Page 30 of Punk Rock Reflection
“Would you like anything special for dinner this evening, Miss Violet?” Angel asked the stuffed animal, which made Tessa giggle hysterically.
“She isn’t really going to eat, Papi. It’s just make believe.”
“In that case, I can serve anything. How about a big bowl of delicious berries on top of fresh cut honeycomb?” Angel sounded totally serious in his reply, and it made Tommy chuckle.
“Since you’re taking make-believe orders,” Tommy said. “How about you make me a double chocolate cake?”
Angel let out a small gasp. “Who told you? Did you peek?”
Tommy had been joking. Angel’s desserts were always Cuban favorites, so a layer cake was the last thing he expected. “You made me a chocolate cake? With layers? And filling in the middle?”
“Of course, with filling in the middle. A decadent ganache of chocolate and cherries between three layers of dark chocolate cake infused with hazelnut espresso, all covered in chocolate buttercream with a dusting of fresh coconut. Who ruined the surprise?”
“I did. I’m sorry.” Tommy didn’t know if he was more elated at the idea of a chocolate-on-chocolate-on-chocolate cake with the addition of espresso or overcome with guilt at spoiling Angel’s surprise. “I was just kidding. I had no idea. You never make layer cake.”
“That’s why I made it. Tonight is a celebration. A reunion with our extended family, and it inspired me. I also made bistec empanizado for Damien, pollo agridulce for Kira, and red velvet cake for Mason.”
“Two cakes?” It came out higher than Tommy expected and made Angel smile.
“Yes. And, of course, my signature flan. I suspect we’ll all either be bouncing off the walls after the dessert course or pass out from a sugar-induced coma.”
Jessi walked through the dining room and slid her hand across Angel’s shoulder as she passed. “It’s a wonder all of us aren’t 300 pounds with your gourmet meals and luscious desserts.”
“We work it off,” Angel said, with a wink, to which Jessi cast a provocative smile over her shoulder as she headed toward the great room.
Angel took Tommy’s hand. “Come help me in the kitchen. Our guests will be arriving soon.”
Tommy was all thumbs when it came to preparing Angel’s delicate masterpieces. He wasn’t good at measuring or plating, and his chopping skills were barbaric. “OK, but you know I suck.”
Angel stopped and looked directly into Tommy’s eyes. “You do not suck, my prince. You are more talented than anyone I know and can do anything. You just need to have a little patience. I have an easy task for you. Folding napkins.”
Angel placed a pure white cloth napkin on the center kitchen island and smoothed out the wrinkles with his hands, but Tommy was more focused on the way Angel’s thick black lashes dusted his cheeks every time he blinked. His onyx eyes, the long black strands of his hair, and his deep tanned skin made Angel look exotic and sultry. Tommy stared at his gorgeous husband, enthralled and captivated by this man’s good looks and heart of gold.
Angel continued with his instructions. “We start by folding it in half like a triangle with the long edge toward you. Then roll it starting from the bottom and working your way to the top. Like this.” He spun the napkin around. “Then, starting at one end, coil the napkin and tuck in the ends. Just push the center up a little from the bottom, and we have a lovely rosette.” He held it in the palm of his hand. “Beautiful. Now just place it in one of these tiny bowls with a sprig of cilantro.”
Tommy couldn’t believe Angel turned a napkin into something so beautiful, but more than that, he couldn’t believe Angel thought he could replicate it. Maybe if he hadn’t been ogling Angel the entire time, he would have picked up more of the instructions. He stared at Angel with a deer-in-the-headlights look before emitting a short laugh. “I lost you after you said to fold the napkin.”
Angel’s shoulders fell. “How can someone with such a big brain find it hard to grasp simple instructions when it comes to anything to do with the kitchen?”
Tommy must be feeling particularly reminiscent today because the time he tried to teach Angel how to play the guitar flashed in his head like a movie. It was before they got together and while they were still fighting the attraction toward one another. He gazed off to the side and replayed the memory . . .
Tommy thought they were supposed to be writing music, but where were Damien and Jimmy? And why were they at Angel’s apartment instead of the studio?
Angel set two drinks down on the coffee table and sat next to him. “Play something for me.”
Tommy picked up his Fender and strummed “Adrenaline Rush.”
“No.” Angel placed his hand on Tommy’s thigh. “I don’t want to hear one of our songs. Play something you wrote.”
Tommy’s eyes went straight to Angel’s hand. His leg tingled, and a bolt of fire shot to his groin. He couldn’t think of anything to play. His mind was clouded with visions of Angel’s hand traveling up his thigh, slowly unzipping his jeans, touching his flesh for the first time . . .
“Play anything. What was the last song you wrote with your old band?”
The sound of Angel’s voice yanked him out of his fantasy. He pulled the guitar closer to hide his erection and played one of his songs from Psychobabble. Angel’s penetrating gaze was too distracting, so Tommy focused on his fingers and on the guitar strings. About halfway through the song, he stopped playing and looked up at Angel.
“You’re amazing.” Angel touched Tommy’s knee again. “You’re a titan on the guitar. I wish I could do that.”
“I could teach you how to play.”
