Month of Sundays (24 page)

Griffin tried to remain outwardly calm. Inside, she was on the verge of a full-scale panic attack. She mentally replayed her actions, searching in vain for a single false step.
What did I do wrong?

Elinor’s serious mien dissolved into a smile. “Left me wanting more, that is.”

“From the perfectly brewed tea to the light yet substantial entrees and that dynamite thousand-layer cake for dessert, it was the perfect progression of flavors,” Stewart said. “Great job.”

“Thank you, chef.”

Stewart’s comments to James weren’t nearly as complimentary. “Pot stickers are on the menu for most Chinese restaurants, but they aren’t considered traditional Cantonese dim sum. Part of the criteria for today was authenticity. If you were intent on serving a dish considered by traditionalists to be inauthentic, you needed to knock it out of the park. You didn’t.”

“I was underwhelmed,” Elinor said. “Your dishes weren’t bad. For me, they were only okay. In this competition, okay isn’t good enough.”

“I stand behind my dish one hundred percent. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you—”

“Actually, the diners agreed with us.” Elinor read some of the comment cards the diners had been asked to complete. “This one says, ‘I’ve had better airplane food.’ And this one: ‘Each item in the basket tasted like something that came out of a can.’”

“Then they, like you, are absolutely clueless.” Out of the corner of her eye, Griffin could see James trembling with barely controlled fury.

Stewart defended Elinor. “James, Elinor and I are here to offer you constructive criticism.”

“Then tell me something constructive.”

“Try this: go back to culinary school. In a few years, your skills
might
catch up to your ego.”

Seemingly unruffled by the testy exchange, Elinor moved on. “Veronica, the way you use liquid nitrogen continues to amaze me. Making green tea ice cream was ingenious.”

Veronica swelled with pride.

“But it’s beginning to feel like a parlor trick you’ve performed before. And performed better. Did you taste the ice cream?”

“Yes,” Veronica said warily.

“What did you think?”

“The flavors were right where I wanted them to be.”

“I beg to differ,” Stewart said. “You used powdered matcha tea. Matcha has intense yet delicate flavors. You overwhelmed the delicacy by using too much vanilla to undercut the intensity. You didn’t make green tea ice cream. You made vanilla ice cream that was green in color. Simply put, your ice cream left us cold. The showcase of your meal was so off it was hard to concentrate on the good things that followed. And that’s a shame.”

“I don’t think we need any time to deliberate,” Elinor said. Stewart nodded in confirmation. “Griffin, you are the winner of this challenge. Veronica, you advance to the final round. James, I’m sorry, but you are not the cream of the crop.”

The information was almost too much for Griffin to process at once. She had done it. She had made it to the end. And she, not Veronica, had the momentum heading into the finals.

As James stormed off the set, Veronica celebrated as if the final outcome had already been decided.

“Did you want to face me in the finals because you thought I’d be harder to beat or easier?” Griffin asked.

“Like I told you the first night, I want a woman to win this thing. So do you.”

“Looks like we got our wish.”

Stewart came over to offer his congratulations. “Ladies, we’ll see you in August.”

The live finale was scheduled to take place on August 12, which meant the first episode would air in less than two weeks. Griffin was amazed by the quick turnaround but thankful, too. She was tired of the subterfuge. The sooner she could let everyone in on her secret, the better.

Veronica grinned. “After we knock out this last round of interviews and smile pretty for the camera, why don’t I buy you a beer to celebrate?”

She gave Griffin a look that was all too familiar. She trotted out the come-hither glance each time she wanted to channel the emotional energy of an argument into the physical exertion of mad, passionate, mindless sex. Instead of making Griffin’s pulse race as it once had, Veronica’s sultry look had no effect.

“Rain check on that drink. There’s someone I have to see.”

Rachel made a reservation for three at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on East 57th Street that served the best Vietnamese food in the city. She was meeting Jane and Colleen after work. Colleen or the baby—or both—was in the mood for pho, the beef noodle soup that had been a staple of Vietnamese cuisine for over a hundred years.

She took the train from the office to the restaurant. Even though she was a few minutes early, the greeter showed her to her table. Her cell phone rang shortly after she settled into her seat. She reached for the phone, expecting Jane or Colleen to be calling to say they were running late but were on their way. A number she hadn’t seen in ages was printed on the display. Griffin’s number.

She answered the phone wondering how she should feel. When Griffin had said they weren’t going to see each other for a while, she hadn’t expected complete radio silence. Rachel didn’t doubt Griffin was busy with work, but she didn’t know any chefs who worked twenty-four seven. She hadn’t seen or heard from Griffin in nearly three weeks. What where they supposed to do now, pick up where they left off, or start fresh?

“Where are you?” Griffin asked without preamble.

“I could ask you the same thing. Actually, what I should be asking is where you’ve been.”

“I told you I’d be out of touch for a while,” Griffin said defensively.

“I didn’t think ‘a while’ would feel so long. Why couldn’t you call or send me a text?”

“It’s…hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“Soon,” Griffin said with an air of finality. She sighed. “Look. I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve missed you and I want to see you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Then tell me where you are.”

“I’m meeting Jane and Colleen for dinner at Saigon. Would you like to join us or are you working tonight, too?”

“No, I’m as free as a bird. Order me some spring rolls, some mint chicken rice, and a bottle of Three Three Three. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She arrived ten minutes after Jane and Colleen. Rachel wanted to be mad at her for checking out for three weeks and sidestepping her questions about her whereabouts when she finally turned up again, but she was so glad to see her, her anger vanished the instant Griffin pulled her into her arms.

