Take Me Home Tonight (16 page)

“I'll think on it and get back to you.” Terrence turned back around and finished unloading his crate.

She watched him, wondering if he was pissed at her for making the suggestion without checking with him first. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“You got a big heart, Mimi. Nothing wrong with that.”

She was one hundred percent positive Calix would disagree.

*   *   *

“Today's
lesson: Fun with Ferns.” Calix held up a fiddlehead.

“I'm not eating it.”

Her dead-serious tone made him smile. “It's a plant, sweet pants. Just like a Brussels sprout or asparagus.”

“It has
hair
. I don't eat anything with hair.” She looked into the colander like it was teeming with beetles.

“It screams, too.”

“What?”

“Fiddleheads are bitter, so you gotta blanch 'em. And the minute they hit the boiling water . . .” He paused, just to draw it out. “They scream.”

The way she held his gaze, it was like she was trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. “I hope you're enjoying yourself.” She stood so close to him that her hair brushed over his arm. Soft, silky, and scented with something extremely feminine. The rise and fall of her breasts in her tight T-shirt sent him back to the other night in the kitchen when he'd had her up on the counter, the weight of her breast in his hand.

The beaded nipple against his palm, her shaky inhalation—fuck, electricity had arced through him at the touch.

“I am.” Her heels digging into his back, her fingers pulling his hair? So fucking hot.

Shit
. What was the lesson again? “We're talking about techniques, and since my dad brought us the fiddleheads, we're going to blanch them. It kills the enzymes that make them taste bitter. It also seals in the vitamins if you do it right.”

“And what's right?”

“With fiddleheads, about four minutes.” He gave her the colander and watched as she dumped them into the pot of boiling water.

“Back at it, huh?” His mom came into the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator. “Ah, your dad's precious fiddleheads.”

“Hey, Jo.” Mimi smiled. “Terrence said they're only around for a couple of weeks.”

His mom grabbed a yogurt. “When's the next show?”

“Thursday.”

“You think they're gonna give you fiddleheads?”

“Not about the fiddleheads, Ma. It's about blanching and what to do with—”

“Decorative plants.”

His mom gave Mimi an odd, yet interested, look. “Not a vegetable fan, huh?”

“Oh, God, no.”

And then his mom turned her focus on him. “She know the basics?”

Mimi cut in. “You know, to be honest, I really don't. I stick to recipes, and since I won't get to use any during the competition, Calix is teaching me to rely more on my senses and instincts. In my first lesson, he showed me some pretty cool things to add to a basic roux and broth. Last time we worked on cutting, dicing, zesting . . . stuff like that, and today he's teaching me different cooking techniques.”

“Sounds good. Just think, given the tight time frame, you ought to learn the basics. Flour, eggs, sugar. So no matter what you're given, you'll have a sense of how things work.”

“That's exactly what he said we should do.” Mimi gave him an appreciative look, and it shouldn't have made him so damn happy.

So he focused on getting his mom involved. “What do you think we should work on?”

His mom went to the pantry and pulled out tubs of flour and sugar. Then, she grabbed butter and eggs from the fridge. She dropped them all on the island. “Five basics in the kitchen. Flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and leavening. Teach her what they do, so she can always put something together.”

“Hang on.” With a quick glance to the fiddleheads, Calix shut off the flame. “Let's get them in the ice water.”

His mom held up an egg. “See this? This single ingredient will bind, leaven, emulsify, thicken, clarify, and coat. It'll help you set the structure in your baked goods. It'll moisten and add richness. Whip it, and it'll become a leavening agent. Egg whites trap air in the bubbles.” She nodded toward her son. “He'll tell you all about it.”

After pouring the hot water into the colander, Calix dumped the fiddleheads into the ice bath. By the time he looked up, his mom had gone. “Damn.”

“That's okay,” Mimi said. “She's definitely interested, so that's good.”

“Yeah.”

“Small steps.”

