A Little Bite of Magic (Little Magic) (6 page)

"Thanks for helping today, Dom. I know you're tired and this is your day off," Dom said mockingly.

Frankie laughed. "Sorry, dude. I am grateful. We've been so busy lately."

Dom simply nodded and went back to work, dancing the entire time.

* * * *

It was crowded in the dining room. Owen had his hands full, and Bethany had stopped seating and was running back and forth to and from the kitchen herself, getting bowls of cheesy French onion soup and crunchy cranberry-walnut side salads. Even Dom pitched in, plating and waiting tables after telling Frankie he was going to owe him a case of Stella Artois for his work. Frankie looked over at one point to thank Dom again for working as frenetically as he had himself. It was then that he noticed Dom was drizzling heated caramel cream onto the beignets as he plated them. Bethany came and grabbed the plate he’d just finished before whisking it out to the dining room.

Frankie wondered for a second when on earth Dom had had a chance to make a caramel cream sauce, and then he got a good long smell…and encountered rum and vanilla and what he knew was a whole lot of trouble.

“Dom?”

Dom licked the cream off his fingers before he washed them. “This stuff is amazing. What did you do to it?”

Frankie started to hyperventilate. “Where did you get that custard?”

“From the top shelf of the fridge, just like you said.”

“I said get the vanilla custard on the middle shelf.”

“No, you said the top. Anyway, who cares unless you had this put aside for some special recipe? It’s perfect.”

Perfectly disastrous. Oh God, oh God, oh God…

Frankie didn’t know what had made him keep the charmed dulce de leche. Maybe he wanted to relive that night. Maybe he wanted the possibility of it happening again. But if Dom had just filled a restaurant’s worth of desserts with it, Frankie was screwed.

Dom looked over at him. His face was all sweet and melty, just like the caramel sauce he had licked off his index finger.

“You know,” he said, tipping his head to the side. “You have really nice lips, Franks. I never noticed before.”

I’m screwed.

He was afraid to look, but he had to see what he’d done. Well, what Dom had done, but it was his own kiss-distracted brain that had caused it, that and the fact that he couldn’t stand to throw away the dessert he’d made for Addison.
Shit.

Frankie tiptoed to the doorway of his dining room. He was afraid to see what was happening out there. He stuck his head around the corner slowly…slowly, and…
oh, effing hell!

It was like Valentine’s Day on crack, San Francisco style. There were housewives with strollers holding hands over their tables, single diners staring dreamily off into space, a business man fiddling with his colleague’s tie and leaning closer for a tender kiss. Owen was offering a morsel of a filched beignet to Bethany, who was all of a sudden looking at him, not with her usual annoyance, but with big blue puppy-dog eyes. Total. Disaster.

And then Addison walked in.

* * * *

“What’s going on in here?” Addison glanced around the intoxicated room in horror.

“Oh, it’s, um, this thing I call a date lunch. I hold them every so often.” Frankie reached for Addison’s hand. “Come back to the kitchen.”

He pulled Addison into the kitchen, where he deposited him on the same stool from Friday night, and rushed back out to the dining area. Frankie's behavior was a little odd, but Addison was so happy to see him, he let it pass.

Addison saw a rack of pastries cooling over in the corner and a pot of caramel sauce bubbling away on the stove top. Addison couldn't help leaning over and smelling the caramel. It was like that amazing stuff from the other night. Addison glanced at the door and decided no one would ever know if he had a few. He piled three pastries on his plate and covered them with a generous ladle of that utterly sinful sauce. He was happily munching away when Frankie came back into the kitchen. Addison wasn’t sure what had happened to him in the past few days, but he did know he’d choose the caramel pastry deliciousness over plain vanilla ice cream (his previous dessert of choice) any day.

Frankie looked more relaxed when he returned to the kitchen with his friend Dom from the wine bar in tow. Frankie's lips were, if anything, even prettier than they’d been the other night. Addison wanted to kiss him again. Frankie’s somewhat relaxed look disappeared when he saw Addison eating the pastries. He blanched.

“I’ll pay for it, I promise,” Addison said. “I didn’t have breakfast, and I was really hungry.”

