Page 79 of Wine & Whiskey
“Spencer quit.”
She shakes her head, frowning in confusion. “What?”
“He called me this morning and said he had some personal problems come up. He might come back, but today was his last day for a while.”
She shivers and rubs her hands up and down her arms. “Maybe it’s for the best. Now, he can concentrate on school.”
“I guess so.” He leans forward and picks up the comforter, wrapping it around her again. “What else did you do today?”
“Carrie and I went shopping, and I bought some new bedding. I hope it’s okay.”
“You can do whatever you want during the day, as long as you let me do this at night.”
A small moan vibrates under his lips as he nuzzles her neck. Her hands slide under his jacket and curl around his back, pulling him tighter, making his groin twitch with her sweet body rubbing against him.
“It’s a deal.”
“Is not, how you say, get a room.” Marta’s voice interrupts the sealing of their agreement. “Come eat hot dinner.”
* * *
Shae’s stomachrumbles from the comforting scents of vanilla and honey permeating the kitchen, as she flips through sketches from her upcoming clothing line launch and eats a late breakfast. Yogurt with walnuts and fresh blueberries can’t compete with the sweet temptations Marta creates.
Flour trails across her yellow apron as Marta wipes her hands before rolling out a lump of tan dough and cutting it into strips. She squints behind her wire-rimmed glasses, concentrating on completely covering the thin layers with damp dishcloths.
With her willpower lacking, Shae can’t resist. “What are you making?”
“Baklava. Is Max favorite. He eat too much.” She waves her hand, dismissing any argument. “I make anyway.”
Shae smiles into her bowl. Marta refuses to admit the soft spot she has for Max. Always nagging him about his eating habits, yet cooking what she knows he likes. “Can I help?”
The older woman nods and beckons her over to the island, where the cookbook lays open with baking supplies spread across the counter. “Yes, I teach you. Then you know is best.” Her trim, square fingernail drags across the recipe before stopping and tapping at the second step. “You mix nuts and cinnamon.”
Aware of Marta’s high standards, she measures the pecans to an exact level before pouring them into a glass bowl and sprinkling them with the spice. Unlike her mother, who loved the adventure of cooking without a recipe, using a pinch of this and a shake of that, Marta’s cooking always turns out well. At least she and her mom laughed a lot, even if they lost more than a few meals from her experimenting. She gives the mixture a gentle stir, careful not to spill any over the sides.
Nodding her head in approval, Marta points to the sauce pan. “Now melt butter.” The housekeeper stretches forward to inspect the sizzling hiss of cold meeting hot. “Is good.”
The pats dissolve in streaks across the bottom as Shae tilts her wrist from side to side. “I’ve never had Baklava before. I’m excited to try it.”
Marta holds up her finger. “People think is Greek. No, is Turkish. Now you know.”
“Do you know Nick’s favorite dessert too?”
“His mom always make Tiramisu for him. He love it as little boy.”
Her hand tightens around the pot handle. “You knew his mom?”
“She go to my church. We meet and quick be friends. I help her…” Marta shakes her head. “When she sick.”
Nick never said anything about his mom having an illness. “What do you mean?”
Marta frowns and shakes her head again before crossing herself, mumbling words Shae can’t make out. “Please, Marta. I don’t understand.”
“Salvador not good man.”
Cold chills run through her body. Not sick. Injured at the hands of her husband.
“When she disappear, I come for Nick. Too little to take care of himself.”
