Read Online Bad Taste in Men (Clover Park, Book 3) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) by Kylie Gilmore - Free Book Online
Authors: Kylie Gilmore
Tags: Humor, Chick lit, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, Family Saga, Women's Fiction, friends to lovers
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lemon zest in along with the juice to enhance the flavor of the blueberry. He got in the zone, working from memory the right proportions of flour, sugar, and baking powder. He prepared a teaspoon of fresh ground cinnamon, taking a moment to breathe deep and savor its aroma. Whisking the dry ingredients together, his mind flashed to working in the kitchen with Gran when he’d first come to Clover Park.
He’d been shell-shocked over the collapse of his family and the loss of his mother. He went mute at his new school, unable to handle jumping into the deep end as a seventh grader with the boys who were way into sports and the girls who asked him strange questions (Do you like four-leaf clovers? How tall are you? Do you have a girlfriend?) and then giggled at his answers (Yes, five foot ten, no), even though nothing was funny. Gran’s kitchen was a cheerful oasis. She played top 40 music every night as she cooked delicious dinners, so unlike the food he’d grown up on—burnt fish sticks, hot dogs, and pizza. Suddenly there was lasagna, spicy stir-fry, and roast chicken. And the vegetables, always fresh, like roasted peppers, tangy Swiss chard, and perfectly steamed broccoli.
At first, he’d just sat at the kitchen table and watched, used to sorta fading into the background. A week passed like that until Gran suddenly turned to him.
“Boy, you’ve blended into the wallpaper long enough. Now I need you to be my sous chef.”
“Me?” he asked, his voice cracking in excitement. No one had ever needed him for anything before. And what the heck was a sue chef?
“You see anyone else hanging around here?”
Ryan was always at some sports practice or game and usually got home late. Trav was out doing who-knew-what, getting into trouble. It was just him. He stood and crossed to her just as she slid open a drawer and pulled out a blue and white striped apron. She put it on him.
“Fits perfectly,” Gran said. “Turn around.”
He turned, and she tied it in back. “Used to be your grandpa’s. I don’t know if you remember, but he was a whiz at the barbecue.”
“Cool.” His grandpa had died when he was ten, and Shane had only ever eaten hamburgers when he’d visited, but he believed her. “What’s a sue chef? Is that a girl thing?”
“It’s a French term. Sous like s-o-u-s. It’s the assistant chef. You’ll do all the washing and chopping while I do the cooking. When I think you’re ready, I’ll let you do the whole shebang. First things first, every chef washes their hands before preparing food.”
He headed for the sink and scrubbed up.
“You’ll start with washing these carrots and potatoes; then I’ll show you how to peel and chop for the roast chicken I’m making.”
He’d quickly moved up to full chef. His hands were strong and sure from working with tools for years. Once Gran showed him the right technique, he peeled and chopped efficiently. He loved handling the fresh herbs and vegetables, many he picked that same day from her garden. The fresh scents and flavors were an awakening from what felt like a black-and-white existence into a full-color life.
Gran let him make whatever he wanted after school all by himself, reserving the dinner hour for the two of them to work together. He dove in with appetizers and desserts, saving entrées for them to work on together. Leaving the daily grind of school, where he felt like the odd man out, to the absolute freedom of total control in the kitchen had been nothing short of amazing. His family loved his cooking, and he knew he’d found his purpose in life.
Now he wiped the flour off his hands on the blue and white striped apron he kept for sentimental reasons. He’d had new aprons made just like it with Shane’s Scoops embroidered on the front for his staff, but this one was special, the original, the one that had started it all. He smiled at the memory and whisked the wet and dry ingredients together. He had just enough time to bake the batch
He’d been shell-shocked over the collapse of his family and the loss of his mother. He went mute at his new school, unable to handle jumping into the deep end as a seventh grader with the boys who were way into sports and the girls who asked him strange questions (Do you like four-leaf clovers? How tall are you? Do you have a girlfriend?) and then giggled at his answers (Yes, five foot ten, no), even though nothing was funny. Gran’s kitchen was a cheerful oasis. She played top 40 music every night as she cooked delicious dinners, so unlike the food he’d grown up on—burnt fish sticks, hot dogs, and pizza. Suddenly there was lasagna, spicy stir-fry, and roast chicken. And the vegetables, always fresh, like roasted peppers, tangy Swiss chard, and perfectly steamed broccoli.
At first, he’d just sat at the kitchen table and watched, used to sorta fading into the background. A week passed like that until Gran suddenly turned to him.
“Boy, you’ve blended into the wallpaper long enough. Now I need you to be my sous chef.”
“Me?” he asked, his voice cracking in excitement. No one had ever needed him for anything before. And what the heck was a sue chef?
“You see anyone else hanging around here?”
Ryan was always at some sports practice or game and usually got home late. Trav was out doing who-knew-what, getting into trouble. It was just him. He stood and crossed to her just as she slid open a drawer and pulled out a blue and white striped apron. She put it on him.
“Fits perfectly,” Gran said. “Turn around.”
He turned, and she tied it in back. “Used to be your grandpa’s. I don’t know if you remember, but he was a whiz at the barbecue.”
“Cool.” His grandpa had died when he was ten, and Shane had only ever eaten hamburgers when he’d visited, but he believed her. “What’s a sue chef? Is that a girl thing?”
“It’s a French term. Sous like s-o-u-s. It’s the assistant chef. You’ll do all the washing and chopping while I do the cooking. When I think you’re ready, I’ll let you do the whole shebang. First things first, every chef washes their hands before preparing food.”
He headed for the sink and scrubbed up.
“You’ll start with washing these carrots and potatoes; then I’ll show you how to peel and chop for the roast chicken I’m making.”
He’d quickly moved up to full chef. His hands were strong and sure from working with tools for years. Once Gran showed him the right technique, he peeled and chopped efficiently. He loved handling the fresh herbs and vegetables, many he picked that same day from her garden. The fresh scents and flavors were an awakening from what felt like a black-and-white existence into a full-color life.
Gran let him make whatever he wanted after school all by himself, reserving the dinner hour for the two of them to work together. He dove in with appetizers and desserts, saving entrées for them to work on together. Leaving the daily grind of school, where he felt like the odd man out, to the absolute freedom of total control in the kitchen had been nothing short of amazing. His family loved his cooking, and he knew he’d found his purpose in life.
Now he wiped the flour off his hands on the blue and white striped apron he kept for sentimental reasons. He’d had new aprons made just like it with Shane’s Scoops embroidered on the front for his staff, but this one was special, the original, the one that had started it all. He smiled at the memory and whisked the wet and dry ingredients together. He had just enough time to bake the batch
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