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Authors: Barbara O'Neal
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stuff. It’s just what she knows.”
“I know.” Elena wiggled her shoulders to loosen the tension there, thinking of the town, surly and squinting on the edge of the desert. “I should visit her, I know I should. I just can’t breathe when I think of it.”
“She’s seventy-six.”
“I know.”
On the lawn, Alvin growled softly, hair on the back of his neck lifting a little. “Shh,” Elena said, and rubbed her foot over his back to soothe him.
“Careful of Ivan,” Isobel said.
“Duh.” In her imagination, his face rose, the thin back with its vining tattoo. Defensively dangerous, like a dog who had been starved and beaten in a backyard.
Rubbing the sole of her foot over the fur of her own beautiful dog, she resolutely did not acknowledge the burn in her hip, and thought instead that she needed to get some walking routes mapped out, or the broken places in her body were going to freeze solid. Stiffness and dull pain radiated from the hip joint, upward and through her belly. The drive had been too long.
Just a little longer,
she said, to the fates who had overlooked her that long-ago night.
Just let me make my mark and then the body can fall apart.
EIGHT
M AYAN H OT C HOCOLATE
6 cups milk
1 mild green chile, roasted, skinned, and chopped
1 / 2
vanilla bean, cut in half lengthwise
1 / 2
cup granulated raw sugar
3 oz. Mexican-style chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 tsp cinnamon
pinch salt
2 eggs
Stick cinnamon
Measure fresh cold milk into a heavy saucepan, and stir in the chile. Scrape the vanilla bean into the milk and break up the pod. Add sugar, chocolate, cinnamon, and salt. Heat over medium heat until the chocolate melts and the milk is steaming hot, but not boiling. Remove from the heat and strain, then pour it back into the saucepan.
Beat the eggs in a mixing bowl. Stir one cup of the hot milk mixture into the eggs and stir vigorously, then pour the milk-egg mixture back into the saucepan and beat with a whip or
molinillo
until it’s as foamy as a bubble bath. Pour into hefty mugs and garnish with cinnamon sticks. An excellent seduction drink.
NINE
J ulian arrived at five minutes after seven. Although they had spoken several times via email and by phone, Elena hadn’t seen him since the morning in Vancouver when he’d offered her the job.
Before he showed up, Alvin paced the apartment with his mistress, psychic as always as she changed clothes three times, trying to decide whether she should be crisply businesslike, or friendly and female, or relaxed and earthy. She wished the apartment were more settled, that she had a sense of who Julian Liswood was, apart from being a really rich guy who was also her boss. That would make anyone nervous.
First she tried a white blouse and black slacks, and her favorite cheery chile pepper apron, her hair drawn out of sight into a braid. It looked so…severe.
She traded the girl-cook look for a yellow sundress with a thin white scarf, thinking to be a little arty, but that just looked like she was trying too hard to be French and cosmopolitan. And flirty. Finally, she ditched the dress and donned a turquoise T-shirt with a thin white sweater over it, and jeans. Earrings of silver, hair loose on her shoulders.
Voilà!
Elena.
She and Alvin paced some more. She was too early. Picking up the phone, she punched in Mia’s number and got her voice mail—but of course it was quite late in London. “I’m totally nervous,” she said. “Julian is coming for dinner and I want to be brilliant.” She paused, imagining what Mia would say. “You’re right, I should just be myself, be friendly, use good manners. I can do that. Thanks.” Grinning, she hung up the phone, then impulsively dialed it again. “I really can’t wait for you to get here.”
Alvin suddenly jumped up and barked an alert. Elena took a breath, brushed a hand over her shirt. Alvin rushed to the door with her, one floppy black ear cocked, his eyes on her
“I know.” Elena wiggled her shoulders to loosen the tension there, thinking of the town, surly and squinting on the edge of the desert. “I should visit her, I know I should. I just can’t breathe when I think of it.”
“She’s seventy-six.”
“I know.”
On the lawn, Alvin growled softly, hair on the back of his neck lifting a little. “Shh,” Elena said, and rubbed her foot over his back to soothe him.
“Careful of Ivan,” Isobel said.
“Duh.” In her imagination, his face rose, the thin back with its vining tattoo. Defensively dangerous, like a dog who had been starved and beaten in a backyard.
Rubbing the sole of her foot over the fur of her own beautiful dog, she resolutely did not acknowledge the burn in her hip, and thought instead that she needed to get some walking routes mapped out, or the broken places in her body were going to freeze solid. Stiffness and dull pain radiated from the hip joint, upward and through her belly. The drive had been too long.
Just a little longer,
she said, to the fates who had overlooked her that long-ago night.
Just let me make my mark and then the body can fall apart.
EIGHT
M AYAN H OT C HOCOLATE
6 cups milk
1 mild green chile, roasted, skinned, and chopped
1 / 2
vanilla bean, cut in half lengthwise
1 / 2
cup granulated raw sugar
3 oz. Mexican-style chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 tsp cinnamon
pinch salt
2 eggs
Stick cinnamon
Measure fresh cold milk into a heavy saucepan, and stir in the chile. Scrape the vanilla bean into the milk and break up the pod. Add sugar, chocolate, cinnamon, and salt. Heat over medium heat until the chocolate melts and the milk is steaming hot, but not boiling. Remove from the heat and strain, then pour it back into the saucepan.
Beat the eggs in a mixing bowl. Stir one cup of the hot milk mixture into the eggs and stir vigorously, then pour the milk-egg mixture back into the saucepan and beat with a whip or
molinillo
until it’s as foamy as a bubble bath. Pour into hefty mugs and garnish with cinnamon sticks. An excellent seduction drink.
NINE
J ulian arrived at five minutes after seven. Although they had spoken several times via email and by phone, Elena hadn’t seen him since the morning in Vancouver when he’d offered her the job.
Before he showed up, Alvin paced the apartment with his mistress, psychic as always as she changed clothes three times, trying to decide whether she should be crisply businesslike, or friendly and female, or relaxed and earthy. She wished the apartment were more settled, that she had a sense of who Julian Liswood was, apart from being a really rich guy who was also her boss. That would make anyone nervous.
First she tried a white blouse and black slacks, and her favorite cheery chile pepper apron, her hair drawn out of sight into a braid. It looked so…severe.
She traded the girl-cook look for a yellow sundress with a thin white scarf, thinking to be a little arty, but that just looked like she was trying too hard to be French and cosmopolitan. And flirty. Finally, she ditched the dress and donned a turquoise T-shirt with a thin white sweater over it, and jeans. Earrings of silver, hair loose on her shoulders.
Voilà!
Elena.
She and Alvin paced some more. She was too early. Picking up the phone, she punched in Mia’s number and got her voice mail—but of course it was quite late in London. “I’m totally nervous,” she said. “Julian is coming for dinner and I want to be brilliant.” She paused, imagining what Mia would say. “You’re right, I should just be myself, be friendly, use good manners. I can do that. Thanks.” Grinning, she hung up the phone, then impulsively dialed it again. “I really can’t wait for you to get here.”
Alvin suddenly jumped up and barked an alert. Elena took a breath, brushed a hand over her shirt. Alvin rushed to the door with her, one floppy black ear cocked, his eyes on her
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