Jane dipped a grilled jumbo shrimp into a bowl of peanut sauce. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Work.” Griffin pulled out the extra chair Rachel had requested after they ended their call. “I’ve been working.”

“Nonstop without a break?” Jane asked. “I’d call the Department of Labor if I were you. I think you’ve got a case.”

Griffin breathed a sigh of relief when the waitress interrupted Jane’s line of questioning by bringing out bowls of crispy noodles and spicy mustard. If she had known Jane was going to play the protective best friend and grill her on why she hadn’t been around lately, she might have refused Rachel’s invitation to dinner in favor of a more private reunion. Then she could have defused any questions with a kiss or a well-timed caress. Not to mention they could have gotten an early start on making up for lost time.

While the waitress quizzed Colleen about the baby—a boy, according to the ultrasound—Griffin dipped her hand under the table and placed it on Rachel’s thigh. Rachel trembled at her touch.

Griffin leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then she placed her lips close to Rachel’s ear and whispered, “I’m not going to be able to make it through dinner. I want you now.”

“We haven’t been served our entrées. We can’t leave now.”

“We don’t have to leave. We can stay right here.” She gave Rachel’s leg a gentle squeeze.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Rachel’s ears reddened. Griffin longed to trace their curves with her tongue.

“Wouldn’t I?”

After the entrées arrived, Griffin lifted a forkful of mint chicken rice to her mouth. Under the table, she kneaded Rachel’s leg and lightly caressed her inner thigh. Biting back a moan, Rachel tried to squeeze her legs shut before Griffin could press her advantage, but Griffin was too quick for her. She slipped her hand between Rachel’s legs and cupped her in her palm. Rachel looked at her as if she didn’t know whether to kiss her or strangle her. Griffin tried not to smile.

“Jane and I have been talking about which one of us is going to be the good cop and who’s going to be the bad one,” Colleen said.

Jane raised her hand. “Bad cop.”

“Who was the disciplinarian in your family, Griffin, your mom or your dad?” Colleen asked.

“My mom. Dad talked a good game, but he’s such a big kid he was usually right there with us when we did something stupid, fun, life-threatening, or all of the above. Mom was the one who made sure we—and he—never did the stupid, fun, life-threatening thing again.”

Griffin’s fingers slid against Rachel’s jeans, applying the right amount of pressure in all the right places.

“Are you serious?” Rachel asked. Griffin could feel her fighting to keep her hips from following the sensuous rhythm her fingers were setting.

As far as Colleen and Jane were concerned, Rachel was referring to what Griffin said about her father, but Griffin knew better.

“Very,” she said, picking up the pace.

“What does your dad do?” Jane asked.

“He’s retired now, but he was a pediatrician for forty years. My brother Kieran was his associate for six years before he took over the practice four years ago.”

“And your mom?”

Griffin pinched Rachel’s clit through her jeans. Rachel couldn’t stop the whimper that rose from her throat. Colleen’s and Jane’s heads swiveled in her direction. “Her mother’s a photographer. And a very talented one at that.” Her voice shook just the slightest bit, but neither Jane nor Colleen seemed to notice.

Griffin picked up the conversational slack.

“She loves to say her family is her vocation and photography is her avocation. My brothers and I were her favorite subjects when we were growing up, whether we wanted to be or not. When she finally emptied the nest, she threw herself into her art full-bore. She prefers landscape shots, but her portraits are amazing, too.”

“Did having a brother who’s gay make it easier or more difficult for you to come out?” Colleen asked.

“I actually came out before Logan did so you’ll have to ask him that question. But my brothers didn’t give him grief about his announcement, if that’s what you’re wondering. They were as supportive of him as they were of me. They still are.”

Griffin’s hand flexed and released. Flexed and released. Rachel’s hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t eat. Her fork clattered against her plate as it slipped from her fingers.

“Would you like me to finish?” Even though Griffin was pointing to the rest of Rachel’s dumplings, she wasn’t asking her if she wanted her to clean her plate.

“Yes, please. I’m about to burst.”

“You’ve only had a couple of bites. Are you feeling okay, Rach?” Colleen asked, already exhibiting maternal concern.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Colleen placed a hand on Rachel’s forehead. “You’re awful warm.”

“I’m f—I’m fine,” Rachel insisted as her self-control began to slip.

Griffin’s own adrenaline was pumping so hard she could hear it roaring in her ears. She turned to face Rachel. She didn’t want to miss a second of what was about to happen.

Keeping her face calm and her breathing steady, Rachel rode the wave as it built, crested, and finally fell. In Griffin’s opinion, a woman was never more beautiful than when she was coming. Rachel reaffirmed her position. Her eyes were lit from within, the brown orbs transformed into twin pools of glowing amber.

“Damn, that was good.” Griffin tossed her napkin on Rachel’s empty plate and fixed her with a knowing smile. “Who wants seconds?”

Rachel unspooled a languid smile. “Don’t you ever get enough?”

“Not even close.” Griffin needed to taste her. To feel her legs wrapped around her waist. To ride her until she came. This time with much more fanfare. “I’m done with the appetizer. I’m ready for the main course. Aren’t you?”

Rachel raised a hand to get the waitress’s attention. “Check, please.”

*

In Rachel’s apartment, Griffin peeled off her T-shirt and dropped it on the living room floor. Then she unhooked her bra and slowly slid it down her arms. She stood next to the window and beckoned for Rachel to join her.

“What are you doing?” Rachel hurriedly closed the blinds.

“The first year I moved to New York, I had sex in a hospitality suite in Arthur Ashe Stadium in full view of the spectators during a night match at the U.S. Open. If the action on court hadn’t been so exciting, my date and I might have made the highlight shows instead of the players.”