The Food Temptress: Second Edition

The Food Temptress

By Rekaya Gibson

Second Edition

Smashwords Edition

Copyright: © 2008, 2017 by Rekaya Gibson. All rights reserved. Any unauthorized duplication as a whole, in part, or any dissemination of this edition by any means (including but not limited to photocopying, electronic bulletin boards, and the Internet) will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published by:

Gibson Girl Publishing Company, LLC

P. O. Box 11203

Newport News, VA 23601

www.gibsongirlpublishingcompany.com

Cover Designed by

J. Anderson Designs

www.jaandersondesigns.com

Chapter 1

Down to the Nitty-Gritty

Help! Someone, help, a random woman screamed. Ambrosia looked up from selecting fresh flowers at the farmer’s market to figure out why the woman was yelling.

Move it, lady! A man pushed her out of the way and she went flying, landing face down on the cement. Flashes of white socks and Gucci shoes sprinted past as she lay there, helpless.

As Ambrosia gathered her thoughts as well as the scattered items from her purse, she noticed a tall, slender man approaching. She instantly felt better. He walked by her without looking down. As a matter of fact, he almost stepped on her finger.

Watch it, Ambrosia yelled. Without even turning around, the guy kept walking and entered Stand and Deliver, a small café on the corner.

Ambrosia could not believe it. How dare he, she thought to herself. She couldn’t figure out why he didn’t react to all the commotion going on around him, acting as though he was on some mission. Perhaps living in a big city had desensitized him to his surroundings. Whatever the case, Ambrosia was curious now. The bone structure of his face made him appear official, almost like a military type. He looked debonair in his Armani suit—the kind of man Ambrosia fantasized about from GQ Magazine.

He is definitely a professional.

Ambrosia decided she’d visit the farmer’s market tomorrow at the same time, hoping to see him again. She lived in the neighborhood, about three blocks away on St. Charles Avenue.

After Ambrosia’s mother died during childbirth, her maternal grandmother, Gloria Bourgeois (also known as Nana), assumed full guardianship. She never wanted to experience the loss of another loved one, so she named her granddaughter Ambrosia as a symbol of conferring immortality. Learning from the best, Ambrosia grew up in the house on St. Charles experimenting with foods and drinks. When Nana passed away from a broken heart shortly after her husband, Poppi, died, Ambrosia inherited the house on St. Charles Avenue, a generous inheritance along with their family recipes.

# # #

By 8:31 the next morning, Mr. Man hadn’t passed the market yet. Ambrosia decided to buy milk and eggs, and gave the clerk ten dollars. Glancing up, she said, Mr. Man just passed by. She grabbed her items and swiftly strutted to the sidewalk.

Wait! Your change, Miss, the cashier said.

Ambrosia shouted over her shoulder, Keep it. I’ve got to go!

He went into the same café. She followed him, trying not to be conspicuous. It was a small place—just six bistro tables with three chairs each. There was a long, waist-high table in the front window and another one along the wall on the right, where people stood and ate while staring out the window. The walls were painted gold and accented with cheap pictures of coffee mugs, pastries, eggs, bacon, sandwiches, or fruit.

Mr. Man sat by himself at a table in the back. The waitress greeted him with a jovial, Good morning.

He replied in a monotone, Eggs, bacon, toast with no butter, and black coffee.

What an all-around guy, Ambrosia said, sarcastically—but she still wanted to get close to him. She needed to know what made him tick.

Ambrosia watched Mr. Man while he ate. He was meticulous, his napkin neatly on his right leg. He made sure his plate was aligned with the edge of the table and that his silverware sat in its proper place. His actions reminded her of the lead actor in American Psycho. After his ritual, he began eating, chewing his food slowly as if he was being conscious of the number of bites. What a bore, she thought and rolled her eyes. He definitely needs some excitement in his life, she said out loud. She knew she could provide it for him.

Ambrosia was so engrossed in this stranger, she didn’t even order anything to eat or drink. The man finished his food and flagged the waitress down for his check. He paid with a credit card, signed the receipt, and headed back up the street toward the farmer’s market.

Ambrosia zipped to the table where he sat, to get a glance at the credit card receipt. She read the signature: Norris Richards.

Excuse me, ma’am. I need to get this. The waitress quickly grabbed the receipt.

Does that gentleman come in here all the time?

Yes, why? The waitress inquired.

Just wondering. He looks familiar.

Mr. Richards dines here every day, except on weekends.

Ambrosia noticed a Help Wanted sign in the window. She’d seem desperate if she got a job at the café just to be close to a stranger, but she didn’t care. She embraced the challenge.

Who should I talk to about the position?

A woman behind her answered, Me, Inez Homer. I own this place with my husband. Do you have any experience?

Yes, I’m a great cook and an exceptional hostess, Ambrosia replied in a blunt tone.

Good, you can wait tables for me. How soon can you start? She asked with a smile.

I can start tomorrow.

# # #

Ambrosia watched Norris come into the restaurant at his usual time. He ordered the same breakfast without looking at anyone. This man is impossible, she thought to herself.