Frankie smiled then, a bit forced, but still a smile. “I’m not going to make you pay for them, silly.” Something flipped in Addison’s stomach at the tease. “We cleared out the date-lunch crowd and closed early.”

“Why?” Addison took another bite of the pastry. He really wasn’t that hungry, but he couldn’t stop eating. Frankie saddled up closer.

“Maybe I just wanted to spend some more time with you.”

Addison was pretty sure it was an evasion, but Frankie’s proximity and his scent mixed with that sexy spicy caramel rum smell were driving Addison wild. He leaned over and kissed Frankie, lips parted. Frankie moaned.

Addison had planned to tell him about Julia. That he'd break it off with her as soon as he could even if he and Frankie went nowhere. He wanted to tell Frankie about The Phantom too, and how he didn’t want to hurt him, but instead all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss him. And so he did exactly that—he kissed. And kissed, and kissed, until an embarrassed knocking broke them apart.

“Um, the dish guy just showed up,” Dom said. “Do you want me to send him in?”

Frankie blushed. It was adorable. “Yeah, I don’t have much for him today, but he can get an hour or so on his time card.”

“And what are you going to do?” Dom asked him.

Addison looked at Frankie. “I don’t know. What are we going to do?”

Frankie gave him this gorgeous grin. “You’re hungry, right?”

“Always.”

Chapter Five

“You want me to come inside when I pick you up?” Addison asked when he called.

"Yeah. We can say hello and get the stuff I packed for the movie." Frankie didn’t know why Addison sounded surprised. They were going on a date, after all. Their first real, official date. It should be at least a little special.

The past two weeks they’d hung out six times, meeting at L’Osteria or at the wine bar, and even once outside Addison’s newspaper building. Always informal, never prearranged. It seemed like, although they never made formal plans to see each other, they still couldn’t last more than a few hours without a text or a phone call, and those texts and calls usually turned into them making dinner at the restaurant after it closed, or going to a movie, or even an amazing night of kissing and walking in the park once.

“Oh, well, yeah, I'll park and come in,” Addison continued. “Of course. I just didn’t expect—”

“You need my address?” Frankie rattled it off and told Addison he’d see him in an hour or so. Frankie nervously packed a basket with picnic foods and a bottle of wine, set blankets and pillows out to take, and was about to go hop in the shower when his living room shook with a telltale jolt.

Oh, shi—

“Hello, Frankie.”

“Mother. What are you doing here?”

Another jolt shook the room, this one stronger. A tall, sandy-haired man stood next to Frankie’s couch, glancing around distastefully. Frankie’s brother, Jean.

“Jean? What is this, guys, some sort of intervention?”

“Nice greeting for your family. Merde, how can you live in this place? It’s awful.” Jean’s voice grated on Frankie. His perfect existence grated on Frankie. He didn’t have time for their nagging. Not when Addison was coming to pick him up in less than an hour.

“We know what you’re doing, little brother. It’s an embarrassment.”

Frankie gritted his teeth. “Why does anyone care what I’m doing? I’m just the family fuck-up. At least I came way out here so you guys could ignore me. It’s not my fault that you choose not to.”

Frankie’s mother glared at the scattered bills and papers on his dining-room table. They obediently slid into a neat pile, which she moved into the basket that was sitting on an old hutch he’d found in a flea market. “You know just as well as I do that you’re not out here alone,” she said. “Your uncle Albie lives with his partner in La Jolla, and there is a strong coven in Orange County.”

“The OC coven? I thought you said they were charlatans.”

“They’re new money. Some even work”—she made a face—“but they have ties to the council.” His mother huffed, and Jean nearly growled. Frankie assumed the conversation wasn’t going as planned.

“That’s not the point. The point, little brother, is that you need to quit this charade and come home.”

“Charade? I’m happy here. I like to cook. I like—”

“The newspaper worker?” Jean chuckled derisively. “He’s so boring.”

At least they didn’t nag him about being gay. Apparently lack of real magical ability was a far greater crime.

“How’s Clarissa?” Frankie asked pointedly. She was Jean’s wife. Their marriage had been arranged by the high council to tie the Vallerands to her family, the Bertrands. Everyone conveniently ignored the fact that she and Jean didn’t much like each other.

“She’s fine. Expecting again.”