Calix pulled out a skillet, turned on the burner. “Let's get some butter in there.”

Mimi hesitated. “I need to tell you something.”

He stilled, waited. She looked anxious, and that got his attention.

“The guys were listening to the tracks to see if they could salvage anything from the last four months.”

“Okay.” He definitely didn't like her guilty expression, but where could she go with this?

“Your dad told them to cut back on auto-tune. He said Dak was trying to give Blue Fire
his
signature sound. And the guys agreed.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he faced her. “Yeah. So?”

“So, I suggested your dad be the producer.”

He closed his eyes. His dad would love to get in the studio, work with a band. Especially Blue Fire, a band that was all about the music. “Mimi . . .” He blew out a breath. “Why would you do that?”

“I don't know. It just seemed obvious.” And then her tone softened. “Your dad said I had a big heart.”

“What you've got is a big mouth.” But he didn't pack any heat behind his comment because he knew her intentions were good. And the suggestion made sense.

His gaze dropped to the mouth in question. That sexy, expressive mouth with those raspberry lips that he'd already tasted. Desire stirred in him, and he forced himself to look away.

With butter melting and popping in the pan, Mimi dumped the fiddleheads in. “I'm not eating this. No matter how angry you are at me. No matter how nice Terrence is to me, I'm not eating a spore.”

He laughed. “You're crazy.”

She kept her focus on the fiddleheads. “I'm sorry for opening my mouth again.”

“Why don't you shut it right now?”

Her head snapped up. “That's not a very nice thing to say.”

“Remember my fantasy?”

“My mouth?” she whispered.

“Yeah. So, unless you want to stir shit up, you should focus on the damn ferns.”

“You're thinking about my mouth, not how I suggested your dad produce Blue Fire's album?”

“That's right, sweet pants.”

As she sprinkled salt and pepper over the ferns, he came up behind her. His chest leaning into her back, he squeezed the juice from half a lemon into the mixture. “Still waiting to hear yours.”

“My fantasy?” She tipped her head up to look at him. “Yeah, that's not going to happen.”

“You know what else you need?” His mom barreled into the kitchen, heading straight for the pantry. “Baking soda.” She set the tub on the counter. “I think you should make a quick bread.” Picking a fiddlehead out of the pan, she popped it in her mouth. “Perfect. Take it off the flame now or it'll turn mushy.”

Mimi turned off the stove and dumped the fiddleheads onto a plate.

“Try one.” His mom grabbed a clean fork out of the dishwasher and stabbed one.

“I'd rather blanch my eyeballs.”

His mom looked between the plate and Mimi. Then between Mimi and Calix. “She serious?”

“Oh, she's very serious,” Mimi said.

“You're scared of a fiddlehead?”

“You see how tightly it's coiled?”

“Yeah.” His mom's tone held a challenge.

“How many bugs do you think are lodged in there?”

His mom stared at Mimi. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I am in no way fucking with you. I'm not eating that. If an alien spacecraft slammed into Earth destroying the ecosystems, leaving us with nothing but fiddleheads to eat, I'd go all-out cannibal. No remorse.”

For one strange moment, his mom seemed to take in all that Mimi had just said. And then she threw her head back and laughed. A deep, throaty laugh.

A sound he hadn't heard in three long, painful years.

“You're a riot.” She shook her head. “All right, screw the fiddleheads.” She picked up the baking soda and slammed it back down on the counter. “Focus on this. The point of making a quick bread is so you get the chemistry of what's happening here. Baking soda combined with an acid—and that could be cream of tartar or buttermilk, yogurt, or vinegar—creates bubbles from the carbon dioxide gas that the two produce.”

Calix smiled. His mom had loved homeschooling them.

“So, that's why the bread rises,” Mimi said.

“That's right. And since the baking soda reacts as soon as it hits the liquid, you're going to add it to the dry ingredients first. Okay, so let's talk about what goes into a quick bread.”