I need to make him something special. Umm…maybe some cheese grits to go with his breakfast, Ambrosia whispered under her breath. Ambrosia’s grits were always a hit. They were creamy, hot, and would hopefully melt that ice-cold interior of his. That’s it! I’ll get Inez to let me make a pot of cheese grits, so I can serve it to Norris.

Ambrosia ran to the kitchen. Inez! Inez!

What’s all the commotion?

Inez, you’ve got to let me make my famous cheese grits, please, Ambrosia begged.

No way, too much liability. If the customers hate it, I’m stuck with wasted food, and we can’t afford to waste food.

I can do a test run, small samples.

No, now get back to work.

I’ll make you a deal. If I can get someone who normally doesn’t eat grits to agree to try it, would you let me make it?

Glaring at Ambrosia with devilish eyes, Inez relented. Fine. How about Mr. Richards?

Perfect, I was hoping you would pick him.

Ambrosia stood still, staring at the kitchen door as she gathered her thoughts. This gives me only thirty minutes to persuade him today. I better prepare my speech before going over there. He seems like a tough cookie.

Ambrosia spent ten minutes going over her lines in her head. Good morning, my name is Ambrosia. Stand and Deliver is thinking about providing homemade cheese grits for its customers. However, the owners want to know if this is something you are willing to try.

Here goes everything, she mumbled to herself.

Ambrosia walked boldly to Norris’ table while Inez watched from the sidelines. Ambrosia began to speak in a monotone voice, Good morning, my name is...

I’m not interested. Thank you, Norris interrupted. He didn’t even look at her.

Wait, I’m not finished, Ambrosia huffed.

Norris’ head dropped a bit, almost like he was ashamed. Or maybe he was feeling impatient. Or maybe he was a little OCD, socially awkward jerk. There were stories on the Discovery channel for his kind. It didn’t make him any less cute, though. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Go ahead.

Ambrosia’s eyes fluttered as she adjusted her waist apron. She sighed, and then continued. My name is Ambrosia. Stand and Deliver is thinking about providing cheese grits for its customers. The owners want to know if you would try it. By the time she finished her speech, her hands were drenched with nervous perspiration.

Are you finished? Norris asked again.

Yes.

I’m not interested. Thank you, he replied sarcastically.

Well! Ambrosia stormed off.

Inez laughed and continued ringing up a customer at the cash register.

Ambrosia retreated to the kitchen to sulk. Inez stuck her head around the door, smiling from ear to ear. Come out here. You got work to do, Grits girl. The bus boys smirked.

Ambrosia walked back out to the dining area, calm and in charge once again. No problem, I just have to come up with another strategy.

Okay, Inez said. She didn’t sound like she believed her.

Ambrosia finally sat down at 8:00 p.m. to get some rest. The restaurant was exceptionally busy for a Wednesday. She decided to stay late to pick up some extra hours, mostly because she wanted to use the kitchen after everyone else left.

When Ambrosia volunteered to close, Inez agreed, hesitantly. Taking a deep breath as though she was sending her only child off to war, Inez decided to trust her instinct and left her baby, Stand and Deliver, in Ambrosia’s hands. New Orleanians tend to treat people like family when they meet them, one of the traits Ambrosia loved about her city, and now Inez.

Good night, Ambrosia. Don’t forget to put out the trash; the garbage man comes tomorrow.

Okay, Inez. I got the checklist. Go home to your husband. She rushed Inez out the door. Heading straight to the kitchen, she gathered all the ingredients to make the recipe for tomorrow: grits, cheese, pepper sauce, and pimentos. I think that’s it, Ambrosia smiled. Pretty soon Norris Richards will be mine, she thought as she closed the door to the pantry. She finished all the chores on her to-do list and went home.

# # #

Ambrosia woke up early the next morning to open the café for Inez. She didn’t sleep well, because she kept thinking about the cheesy delight that she intended to make.

Good, the milk is boiling. Now I can add the grits.

She turned the fire down to simmer. When the grits finished cooking, she added pimentos for a hint of sweetness and color.

This will get Norris to lighten up and become a little sweeter. He’s such a harsh man.

Ambrosia spooned some butter into the pan and included two teaspoons of salt and pepper.

Now for the piece de resistance

She special ordered a cheddar from a tiny market ran by an Englishman three blocks from Stand and Deliver. Ambrosia held the cellophane-wrapped delight close to her nose. It smelled savory and earthy. None of that factory processed stuff for Mr. Man.

I’ll mix in the cheese, exactly what Norris needs to form a bond with me.

Ambrosia repeated his name softly as she stirred the assortment of flavors. Norris, Norris, Norris, Norris. She became entranced for a minute, with his name all over her vocal chords like that. Then, she snapped out of it, realizing that she sounded like Eartha Kitt. She belted out a laugh and returned to the dining room.

The fusion is complete. Mr. Richards won’t know what hit him, Ambrosia said to herself. No sooner had the words left her, Norris entered. He headed directly to his table. Ambrosia couldn’t help but to stare. Today’s the day.

Ambrosia? Ambrosia? Inez yelled.

She scurried into the kitchen.

What is this? Inez asked, pointing to the pot.

