Read Online Den and Breakfast: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (Honeycomb Falls Book 1) by Cassie Wright - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cassie Wright
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our new maid."
"Hui Wang," says Hui, voice formal. "A pleasure. Now, if you'll excuse me -"
"Actually, why don't you wait a moment?" I can't help but stare curiously at the covered dish. "Anita has brought a sample of her cooking for us to taste. Why don't you join us in the kitchen?"
Hui opens her mouth to protest, but then closes it with a snap and nods. "If you wish."
We walk toward the back. Anita is radiating excitement and nerves, and I know that any more small talk will only make her more anxious. We step into the breakfast nook and she sets the covered dish on the table.
"This is my grandmother's special dish," she says, looking at us both. "She would only cook it for weddings and birthdays. I'm sure mine's not as good, but..."
I'm dying with impatience to see. Even Hui is looking curious. Anita bites her lower lip and then uncovers the dish. Sitting in the center is a large tart, the crust undulating perfectly, the outer curves slightly browned, a deep crimson mix contained within and topped with a heavenly looking meringue.
"Strawberry rhubarb meringue tart," says Anita, studying my face anxiously. "Is that all right? I almost made my salted caramel chocolate tart instead, but I thought -"
I raise my hand and cut her off. "Be bold, Anita. You've made a choice. Commit! We're going to try your tart right here, right now. Hui, I expect you to be absolutely honest in your assessment. Anita, will you get forks from that drawer?"
She nods, face pale, and darts to the indicated drawer, returning with three silver forks. We each take one, and then they both watch me as I lower mine toward the tart. I almost hate to ruin the perfection of its shape. I restrain the urge to photograph it, and instead press the tines of the fork into the decadent meringue, its whisked peaks and raised surfaces richly browned like a cloud that floated too close to the sun. There's slight resistance, and then my fork presses down into the strawberry rhubarb mixture. It's the deepest, richest crimson I've ever seen. Down to the crust, which parts with a little crunch.
I lift a perfect segment into the air, scooping it up neatly. Anita is clenching her hands by my side, staring at me as if I were a fox and she a trapped hen. I examine the slice of tart in the clear morning sunlight. It looks amazing. Closing my eyes, I place it in my mouth and bite down.
Good lord . The flavors and texture are out of this world. I groan, cupping my hand to my mouth to catch any crumbs, bending over as the smooth, creamy richness of the meringue contrasts with the sharp tartness of the sweet rhubarb filling. And the crust! Perfection. It's like an orchestra of flavors, a symphony of deliciousness. My tongue luxuriates in the crumbly sensation of the crust, the heavenly meringue cream, the nubbins of fruit. I've sampled the best that NYC has to offer, from specialty cake shops to the richest desserts at the finest restaurants that Paul would take me to. None of them compare to this tart.
I hear a moan next to me and open my eyes to see Hui, her eyes wide with alarm, her jaw working, a fork held in one hand. Her moans seem to be coming despite her attempt at self-control, and her eyes dart from side to side as she's assaulted by the flavors. I want to laugh, I want to hug her. Poor Hui!
"And?" Anita can't wait any longer.
I compose my face. Swallow once, twice, then lick the fork clean. "Anita."
"Yes?" Her eyes are wide.
"This tart." I can barely form the words.
"Yes? What did you think?"
I take a deep breath and stare at it. "Having you as our cook is going to be a disaster."
"A - what?" Her face drains of color.
"I know I'm a curvy woman, but with tarts like these available in the fridge, I am going to lose all self-control. It's amazing. It's like -"
Hui speaks, voice distant, overwhelmed. "Like sex with food."
"Hui!" We both round on her, and she blinks, suddenly aware of what she just said, and blushes a deep red.
I laugh, but nod. "Yes! It
"Hui Wang," says Hui, voice formal. "A pleasure. Now, if you'll excuse me -"
"Actually, why don't you wait a moment?" I can't help but stare curiously at the covered dish. "Anita has brought a sample of her cooking for us to taste. Why don't you join us in the kitchen?"
Hui opens her mouth to protest, but then closes it with a snap and nods. "If you wish."
We walk toward the back. Anita is radiating excitement and nerves, and I know that any more small talk will only make her more anxious. We step into the breakfast nook and she sets the covered dish on the table.
"This is my grandmother's special dish," she says, looking at us both. "She would only cook it for weddings and birthdays. I'm sure mine's not as good, but..."
I'm dying with impatience to see. Even Hui is looking curious. Anita bites her lower lip and then uncovers the dish. Sitting in the center is a large tart, the crust undulating perfectly, the outer curves slightly browned, a deep crimson mix contained within and topped with a heavenly looking meringue.
"Strawberry rhubarb meringue tart," says Anita, studying my face anxiously. "Is that all right? I almost made my salted caramel chocolate tart instead, but I thought -"
I raise my hand and cut her off. "Be bold, Anita. You've made a choice. Commit! We're going to try your tart right here, right now. Hui, I expect you to be absolutely honest in your assessment. Anita, will you get forks from that drawer?"
She nods, face pale, and darts to the indicated drawer, returning with three silver forks. We each take one, and then they both watch me as I lower mine toward the tart. I almost hate to ruin the perfection of its shape. I restrain the urge to photograph it, and instead press the tines of the fork into the decadent meringue, its whisked peaks and raised surfaces richly browned like a cloud that floated too close to the sun. There's slight resistance, and then my fork presses down into the strawberry rhubarb mixture. It's the deepest, richest crimson I've ever seen. Down to the crust, which parts with a little crunch.
I lift a perfect segment into the air, scooping it up neatly. Anita is clenching her hands by my side, staring at me as if I were a fox and she a trapped hen. I examine the slice of tart in the clear morning sunlight. It looks amazing. Closing my eyes, I place it in my mouth and bite down.
Good lord . The flavors and texture are out of this world. I groan, cupping my hand to my mouth to catch any crumbs, bending over as the smooth, creamy richness of the meringue contrasts with the sharp tartness of the sweet rhubarb filling. And the crust! Perfection. It's like an orchestra of flavors, a symphony of deliciousness. My tongue luxuriates in the crumbly sensation of the crust, the heavenly meringue cream, the nubbins of fruit. I've sampled the best that NYC has to offer, from specialty cake shops to the richest desserts at the finest restaurants that Paul would take me to. None of them compare to this tart.
I hear a moan next to me and open my eyes to see Hui, her eyes wide with alarm, her jaw working, a fork held in one hand. Her moans seem to be coming despite her attempt at self-control, and her eyes dart from side to side as she's assaulted by the flavors. I want to laugh, I want to hug her. Poor Hui!
"And?" Anita can't wait any longer.
I compose my face. Swallow once, twice, then lick the fork clean. "Anita."
"Yes?" Her eyes are wide.
"This tart." I can barely form the words.
"Yes? What did you think?"
I take a deep breath and stare at it. "Having you as our cook is going to be a disaster."
"A - what?" Her face drains of color.
"I know I'm a curvy woman, but with tarts like these available in the fridge, I am going to lose all self-control. It's amazing. It's like -"
Hui speaks, voice distant, overwhelmed. "Like sex with food."
"Hui!" We both round on her, and she blinks, suddenly aware of what she just said, and blushes a deep red.
I laugh, but nod. "Yes! It
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