Calix leaned back against the counter, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and texted his dad.
Mom's giving Mimi a cooking lesson.

His dad responded right away.
Yeah?

Mimi told me what she said. You as producer.

Thinking on it.

You think Mom can handle it?

I'll talk to her tonight.

But do you think she can handle it?

Think she can handle anything.

He didn't know about that, but he did think his dad should take the gig with Blue Fire.

Because Calix would be around. He wasn't going anywhere.

*   *   *

In
their home studio, Calix and his brother jammed to Robert Johnson's
Crossroads
. The pads of his fingers hurt from not having played guitar in too damn long, but he hadn't had this much fun with Gus in years.

Watching him, Calix realized Mimi was right. Gus
belonged in the music industry. Nothing made him happier. And what better way to give him exposure and experience than a studio that was half an hour from home? There
wasn't
a better opportunity.

The door opened. For some reason, he'd expected to see his dad, ready to jam with them. Which would've been awesome—another thing that hadn't happened in years.

But it was Mimi. Her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear her. When he lowered the volume, he heard his brother singing in a strained and raspy voice. Fuck, man, it felt good to see Gus lost in the music.

He gave Mimi a chin nod. “What's up?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you. I—”

“Oh, hey, Meems.” Gus swiped the hair out of his eyes.

“You don't have any dark rum, so I wonder if I could borrow your truck to go to the store?”

“You drive?” Gus's tone was teasing.

“I drive a little. I just don't have a car because I live in the city.”

“You've been living on the farm for a year.” Calix had always wondered about that.

“Yeah, but it's temporary. Just until I get a job. So, can I borrow your truck?”

“What do you need rum for? Isn't your lesson over?” He'd told his mom he had shit to do, so she could take over. But the lesson should've ended a while ago.

With a proud smile, she said, “I'm showing your mom how to make my nonna's
tiramisu
. Without a recipe, I might add.”

“Don't you have to cook dinner for the band?”

“What's your problem?” Gus smacked him on the arm.

“What? She's got a job.” He knew how seriously Mimi took her cooking gig.

“She's working with
Mom
.”

“Yeah, I know that.” But Mimi mattered, too. Whatever. He dug into his pocket for his keys. “Here.”

“She doesn't drive.” Gus got up.

“No, I
do
drive.” She sounded tentative.

“When was the last time you got behind the wheel?” But Gus just laughed. “It's cool. I'll go. You need anything else?”

“No, just rum. You don't mind?”

“Nah. I got plans anyhow, so I'll just pick up the rum and drop it back here real quick.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mimi gave him a warm smile.

Calix set his Les Paul on the stand. “What plans?”

His brother gave him a defiant look. “With Laney.”

“Laney? Thought you couldn't wait to get away from her.”

“Yeah, well. I've been talking to her. I like her.”

“You can't be serious. She's been with everyone.”

“Fuck you.” His features flushed, and he set his guitar in the stand.

Calix grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “She's trouble. You know that.”

“She's fun.” Muscles strained in his neck, Gus gave him a challenging look. “And she lets me do anything to her.” He shot a sheepish look to Mimi. “Sorry, Mimi.”

“No, don't be. I'll leave you two.”

“Don't bother.” Gus stalked toward the door. “I'm out of here.”

“Gus, come on. You can have any girl you want.”

“Yeah? That's great. Because I want
her
. And another thing you should know. She's got a friend in a band, and they need my help. I'm going to do some mixing for them.”

“As soon as Blue Fire finds another producer, you'll get your job back.”

“Yeah, okay, cool, but until that happens, I'm gonna help this band out.” Gus reached the door.

“Gus.” Frustration had him snapping. “Hang on.”

“For what?”

In that moment, he could see his brother's resolve to break out on his own. Long overdue, but still. Worrisome. Because, frankly, it was one thing to work with Blue Fire, another entirely to work with the kinds of guys Laney would hang out with.