Perfect Pairing (7 page)

She surveyed her purchases with her most critical eye. She'd passed up the pizzas and other Italian food. Buffalo had enough mom-and-pop pasta joints already. The market was plenty saturated with pierogis too. The vegan truck appealed to her personally, but the market for that in Buffalo was not nearly as healthy as their selections. She wanted something that would appeal to not only the city's new hip theater and musician crowd, but also to the blue-collar base. She wanted a cross-section of students and construction workers. And she wanted something other people weren't already doing to death. Comfort food with a flair.

She took a bite of lobster macaroni and cheese. It was good, really good, but it had cost ten dollars for a small portion. Lobster in Buffalo wasn't cost effective. Still, who didn't love macaroni and cheese? She'd sure eaten enough of it growing up, and while she'd left most of the boxed and frozen entrées behind her, she still couldn't pass up the fat- and carb-loaded delicacy, much to her waistline's disadvantage. She pulled out her iPad and added mac 'n' cheese to the possibility column of the spreadsheet she'd started.

Next she took a bite of pulled pork taco and tried not to make undignified yummy noises as she chewed. A little bit of meat, a little bit of cheese, a nice helping of fresh coleslaw, all wrapped in a corn tortilla made for a little bit of heaven in her mouth. And the taco had
cost only $2.50. On the flip side, it took only two bites to eat. Tapas might be all the rage in a lot of cities, but no one survived a Buffalo winter on tiny plates. How many of these would a grown man have to buy to fill himself up on a cold, hard day? She made another note on the spreadsheet and tossed the phone onto the cushion in front of her, no closer to an answer.

“Mix them,” a voice said from entirely too close behind her to be coincidental.

She turned slowly and met the soft, expressive eyes of Hal Orion.

“You have an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere during my moments of frustration.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just noticed you holding court with your army of little cardboard containers and thought you looked overwhelmed.”

She glanced at the twelve different dishes left half eaten in front of her. “Maybe a little.”

“Mix the pulled pork from the tacos with the mac 'n' cheese,” Hal suggested.

She took a forkful of meat and stirred it through the cheese-coated pasta while she debated making a smart remark about Hal approaching her this time, but the words died on her lips the minute the first bite hit her tongue. She closed her eyes and savored the mix of barbeque and cheese, the satisfying bite of the pork against the softness of the pasta. She chewed slowly, luxuriating in the taste of her future. God, why did Hal have to be so deliciously right all the damn time?

Hal couldn't take her eyes off Quinn's mouth. Holy mother of all things sexy, Quinn was beautiful all relaxed and happy and sated. The corners of her mouth quirked up and her blue eyes fluttered open, a shade darker than they'd been seconds earlier. Hal almost took a step backward to accommodate the wave of heat surging between them.

“That's perfect,” Quinn finally said. “How'd you do that?”

“I stumbled on the combination during a trip to Louisville, Kentucky. Put it between two slices of Texas toast and you have a Derby Winner sandwich.”

“You sell something like this?”

“In the fall, or any other time I get a hankering.”

“A hankering? What about a yearning? Or maybe a longing?”

Now she was being teased, and she sort of liked it. She preferred sassy Quinn to the more buttoned-up version on a sales pitch. “Don't forget a yen.”

“Oh ‘yen,' that's not a word English speakers use often enough.”

“We always settle for a craving.”

Quinn's smile shifted, wider but less sincere. The change made her nervous. “There's nothing wrong with giving in to a craving every now and then.”

“I didn't say there was, but I get the feeling we've moved beyond food.” She turned to go. “I'll see you around.”

“Hal.” Quinn said her name with a mix of authority and pleading that made a person falter. “Don't go.”

“I've got work to do, and it looks like you do, too.”

“Maybe we can find a way to work together.”

“We've been through this already.”

“Maybe we have, maybe we haven't.” Quinn pushed forward quickly. “I'm going to open a restaurant in Buffalo. Hopefully you'll join me, but I don't need an answer on that yet. What I do need is to learn a lot more about this business. Even you said so last weekend. I don't know food like you do.”

“I'm sure you'll learn,” Hal said. Quinn didn't seem like someone who ever missed an opportunity to put herself in a better position.

“I will.” She rose gracefully off her lounge cushion. “But let's just for a second consider a temporary arrangement. A few hours here and there. You just do what you do best, only you do it with me. I'll pay you for your time and expertise, of course.”

“Pay me for my time and expertise? Like some sort of food hooker?”

Quinn blinked as a hint of color rose in her cheeks. “I think the word we'd use is ‘consultant.'”

