Page 61 of Happy Endings

“Stop clowning around,” she scoffed. “Hand me the bowl already! I’m starving.”

“Oh, hangry Trixie is feisty,” he teased.

“I am not even close to hangry. You don’t want to see that.” She gave a half smile. He was kind of cute, this playful Andre. Everything between them had changed yesterday. Instead of butting heads or avoiding each other, they were talking instead of tossing barbs. Hanging out was comfortable and safe.

“Okay, I’m nervous about you tasting this, because you inspired this dish.”

“How did I do that?” That tidbit made her even more curious. She leaned to the side, hoping to see around his back, but he’d covered the bowl with a kitchen towel. On cue, her stomach growled.

“Fine.” He slid the bowl onto the stainless-steel table and sat across from her. “I want your honest opinion.”

“Even if I hate it?” She picked up the spoon and met his gaze.

“Yes, especially if you hate it. I don’t want to serve a terrible dish and ruin the restaurant’s reputation.”

“You’re being dramatic,” she teased. When she saw vulnerability in his eyes, she gave him an encouraging smile. She was relieved that his openness wasn’t a one-time thing. That he was able to share the full range of his emotions with her.

With the flair of a celebrity chef, he pulled off the towel. The bowl was wide and shallow, not deep like the one they served gumbo in.

“It’s shrimp etouffee.” The way he acted, she expected something else. Like something from a cooking show they used to watch together. Instead it was a very familiar New Orleans comfort food.

“Don’t look so disappointed.” His face fell. “I know it doesn’t look like much—”

Trixie set the spoon on his lips and shushed him. “Let me taste it before you jump to conclusions.”

Andre didn’t realize how nervous he was until it was time to share with Trixie what he’d made. Would she hate it or accuse him of appropriating her family’s food? If she did either, he’d fix the dish. Make it into something Mama would be proud of.

He trusted Trixie’s opinion. Ever since the moment she declared her hatred for him, he knew she would always tell him the truth. This new version of Trixie stood up for what she believed and what she wanted. Like the way she’d demanded control yesterday.

If he hesitated any longer, the food would be cold. He took the spoon out of her hand.

“Before you dig in, make sure you get a little bit of everything in one bite.” He handed the spoon back to her.

“You’re telling a native New Orleanian how to eat etouffee?” With the same playfulness that was in her voice, she took the spoon and carefully scooped up a small amount of each element of the dish.

Andre held his breath. As her luscious lips wrapped around the spoon and the food hit her tongue, he watched her face for a reaction. She closed her eyes and set the spoon back in the bowl as she chewed. How was one woman this incredibly sensual when eating a bite of food?

He was glad that she’d refused to let him feed her. This afternoon’s taste testing would have been derailed. He didn’t plan to see her again so soon, but Keisha was on him about finalizing the daily specials. Trixie loved his idea for a lunch buffet, and Andre wanted an impartial taste tester.

He was nervous. Serving her a dish inspired by her family was ballsy. Keisha and the initial taste testers liked it, but he didn’t want to serve it if Trixie hated it.

“Oh!” Trixie mouthed in surprise. She swallowed. “It’s crunchy. Is that—”

He exhaled and nodded. Recognition blossomed on her face, and she gasped. She dug in for another bite. Relief flooded his body.

“This tastes like”—she spoke with her mouth full—“both parts of me. Vietnamese and New Orleans.”

“I meant to have you try it at the last pop-up, but things didn’t go as planned.” He was glad for that night, because it’d brought her back into his arms. “I wanted your approval before officially putting it on the menu.”

“Andre, it’s delicious! You have to add it to the menu. I can’t believe you remember eating com cháy at my parents’ place.”

“I wasn’t sold when you translated it to ‘burnt rice.’ I only tried it so I could make a good impression on your parents.”

“You’ve never told me that! You realized that the rice at the bottom of the pot is the most coveted section?” She laughed. “It meant a lot that my mom offered it to you.”

“Really?” Maybe she did tell him that, but he’d been so nervous about meeting her parents that he ate everything they put in front of him. “It made an impression on me.”

“Is this the first time you’ve been back in the kitchen, since—um.” Trixie paused awkwardly.

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