“What is that? Four?” Frankie chuckled. He did miss his brother’s two older daughters. He’d never met the younger one. It was a constant irritation to Jean that he couldn't seem to produce a male baby. “Maybe this one will be a boy.”

“It’s not. Her name will be Francine.”

“Keeping up the family traditions?”

“One of us has to.”

Frankie shrugged. Jean could do whatever he wanted to. Everyone made their own choices. “Listen, are you two here just to bug the shit out of me, or is there something specific? I have somewhere to be.”

“Frankie, language. We don’t speak like that.”

“
We
don’t exist here, Mother. Only I do. Now if you two don’t mind…”

His mother sighed. “I wish the old discipline practices hadn’t been banned.”

“You wouldn’t.” Frankie rolled his eyes.

“Your father would. Jean, deal with this. I have a dinner to prepare.” His mother raised her eyebrows, and with a considerable amount more noise than necessary, she disappeared.

“Isn’t Mom a little too old to be having tantrums?”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be acting like your family is of no consequence?” Jean lifted the crackers and the wine bottle from the basket and put them back, a disdainful look on his face. “You’re really…dating this commoner?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Jean. Mother, I understand, but surely you know better than to buy into all that coven bullshit. He’s a journalist. He’s smart, makes a good living.”

“Listen.” His brother looked uncomfortable. “Mother is having a dinner tonight, and she’d like it if you came.”

Frankie regarded his brother silently for a few moments. “What does she really want?”

Jean winced. “Laurent is going to be there. She wants to set you up with him.”

“Laurent again? What’s her deal with him?”

Jean shrugged. “He’s a strong witch, he has fey blood, his family is powerful. Do they need another reason to want you with him?”

“But he’s your—”

“He’s not my anything,” Jean spat out. “Now are you going to do what your family needs you to do and come to this dinner?”

“I don’t belong there, JL. I never did.”

“Don’t call me that. And yes, you do belong. You’re a Vallerand.”

“I’m a chef, and it’s time for you to be on your way.” Frankie raised his hand to push his brother out of the way.

Jean snorted. “What are you going to do? Hex me with your cooking spoon?”

He disappeared on a laugh. Frankie sighed. He wouldn’t curse anyone with his family. Including himself. Too bad he didn’t have much of a choice in that matter.

* * * *

Frankie was in a better mood by the time Addison rang the doorbell. He opened it, smiling. Half an hour before, he’d been ready to ask for a rain check so he could go to his restaurant and bang pots and pans around until he came up with some great new dish. That was the only thing that usually worked when his family got to him. Not anymore. Now, Addison was the best medicine he could ask for.

“Hey, Addie, you have no idea how glad I am that you’re here,” he said when he answered the door. Damn. Addison looked really hot in his short-sleeved plaid shirt and those low-slung jeans. Not nearly so uptight.

“Why did you call me Addie?”

’Cause that’s what you call yourself in your head…oh, shit
. Frankie hadn’t realized what he'd called Addison until it was too late. He couldn’t read minds, exactly. He’d never practiced enough. But strong impressions were pretty easy to decipher, and Addison definitely thought of himself as Addie when he was the most relaxed.

“Um, I thought that’s what you wanted me to call you. You said ‘this is Addie’ in your last voice mail to me.” He hadn’t, but Frankie was hoping he wouldn’t remember that.

“I did? I’d had a glass of wine, but I would’ve thought I’d remember…” Addison looked baffled.

“Let’s just go. I’ve got our basket packed.” Frankie was so caught up in covering his gaffe that he tripped on a corner of the area rug he had underneath his coffee table.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I was just really tired earlier. Guess I’m still a little groggy.”

The ride to the park was quiet but comfortable. Frankie rolled down his windows to let in the soft summer evening breeze.

“You don’t want me to turn on the AC?” Addison asked.

Frankie shuddered. Canned air felt awful against his skin. He almost always had a window cracked in his place for fresh air. “No, I don’t like air-conditioning. I’d rather have the outside air.”

Addison nodded. “Me too, actually, but my—well, let’s just say most people I’ve had in my car don’t like to be mussed.”

Frankie poked him. “They don’t like to be mussed? Who’ve you been hanging out with? Your friends sound lame.”