Page 42 of The Billionaire's Kiss
I waited for him to reach for a piece of bread, but he didn’t. Instead, he did just the opposite, popping another spicy ball of fire into his mouth.
Flabbergasted, I asked, “It doesn’t burn your mouth?”
Shaking his head, he said, “It does burn, but I like it.”
“Ya like it?” I couldn’t believe him. “How could anyone like their mouth feeling as if it were on fire?”
Shrugging, he took a drink of the beer before eating a third fiery treat. “Come on. Try another. You get used to the heat.”
With the bread in my hand, I found one that seemed fairly small and took a small bite. “It’s not that bad when I eat it in small increments. The taste is good. It’s the heat I despise.” But I found that taking a bite of the bread between bites of the pepper helped the war against heat.
Warner went to the crockpot of pinto beans and gave them a stir. “Beans are ready. I checked on the potato salad in the fridge while I was in the house. The salad and the cobbler are both ready. Now it’s time to take the brisket off the pit and give it time to rest before I cut into it.”
“Real American barbeque,” I said as I rubbed my hands together in anticipation.
“No. RealTexasbarbeque,” he corrected me as I went along with him to remove the meat from the pit.
Smoke clouded what was lying on the grill inside. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Hang on.” He waved one hand over the pit to push the smoke away, and there lay a black, completely charred block of what I assumed was meat. “Yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
“So, that’s not burnt meat?” If I’d pulled that from my oven, I would’ve cried as I dumped it into the rubbish bin.
“No, ma’am. This is the way a great brisket is supposed to look when it’s done properly.” He picked up a stainless steel pan and placed it on the chopping block that ran along the front of the pit. Using his oven mitt-covered hands, he picked the meat up off the hot grill and placed it into the pan.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” I took a drink from my beer, wondering if I would have to lie about loving the food he’d made for me.
“Come on inside. We’ll eat in the dining room—a first for me.”
“You really should invite people over, Warner. It’s fun to entertain guests. And you’re good at it.” I didn’t want to think of him going back to a life of solitude when I left. “At least, invite your family over now and then.”
“I might just do that.” His words made me happy.
I looped my arm through his. “Good. Now, let’s enjoy this meal you’ve slaved over all day, shall we?”
