klara’s.” I took another sip of the sweet dessert wine. “I can’t believe they’ll both be in Inspiration Valley in a few days. Our Taste of the Town is going to be amazing!”
Setting his empty ice cream bowl aside, Sean began to stroke my hair, starting at the crown of my head and pulling gently until he reached the ends. My entire body relaxed against him and I sighed in contentment.
“And how is Novel Idea involved in this festival of gluttony?” he teased.
I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. “We’ve arranged for some of the country’s top chefs to cook in Inspiration Valley restaurants, sign their cookbooks at the Constant Reader, and conduct classes at the new Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts. You should sign up for the ‘A Chef in Your Home’ class. It’s all about the fundamentals of shopping, preparing, and plating simple but delicious dishes.”
“If someone could teach me to scramble an egg, that would be a start,” Sean said, his hands traveling down my neck and across my shoulders, massaging out the kinks. I felt like a pat of melting butter.
On television, Klara illustrated the art of rolling out a pine nut tart crust. I was too focused on Sean’s touch to pay much attention, but I did hear her mention how she had seen Leslie Sterling, another celebrity chef, scorch a cream of asparagus soup once.
“This Klara woman must have a grocery list of enemies.” Sean stopped rubbing my shoulders for a moment. “It’s very subtle, but she belittles her competition while boasting about her own skills.”
I grabbed the remote control and turned the television off. Turning to face Sean, I slipped my hands under his shirt and pressed my body against his. “I think I’d rather focus on your skills, Officer Griffiths. After all, we’re supposed to be celebrating.”
Sean responded immediately by kissing me until I felt breathless. Then he stood up and lifted me off the sofa in a swift, powerful movement. “Speaking of skill sets,” he whispered, “I’m pretty good at starting fires.”
And with that, he pulled me toward the bedroom and shut the door.
THE NEXT MORNING, my short ride to work was magical. A flurry of white petals from the pear trees lining Walden Woods Circle had swirled around my yellow scooter and everywhere I looked, daffodils and tulips were bursting through the soil of my neighbors’ tidy gardens. Hyacinths and forsythia perfumed the air and the pink dogwoods at the entrance to my development looked like tufts of cotton candy.
I was humming as I stepped into Espresso Yourself, my favorite coffee shop.
“Girl, I do believe you’re floating on a rainbow this morning!” Makayla, the coffee shop’s gorgeous barista and my best friend, called out.
“I am, but I also need a serious jolt of caffeine. Sean and I celebrated our first nine months together last night and I stayed up way too late.” Hearing how silly this statement sounded, I rolled my eyes. “Listen to me! I’m talking like I’m in junior high school. My son’s a freshman in college and I’m going on about my nine-month anniversary.”
Makayla’s mouth curved into a wide smile. “I think it’s right sweet. Why shouldn’t a woman in her mid forties have a boyfriend? Or two? Or three?” Her musical laughter was drowned out by the gurgle of the espresso machine.