“Well, that does sound better than ‘food hooker.'”

“Not as catchy, though.”

Hal smiled against her will. Whenever Quinn slipped out of her business façade, she was much harder to resist. “What would consulting entail?”

“That could be largely up to you. I'd follow your lead.”

“Forgive me for being suspicious, but you don't seem like much of a follower.”

Quinn smiled. “I have a wide and varied skill set. I can wield whichever skill suits me in any given moment.”

The likely truth of that statement made Hal shiver. She'd spent most of her life staying out of the way of women like Quinn. They were too smart, too calculating, too aware of their own power. She could dodge a fist or an insult easily. Anger made a person blind, tempers made them dumb, meanness left them exposed, but the sort of social intelligence Quinn carried, the kind tinged with passion and shrouded in softness, made for a dangerous weapon. It lulled people into a false sense of security, and security was something she never let herself feel. If she were smarter or stronger, she'd slam another door in Quinn's face right now, but she'd be damned if she said she wasn't interested.

“No contracts?”

“Just an hourly wage,” Quinn assured her.

“I decide when and where we start and stop?”

“Absolutely. Complete control.”

“Except for the purse strings.” She couldn't forget that.

“Even those, Hal. Name your price.”

She thought for a moment. Minimum wage was just under eight dollars an hour. She should double it and see what Quinn said. “How about sixteen?”

“Done.”

“Done?”

“Yes, now when do you want to start?”

Hal frowned. She had expected some bartering. She'd expected another chance to walk away. Of course she could still say she'd lost interest or needed more time to think, but what reasons could she give that Quinn hadn't already addressed?

“What's the matter Hal?” Quinn pushed gently. “I promise I don't
bite. Besides, the sooner I know what I need to know, the sooner I move on.”

There it was, the truth she'd known all along. Better to have it out there in the open, better to get it over with.

She nodded. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at ten a.m. Wear something casual.”

Chapter Four

Hal pulled up to the narrow little two-story house on Park Street. It had been dark when she'd dropped off Ian the night before, but now in the morning light she could clearly see how neat the postage stamp yard was kept. The house itself wasn't huge or imposing and had neighbors so close on either side you could probably shake hands through any open window, but the place had character. Nice little flower boxes and cheerful robin-egg blue trim brightened up the pale yellow. The neighborhood was an older one. Not cheap, but not as fancy as Hal would've picked for Quinn. It was too close to the heart of the city. It had already seen a revival and wasn't nearly as trendy as places a little farther north. This place seemed comfortable, homey even. It didn't jibe with her image of Quinn as a barracuda. Then again, Quinn didn't always fit that image herself.

She hadn't seemed that way last night with her eyes closed and her chin tilted up, a look of pure enjoyment gracing peaceful features. She lost all her sharp edges around Ian as well, joking easily and keeping an almost maternal eye on him. Serene and motherly butted up hard against killer instincts, and Hal suspected she knew which ones would win in a fight, but before she had the chance to ponder hypotheticals, Quinn emerged from the front door.

She strode purposefully toward the truck, leaving Hal to wonder if she was capable of wandering.

She slid open the pocket-style passenger door and hopped up the two metal steps, her sensible two-inch heels clanking as they went. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hal echoed and watched as she looked around.

“Is there another seat in here, or shall I ride on your lap?”

“It's on the wall.” She flipped down a padded wooden board. “Or there's a more comfortable one behind me.”

Quinn glanced at the fold-down seat and the lap belt dangling from it, then back at the large windshield. “This will do. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“One really doesn't have to worry about a crash-test rating while driving in a tank, right?”

Hal laughed. “I've never looked at it that way.”

“No?” Quinn asked settling in. “How do you look at it?”

“Well, with all the propane tanks we've got in the back, I always figured getting ejected from this combustible tin can in an accident might actually be a good thing.”

“Combustible tin can. Lovely. How far will we be driving today?”

“Only about five miles,” Hal said, shifting her beast of a truck into gear. “Right through the heart of city traffic.”

If Quinn felt nervous about that prospect, she didn't let it show. It probably took quite a bit to shake her, but that didn't stem Hal's urge to try. No, she couldn't let her more petty instincts take over. She didn't like answering to anyone, and being on someone's payroll felt an awful lot like answering to them. But Quinn had made it clear Hal set the rules here. Really, her arrangement with Quinn had a lot of similarities to her cooking setup. She had something Quinn wanted. She set the price, did the work on her own time, in her own way, and at the end Quinn paid for whatever she offered. Only instead of a sandwich, she got some knowledge.

