Read Online A Cookbook Conspiracy by Kate Carlisle - Free Book Online

us now?”
    “You’re being silly,” she whispered heatedly. “Kevin is one of my dearest friends.
     She’s never been mad at me in her life. Ever. So just back off.”
    She whirled around and stomped off toward the kitchen. I stared at her back until
     she disappeared around the corner. Then I saggedagainst the plush booth. Maybe she was right. Maybe Kevin’s infuriated reaction had
     nothing to do with the cookbook.
    But I didn’t believe that, did I? The instant that cookbook came out of its pouch,
     Kevin’s demeanor had changed. I was just surprised that her laser focus on Baxter
     and Savannah hadn’t drilled holes into the two of them. It had put the fear of God
     in me from all the way across the room.
    “Now I’m afraid to leave her here,” I said to Derek. “Am I crazy? Did I imagine that
     whole thing?”
    “No, you didn’t, but I think she’ll be fine with all the chefs here. And while we’re
     gone, perhaps she’ll have a chance to talk things over with Kevin.”
    “I hope so.”
    “Don’t worry so, love,” he said. “Savannah’s surrounded by friends and we’ll only
     be gone for an hour.”
    It sounded reasonable. I took one last look toward the kitchen. “I guess.”
    “Come on, then.” He took my hand and I leaned my head against his shoulder as we walked
     toward the door.
    “I’m going to need ice cream for sure.”
    “Of course,” he said. “And after that I’m going to teach you how to samba.”

Chapter Four
    To make plain rolls fancy, blanch many almonds, cut them lengthways, and stick them
     along the top until they resemble a hedgehog.
    —
The Cookbook of Obedience Green
    Who knew Derek was such a wild man on the dance floor? And who didn’t love a guy who
     continued to surprise you?
    The Brazilian band performing at the Elbo Room was indeed hot. We had trekked a few
     blocks east to the venerable San Francisco nightclub to catch the last half of the
     show and managed to snag two seats at the crowded bar upstairs. On the wall above
     our heads was a stuffed marlin. Really. Who hung marlins on the wall anymore? It made
     a forceful decor statement.
    We drank mojitos. It seemed to fit with the moment and the music and the marlin.
    We danced. Derek and I had never danced together before and certainly had never danced
     the samba. Wow, was all I could say.
    The band, Los Whackos del Poblano, was not just hot—they were on fire. The lead singer
     played electric accordion and the horn section took up half the stage. They were a
     jivin’ group, and damn loud. I hadn’t been inside a nightclub in more than a year,
     so I’d forgotten how completely fried my ears could get from spending time in a small
     room filled with hard-core musicians and blasting amplifiers.
    As we walked out onto the sidewalk after the show, I shook my head and tried to clear
     my brain. “Are your ears working yet?”
    “Beg pardon, love?” Derek said, stopping to peer at me. “I see your lips moving but
     I can’t hear you.”
    “I think I’ve gone deaf.”
    He put his arm around my shoulders as we walked up Valencia toward Eighteenth Street.
     “I trust it’s a temporary condition.”
    “Ah, so you can hear me. I can sort of hear you now. You sound as though you’re in
     a tunnel.”
    “I’m encouraged. I think we’ll survive.”
    “Thank goodness.” I stopped, stretched my neck sideways and back, then stared up at
     the sky. “Oh, dear, I’ve turned into an old fogey, complaining about the noise. That’s
     just sad.”
    “It is.” He smiled at me. “But did you have a good time, old thing?”
    “I did. It was fun. And who knew you could samba like that?”
    “Blame my mother for forcing us into cotillion at an early age.”
    “Good for her,” I said. “You were a maniac out there. I never knew you had so many
     hidden talents.”
    “Ah, darling,” he said, gazing down at me, “I have depths you’ve not yet plumbed.”
    I shook my head again. “I can’t