his shoulder with a lingering gaze, Hunter thought he saw a trace of disappointment in his eyes.
Perhaps Gabe, too, thought the appointment had ended too soon.
Maybe he felt the way Hunter did about him.
CHAPTER 8
Hunter inhaled the scent of coffee beans fresh from the grinder. The kind that permeates your clothes and leaves you with a memento from a carefree portion of your day.
After meeting with a client in town, Hunter had decided to stop by his favorite deli for lunch. Regardless of what unfolded during his workday, an hour here felt like a miniature vacation. Even amid the bustle of the lunch hour, Hunter found this place conducive to leaning back and pondering. He often stopped here for a latte after work.
Located in a small strip mall in Solon, the deli was a local, mom-and-pop variety that specialized in creating its own unique coffee blends. Unlike many coffeehouses, the ambience here emphasized light, from the bright florescent lighting to colors of spring that washed over its walls. The grill ignited an aroma of charred meats and bread that traveled throughout the dining area.
Upon placing his order and paying the cashier, Hunter moved past the refrigerated display case of cream-cheese spreads, fruits and packages of lox. He eyed the baskets of bagels that hung behind the display case as he made his way to the pickup counter. The flavored brew of the day, pumpkin spice, gave him such a boost, he felt ridiculous for getting excited about a simple cup of coffee. The owner once told him they blended their coffee beans with real pumpkin seeds to capture their rich flavor and fragrance. By the time Hunter filled his cup, he found his order ready for pickup.
When he made his way to the dining area to search for an unoccupied table, he looked toward his right and noticed Ellen sitting in a booth against a window. Focused on the open laptop computer before her, she poked at a salad with her fork and took a bite. She didn’t notice his approach.
“Hey gorgeous! Looking fine,” he teased.
He hadn’t expected Ellen to find humor in such a comment from a random passerby. And she didn’t.
“Look, man, why don’t you kiss my—” She raised her eyes and caught sight of Hunter, who couldn’t hold back his laughter. “That never gets old for you, does it?”
“I’m batting 249-0 with it. A perfect record, and an impressive one.”
“Are you gonna sit down, or just stand there and volunteer your services as eye candy?”
Hunter took a seat across from her and bit into his toasted Reuben sandwich. Its hot sauerkraut and corned beef exploded with flavor. Swiss cheese, which had bubbled beneath the rye bread, melted in his mouth.
“How long can you hang out?” Ellen asked.
“A half hour or so. I’m headed to the office after this.”
Ellen had a stack of paperwork beside her, printouts of recipes for dishes Hunter wouldn’t attempt to cook for himself. Ellen’s typical recipe contained an ingredient or requirement foreign to him. An odd spice or vegetable. A specific method of chopping, smashing or heating. Once, Hunter had watched a weekly cooking competition on television with her. The home cooks received an assignment to prepare a dish using a technique Hunter had never heard of. Yet the amateurs went right to work, as if everyone knew what the host’s rambling had meant.
“Preparing a menu?” Hunter asked.
“A company dinner at a winery. It takes place in early October, so considering the environment and season, I’ll propose a harvest theme. Maybe a special take on a baked ham, maybe a pumpkin bisque. I haven’t figured out how I want to tie it all together.”
Hunter admired Ellen’s tenacity. After several years working in the kitchen at a four-star restaurant and observing chefs at work, she decided to branch out and pursue her dream of owning her own business. She started a small catering outfit in her home with a focus on local social gatherings and company dinners. Her first
Perhaps Gabe, too, thought the appointment had ended too soon.
Maybe he felt the way Hunter did about him.
CHAPTER 8
Hunter inhaled the scent of coffee beans fresh from the grinder. The kind that permeates your clothes and leaves you with a memento from a carefree portion of your day.
After meeting with a client in town, Hunter had decided to stop by his favorite deli for lunch. Regardless of what unfolded during his workday, an hour here felt like a miniature vacation. Even amid the bustle of the lunch hour, Hunter found this place conducive to leaning back and pondering. He often stopped here for a latte after work.
Located in a small strip mall in Solon, the deli was a local, mom-and-pop variety that specialized in creating its own unique coffee blends. Unlike many coffeehouses, the ambience here emphasized light, from the bright florescent lighting to colors of spring that washed over its walls. The grill ignited an aroma of charred meats and bread that traveled throughout the dining area.
Upon placing his order and paying the cashier, Hunter moved past the refrigerated display case of cream-cheese spreads, fruits and packages of lox. He eyed the baskets of bagels that hung behind the display case as he made his way to the pickup counter. The flavored brew of the day, pumpkin spice, gave him such a boost, he felt ridiculous for getting excited about a simple cup of coffee. The owner once told him they blended their coffee beans with real pumpkin seeds to capture their rich flavor and fragrance. By the time Hunter filled his cup, he found his order ready for pickup.
When he made his way to the dining area to search for an unoccupied table, he looked toward his right and noticed Ellen sitting in a booth against a window. Focused on the open laptop computer before her, she poked at a salad with her fork and took a bite. She didn’t notice his approach.
“Hey gorgeous! Looking fine,” he teased.
He hadn’t expected Ellen to find humor in such a comment from a random passerby. And she didn’t.
“Look, man, why don’t you kiss my—” She raised her eyes and caught sight of Hunter, who couldn’t hold back his laughter. “That never gets old for you, does it?”
“I’m batting 249-0 with it. A perfect record, and an impressive one.”
“Are you gonna sit down, or just stand there and volunteer your services as eye candy?”
Hunter took a seat across from her and bit into his toasted Reuben sandwich. Its hot sauerkraut and corned beef exploded with flavor. Swiss cheese, which had bubbled beneath the rye bread, melted in his mouth.
“How long can you hang out?” Ellen asked.
“A half hour or so. I’m headed to the office after this.”
Ellen had a stack of paperwork beside her, printouts of recipes for dishes Hunter wouldn’t attempt to cook for himself. Ellen’s typical recipe contained an ingredient or requirement foreign to him. An odd spice or vegetable. A specific method of chopping, smashing or heating. Once, Hunter had watched a weekly cooking competition on television with her. The home cooks received an assignment to prepare a dish using a technique Hunter had never heard of. Yet the amateurs went right to work, as if everyone knew what the host’s rambling had meant.
“Preparing a menu?” Hunter asked.
“A company dinner at a winery. It takes place in early October, so considering the environment and season, I’ll propose a harvest theme. Maybe a special take on a baked ham, maybe a pumpkin bisque. I haven’t figured out how I want to tie it all together.”
Hunter admired Ellen’s tenacity. After several years working in the kitchen at a four-star restaurant and observing chefs at work, she decided to branch out and pursue her dream of owning her own business. She started a small catering outfit in her home with a focus on local social gatherings and company dinners. Her first
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