“You're not very talkative today,” Quinn said as they merged onto Highway 354.

“Not much of a morning person.”

Quinn made a show of looking down at her watch and raising her eyebrows.

“Ten a.m. is morning.”

“Yes, it is,” Quinn agreed, then added, “midmorning, late morning for some, but literally before noon.”

“I suppose you pop out of bed at five every morning, then go for a run and still come home fresh as a friggin' daisy.”

“Oh, Hal, you sure know how to talk to a lady.”

She snorted.

“And I often sleep until six or later.”

“And you lie around while your butler brings you breakfast in bed?”

“First of all, your opinion of my bank account is wildly inflated. Second, is breakfast in bed even a real thing?” Quinn asked. “Do people really do that? Eat in bed? It seems like a bad idea to me. There must be a lot of balancing, and crumbs in sheets. Doesn't sound relaxing at all to me.”

Hal laughed.

“What?”

“No, I think you're probably right. The reality of breakfast in bed isn't nearly as sexy as the cultural image. If you're going to be in bed with another person, there are better things to do than eat.” She heard Sully's voice in her head saying, “That's what she said,” and quickly added, “I mean, better than eating breakfast, I mean, you know what I mean.”

“Right.”

“Oh look, we're here.”

Hal pulled the truck into the parking lot at Willowbrook Farms. The street around them was lined with what looked like a bunch of self-storage buildings, long and low with a row of garage style doors and loading docks. A few semi-trucks waited, their motors idling, cargo holds open toward the warehouses. Quinn stepped down, shielding her eyes against the sun as she scanned her surroundings. Hal waited quietly behind her, letting the setting soak in. This probably wasn't a part of Buffalo Quinn had ever seen.

A few workmen in jeans and boots approached, and she nodded an acknowledgment without speaking a word. They returned the gesture casually as they passed by, but their collective gaze caught, then lingered, on Quinn. Her sleek black slacks and light cable knit sweater stood out clean and bright against the muddy gravel and dirt parking lot. The hair on Hal's arm stood up, and she subtly shifted her body between Quinn and the men. It was a protective move, a possessive one too, and she didn't want to think about what might have inspired it.

“I thought I told you to dress down,” she grumbled.

“I did,” Quinn said, gesturing to the sleeves of her sweater. “This is casual.”

“Sure, on Cape Cod.”

“Maybe next time you can just come rummage through my closets and dress me yourself.”

She wouldn't let her mind picture that, not even for a second. “Just wear jeans and a hoodie.”

“A hoodie?”

“Oh Lord, you don't know what a hoodie is?”

“Of course I do. I'm just not sure I own one.”

Hal took a deep breath and looked skyward before releasing it and heading toward one of the low, sand-colored brick buildings. “One problem at a time.”

“I'm paying you to be a food consultant. Does the fashion advice cost extra?”

“Just go inside.” She swung open a door painted to look like the entrance to a barn. “This is Willowbrook Farms' cash-and-carry store. Be nice to these people, or I swear you will owe me for a lot more than the fashion commentary.”

Quinn's smile was almost playful as she brushed up against her more than the width of the doorway warranted. “Don't worry, I can be very nice when I want to be.”

Hal wondered if Quinn knew what little things like that did to her blood pressure.

Of course she knew. Women like her always knew . . .

Quinn pressed her lips together to hide the smile trying to form there. Hal liked to play so tough, so grumpy, but she wasn't fooling anyone, except maybe herself. The little flash of chivalry outside gave too much away. She may not be the president of the Quinn Banning fan club, but she obviously felt something other than annoyance for her if she didn't want a group of roughnecks eyeing her like a piece of prime beef. And yet, she wasn't doing much eyeing of her own. That instinct to protect generally came from the toddler part of the brain that screamed “Mine!” whenever someone else got too close to a prized possession. Hal seemed to want anything but possession as she disappeared behind a stack of cauliflower.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asked, scooting closer when Hal stopped to inspect a bulk crate of Honeycrisp apples.

“Thinking.” She pressed her thumb against the fruit and then smelled it.

“Could you think out loud?”

“I don't usually.”

“Well, are you usually . . .” She started to pull the I'm-paying-you card, but stopped short. Hal wouldn't take well to the heavy approach. “Are you usually accompanied by a very interested friend who's eager to learn?”

“And who's paying handsomely?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You thought it,” Hal said.

“You prosecute for thought crime? How very Orwellian of you.”

