Erin Kern - Along Came Trouble

“I have no training in a professional kitchen,” Anthony started with a shake of his head. “I don’t know how stations work or how to read tickets…” His words trailed off as more dots of sweat bubbled on his shaved head.

“Don’t worry about any of that.” Brody placed a hand on Anthony’s shoulder, which was hard with tension. “All you have to do is make soup. Think you can handle that?”

Anthony shot a look at Elisa, who nodded and graced him with a smile of encouragement. Jesus, the woman pinched his heart.

“Yeah, I can handle that.”

BRODY PULLED HIS TRUCK INTO Elisa’s driveway and cut the engine. Just as he’d been about to walk out of the restaurant, Charlene had tried to get him to approve next week’s schedule. Even though their business had picked up slightly, things were still in the red. Because of that, he’d had no choice but to cut some people from the upcoming schedule. A few servers and busboys had taken a hit on hours. Also, Vic had agreed to work five less hours a week than he had been working. It wasn’t much, but every little bit helped. But he’d had to call his brother RJ, who’d been the bartender before he’d left to open his own auto shop. With Anthony spending time in the kitchen, Brody had needed someone ASAP to lend a helping hand behind the bar until he could find a suitable replacement. RJ, being the cool guy he was, agreed to spare a few hours in the evenings.

Seeing Elisa when he came to pick up Tyler had become a highlight in the last week. He’d only known her a short time, but the woman already had him tied up in knots. But those damn knots that churned in his stomach had more to do with the effect she had on him. Her friendship with his ex-wife and newfound relationship with his son made for a trickier situation than he’d had with any of the other women he’d been on first dates with. His romantic feelings for his ex-wife had subsided well before their marriage had ended. Sure, when they first divorced, he’d had a hard time imagining himself in another relationship. Now, years later, Kelly was remarried and Brody had more than moved on. He certainly had never felt the need to clue her in on any relationships he’d been in over that time. He’d also been very careful not to let any girlfriend become acquainted with Tyler. As long as Kelly knew he was being respectful, she’d kept her nose out of that aspect of his life. But then again, none of the women he’d dated had given him that feeling of permanence. The last thing either of them had wanted was their son becoming confused when his father brought women into their lives, only to have them exit. Eleven was such a pivotal age, and Brody needed to devote as much time to Tyler as he could. The boy needed his father to teach him right from wrong, to teach him how to be a man. That was more important to Brody than anything else. But perhaps the most disturbing thought was Brody’s inability to relate to his son on the same level. They’d always understood each other better than anyone else. As Tyler had grown older, he’d changed and matured, and Brody found himself losing ground with his only child. He’d slipped into that preteen moody world that Brody struggled to understand. And he had feeling that Tyler was aware of the complication as Brody was. His boy had always come to him with problems. Now Tyler was nearing that age when he kept his thoughts and feelings more secret.

Brody felt like he was on the outside, looking in, watching his son change with no way to keep up.

As he neared the door, his thoughts shifted to the woman inside the house. More important, his eagerness to see her.

All sexiness aside, she was incredible behind the camera. And, yeah, he got that photographing food probably didn’t light her fire. But she was good at it. No, more than good. She made the food come alive. Her creativity with the dishes astounded him, and he’d been working with food for a long time. Her photographic abilities were just another thing that added to her layer of desirability. The thought had him grinning when he pressed the doorbell.

A second later Elisa swung the door open with a wide smile and her long, dark hair falling over both shoulders. “Hi,” she greeted him.

“Hey.” He stepped over the threshold after she gestured him inside. He let his eyes linger on her a moment longer before glancing around at her home. The house was fairly new but not terribly big. The kitchen, small breakfast nook, and living room were all basically one area designed like a great room. To their right, a narrow hallway led to the rest of the house. Flowery curtains adorned the windows and sliding glass door. Different-colored, mismatched throw pillows were tossed about on the denim couch where she’d likely been curled up earlier. The home was girly and welcoming, much like its owner.

When he glanced back at Elisa, her attention wasn’t on his face. Her deep brown eyes bounced from his chest, down his legs then back up. The pink hue that had once brightened her cheeks turned deeper when her gaze locked with his.

The soft lighting of the table lamps picked up flecks of red in her hair. Dark eyes encased in thick black lashes stared back at him. Brody ran his gaze over her olive complexion as something Tyler said to him several months ago came back to him. “You wouldn’t by any chance be Senorita Cardoso?” Tyler had mentioned the name to him few times, but Brody had never given it much thought.

Her entire body seemed to go still. “Tyler’s mentioned me before?”

Brody lifted one shoulder in half a shrug. “He’s talked about the pretty, dark-haired lady down the street a few times.”

Her teeth stabbed into her lower lip at the same time pale pink colored her high cheekbones. The woman was even more beautiful when she blushed. “Why does he call you senorita?” Brody asked.

Elisa giggled and fiddled with the rings on her hands. “The first time I met him, I said something in Portuguese to him and he thought it was Spanish. He drew me a picture and wrote Senorita Cardoso on the top, but spelled it the Spanish way. Every time he sees me he refers to me as Senorita Cardoso, thinking I’m Spanish.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m actually Brazilian on my father’s side. A lot of people make that mistake because the languages are so similar. I thought it was so adorable that I just never corrected him.”

“And how would you write it in Portuguese?”

“It’s almost exactly the same in Portuguese but it’s spelled with an h. S-E-N-H-O-R-I-T-A. He spelled it without an h. ” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a common mistake.”

He took a step toward her. Every time he spoke to this intriguing woman he learned something else he liked about her. For the first time in a long time he found himself genuinely interested in what a woman had to say. Not the kind of interest that made him want to get her into bed ASAP—though he wouldn’t turn down the invitation. No, he wanted to peel back the layers of Elisa Cardoso and see what made her tick.

“So your father is originally from Brazil?” he asked her as she ran her tongue along her lower lip. If she didn’t stop that he’d lean toward her and do the licking for her.

“Yes,” she answered. “My father and his family are from Sao Paulo. We moved here when I was three.”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You were born there? Do you speak Portuguese?”

“Fluently. My father always used it in the house, and taught us the language from a young age.”

He leaned closer to her. “Say something.”

Her deep gaze bored into his before dropping down to his chest. Her long black lashes swept back up. “ Você tem graxa em sua camisa. ” The Latin lingo rolled off her tongue like sweet honey.