Page 25 of Challenged By You
I’m impressed as hell at the insight I’m gaining into this woman. “What made you want to be a pastry chef?” I blurt out.
Trina stills before looking me right in the eye. Memories flash in her eyes that cause me to suck in a breath unobtrusively. “Is it okay to say I’m not ready to share that yet? Maybe after we’ve figured out”—she sits back against the booth and motions between us—“this and what you want from me a little more definitively?”
“It is.” Just as I open my mouth to say more, two enormous platters of food and extra dishes are being laid before us. “There’s no way a single person can eat all of this!” I exclaim.
“Welcome to Shecan.” The pretty smirk on Trina’s face begs to be wiped off. My fingers itch to tangle themselves in her loose blonde hair and tug her forward, but I restrain myself. It might have something to do with the knife in her hand that she’s using to cut the stack of four pancakes into bite-size pieces. “Chris, Annie, hands,” she demands sternly. After giving them both a quick wipe with a wet nap, Trina sets the plates in front of them.
“You’re a good mom,” I inform her just as I put my fork to the side of the amazing-smelling omelet.
“Thank you. I’d do anything for them.” Glancing around the restaurant, she murmurs softly—so softly that maybe she thinks I won’t hear, “Even live in New York again.”
Then we’re both eating, and for the next few moments the only sound we make is mutual groans of appreciation. “Sweet Jesus, this is amazing,” I rasp as I fork another bite of gyro meat into my mouth.
“Best-kept secrets sometimes need to remain that way.” Trina winks before scooping a bite of eggs into hers.
My fork clatters to the table. All three of my tablemates look over, though the two young faces go back to smearing pancakes over their lips quickly enough. “Sorry, slippery fingers.” But there’s something happening right here sitting in a greasy diner in the middle of a borough I’ve never spent much time in.
And it has nothing to do with an apology for a mistake.
* * *
“I should have madeyou give me the secrets for your honey-and-cinnamon caramel-popcorn cheesecake before agreeing to keep that place quiet. Dear Lord, did I make a bad deal,” I grumble, and I rub my hand over my aching stomach. Because, of course, I ate every single bite of food on my plate.
“A deal’s a deal,” Trina singsongs before she hauls Chris into her arms. He places his head down on her shoulder. I fleetingly think I wouldn’t mind trading places as his eyes drift shut.
“García’s,” Trina blurts out, as Annie wraps herself around her leg.
“What’s that?”
“Quite possibly the best New Mexican food you’ll find here in all five boroughs. It’s a four-seater restaurant located off of Virginia.”
“Four tables?” I’m intrigued.
She laughs that throaty laugh that reminds me of smoky barbecue at my favorite joint near Harlem. “No, four seats, Jonas. The line to actually eat there is hours long. I hope you have patience.” She reaches down for her daughter’s hand. “Let me know how you like it,” she says, before she turns and starts walking away.
“You’ll be the first to know,” I call out. Her body stops at the crosswalk. She twists slightly and smiles. I watch as the light changes and the Paxtons cross the street safely into their apartment complex before I turn and head toward the subway.
“I wonder what she meant by ‘Even live in New York again’? It’s a great place to live.”
“Best place in the world. Now move the hell out of my way before I miss my train.” Someone shoves past me on the subway stairs, almost taking me out as they leap down them two at a time.
An unsettled feeling having nothing to do with the food I just consumed churns my stomach. Trina wouldn’t let me pay for her breakfast, reminding me, “You’re on a real budget now, Jonas. The meal you just ate might be big enough to last you most of the day, but for someone in this neck of the woods, it might be all you can afford.”
“What about you?” I countered. “You just paid for a meal for three of you.”
She simply smiled before stating, “I’ll grab a snack at work if I have the time.”
Now, watching the young man dash for the train, I have to wonder, will she?
I’d do anything for them.
And as I wait for the next train to arrive to carry me back to Manhattan so I can do research about García’s, I begin to form a profile for the questions I want to ask Chef Trina Paxton.
And the questions I want to ask the woman.
Chapter 10
Trina