Hal smiled and set the apple gently back in the bin, then strolled over to what appeared to be the leafy greens section of the store. “I'm looking for produce that is in good enough shape to keep for a few days.”

“Okay, what do you need?”

“It doesn't work that way,” Hal said, thumbing through a tub of fresh spinach. “The food tells me what I'm going to make, not the other way around.”

“Isn't that like the horse driving the cart?”

“The horse always drives the cart,” Hal quipped. “Anyone who says otherwise is a fool. You can't wrestle nature. You have to work with what it gives you.”

“I thought anything could be grown anywhere and shipped anywhere else these days.”

“It's all a bait-and-switch. I can show you a red tomato in January if you want, but that doesn't mean you'll be able to
eat
a red tomato in January.”

“Did you study philosophy in college?”

“I didn't go to college, and you don't need a formal education to know the difference between a red and green tomato isn't in its pigment. It's in its texture.” She picked up two tomatoes from different bins. “Close your eyes.”

For some reason, Quinn found the command unsettling.

“Come on.” Hal nudged gently. “You wanted to learn. Here's your first lesson.”

Quinn closed her eyes, then opened one again. “What comes next?”

“Keep 'em closed and hold out both your hands.”

She did as told and immediately felt two objects, probably the tomatoes, placed in her palms.

She felt more than a bit silly standing in the middle of a store like some blindfolded lady justice with her hands as the scales, but Hal's voice remained close and gentle.

“Feel any difference?”

“They weigh about the same.”

“What else?”

She ran her thumb along the smooth surfaces as she'd seen Hal do. One of them seemed more rounded while the other had little ridges. They didn't bend to her touch. “This one is harder.”

“Good.”

“This one,” she said, pressing more firmly on the other, “has some give to it, but it bounces back.”

“Right,” Hal said from so close Quinn could feel her breath on the skin of her neck. “Now which one of them is green?”

“This one.” She held up the harder one.

“Open your eyes.”

She blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust and focus on the very red tomato she held up. She lifted the other one to inspect and found it nearly identical.

“You tricked me. They're both red.”

“Are they really, though?” Hal asked, taking them back.

“I take it the answer is no?”

“The one you identified as green probably was when it was picked. Because they have to be shipped or stored, they are pulled from the vine too early, then exposed to ethylene gas to make them ripen artificially.”

“That sounds dangerous. Isn't that an anesthetic?”

“It used to be, and in a way it still is. Now it's used to numb your
taste buds. It's probably not too unhealthy, since ethylene is produced naturally from fruits and vegetables, but it messes with the texture of the food. It means tomatoes go from being too hard to being mealy.”

Hal picked up a large cardboard carton and filled it with tomatoes from a different bin. “These were vine-ripened in local greenhouses. They didn't have to travel as far, and they won't have nearly as long of a shelf life, but I don't need them to.”

Quinn looked at the large quantity of tomatoes. “You're going to get all of those on sandwiches in the next week?”

“No, I actually don't use ripe tomatoes on grilled cheeses. Other people do, but I think they're too juicy. They make everything soggy.”

“Back to texture,” she noted. “Then why buy them?”

“I use them in sauces. I make my own salsa, pizza sauce, and marinara. Then I can or freeze them in portion sizes that fit a normal day on the truck.”

“Why not just buy those things already made and canned?” She wasn't taking physical notes, but she soaked up everything for her mental inventory.

“For one, they generally come canned in aluminum or tin, both of which react with the acidity of the tomato to affect their health and taste, but more importantly I make all of those things better than anything you can buy mass produced.”

“You think people can really tell the difference between a homemade pizza sauce and a canned one once you've cooked and covered it in cheese?”

Hal sighed as if she'd just asked the stupidest question in the world.

“What?”

“I think we might need to save that lesson for another day and focus on the basics for now.”

Quinn's natural defenses rose at being spoken to like a dull child, but she didn't protest for fear of losing the promise of another day. The longer she kept Hal on the hook, the more she could learn, not only about the food, but the chef herself.

“Grab that basket and help me pick some spinach.”

They loaded up several more items as Quinn followed Hal around the store until they got to the checkout where a cashier weighed,
measured, and priced everything, then gave them an absurdly low total.

As soon as the dollar amount was uttered, Quinn looked to Hal, who was staring back at her with a triumphant smile, not wide, but knowing, and a little smug. Quinn recognized the expression as well as she knew the emotion behind it. The superiority of a successful bargain hunter looked good on her.

Hal paid the bill in cash and wheeled her treasures to the truck.