What?

This gritty cereal!

Grits, Ambrosia corrected with a smile. They’re delicious.

Are you crazy? I don’t have a food handler’s license for you. Whatever! If Mr. Richards refuses to try the breakfast cereal, the deal is off."

Ambrosia ran to defend her own actions. Sometimes she acted ahead of reason, especially when she could see a great ending before its arrival. Maybe it would be best to forgo this wacky plan altogether. If she lost her job, she couldn’t be close to Norris. Mrs. Inez, I know we had an agreement, but I thought if I made it and gave it to him, he would change his mind. I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll get rid of it.

Inez’s face softened. No, no, don’t bother. After all, that’s how I got started in this business, going against those who said it couldn’t work. Go ahead and serve it to him, but it better be good.

Oh, it will, it will, Ambrosia replied, relieved.

Ambrosia rushed over to take his order.

Good morning, Mr. Richards!

I’ll take the usual.

Okay, no problem.

Fifteen minutes later, Ambrosia returned with his order—and the grits.

Here you go, sir. Enjoy.

As usual, Norris arranged everything before diving in. He looked at the yellowish substance dotted with red specks, poked his spoon into it, and examined the mysterious stuff.

Cheesy grits, how nice, he commented in his mocking manner.

First, Norris ate his eggs and bacon together. He bit into his toast, and sipped coffee until one piece of toast was gone. Norris picked up the last piece, but put it down to try the grits instead. He felt someone watching him, so he looked toward the kitchen. Inez stared at him, anticipating disappointment. Ambrosia, washing down a table near the counter, expected a miracle.

Norris squared his shoulders, nibbled on the grits and set his spoon down on the table, picked up the plate and lowered his nose to get a whiff, inhaling like a pothead. His eyes twinkled. He grabbed the spoon and licked it clean. He dove in and scooped another heap of goodness. As he opened his mouth, Ambrosia studied his full lips, noticing them for the first time. The pepper sauce—that she stirred in before serving—exploded in his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment. A teardrop fell from his left eye as the cheese tickles his tongue.

As long as Norris had been coming to the café, the serving staff had never seen him eat anything except eggs, bacon, unbuttered toast, and black coffee—until now.

What the hell? This is actually good. Then louder, Waitress, oh waitress! Who made this?

Ambrosia smiled shyly. I did. Want more?

He nodded. Sounds good to me.

You can have some every day when you come in.

Norris placed his money on the table, and as he turned to leave the restaurant, called out, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Ambrosia was now full-on beaming as she cleared the table where Norris had been seated. He walked out with a little pep in his step. Ambrosia was proud of herself. She never knew how her food would affect men…but it would. Yet she never knew for how long… She already had noticed a positive change in his behavior and hoped to reap the future benefits. She could not wait to see him again.

# # #

The next morning, Norris sat at his special table, smiling. The servers looked at each other in amazement. Instantly, Ambrosia appeared at his table.

Good morning, Ambrosia.

Hello, Mr. Richards.

I’ll have the norm... Um…and the cheese grits.

Certainly, sir.

Ambrosia?

This is it. Yes?

I’ll have a small glass of orange juice with my meal today.

A small pang of disappointment hit her. She shook it off and decided to play along. There were plenty of grits to serve. Why, Mr. Richards, you devil you. She headed toward the counter to pick up his order.

Norris grabbed his fork and dove right into breakfast without a solitary thought about the method in which he was eating. He ate like a regular guy that day. The plate was a few inches from the table’s edge. He drank out of the glass instead of using the straw. Ambrosia was happy her plan seemed to be working. That was a cakewalk.

She watched him eat his food as she delivered a tray to the customers seated near the front door. They were nameless, faceless, and unimportant, because Norris was there.

Norris started with the grits, alternating bites with the rest of his food. He closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side, similar to Stevie Wonder.

It’s really gone to his head. Take it easy, big boy. That stuff is potent. Norris finished his meal and motioned Ambrosia to his table.

Ambrosia, that was another great meal. Would you consider going out with me? You caught my eye when you fell with grace at the farmer’s market. I’ve been checking you out since then. So, what do you say?

Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.

Let’s meet at 11:00 a.m. on Sunday at Copeland’s. I hear they have a good champagne brunch. Here’s my phone number, he said, handing her a business card. Give me a call, so we can get to know each other a little better before we go out.

Ambrosia was almost speechless. Okay.

# # #

Two days later, Ambrosia sat comfortably on her couch, dialing the phone. She liked taking the lead; it made her feel in control. After two rings, Norris answered.

Hello, Norris; this is Ambrosia.

Hello, Ambrosia. How are you?

I’m doing fine, just relaxing at home.

I’m glad you called. I was just thinking about you.

I hope it was good thoughts.

Nothing, but I’m looking forward to our date.

I am, too, Ambrosia said with a smirk.

Ambrosia and Norris talked for about an hour. The getting-to-know-you phase was Ambrosia’s least favorite. Initially, everyone seemed a little pretentious. Norris dished it out big time, too. Ambrosia rolled her eyes after every other sentence he spoke. It was no wonder he kept