Second Chance at Us: A Friends-to-Lovers, Second Chance Romance (Berkeley Hills series Book 1) by Stacy Travis

Author:Stacy Travis [Travis, Stacy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fast Turtle Press
Published: 2021-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Blake

“Here we go, moment of truth,” Becca said, looking at the plate of green pesto gnocchi in front of me and holding her fork over it like a weapon. She’d ordered a pizza with prosciutto and artichoke hearts but had promised to try my favorite dish. “Wait, no. You should have the first bite.”

“Oh no, I insist. You first. You’re like a guest participant in my food obsession, so you get first pick at the fluffiest potato dumpling.”

“Well, now there’s pressure. Which one to choose…?” She looked over the plate then up at me, a gleam in her eye. “You’re not in a hurry to dig into this, are you? I should just take my time…”

“Okay, maybe I’ll take the first bite.” I picked up my fork.

“Oh no you don’t.” She speared one of the perfect green pillows and popped it in her mouth. She let it melt on her tongue before chewing it slowly. “Oh my God. You weren’t kidding. That’s amazing.”

I put one in my mouth and briefly closed my eyes as the familiar sensory bliss washed over my tastebuds. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d eaten at the restaurant, but each time was equally delicious. “So good, right?”

She nodded and looked again at my plate.

I tipped my head to encourage her to have another bite, which she did zealously.

“I’ve had gnocchi before. I’ve had pesto a bunch of times. Is it just the combination? What makes this so damn good?” She put the bite in her mouth and savored it.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out. It’s not just the pesto. I think it’s the way they cook the gnocchi. I’ve been trying to replicate it myself, but I’m missing something they do to get that slight crisp on the outside. And they’re probably growing their own basil, and it’s a strain I haven’t seen.”

She looked surprised. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Yeah, it’s my field. I mean, I’m not looking to cook this exact recipe, but I want to know how they do it.”

She glanced toward the kitchen, which was partially hidden in the back, where a wood-fired pizza oven was visible. “I bet if you asked, they’d tell you how to make it, you know, one chef to another. Or is it a competitive thing?”

“Nah, they might tell me if I asked, but where’s the fun in that? I’d rather experiment on my own and try to nail it.”

Our waiter swung past our table and refilled our water glasses. “Tutto bene?”

“Excellent, thanks, grazie,” I told him.

He nodded and made the rounds at his other tables.

Becca picked up a piece of her pizza and took a bite, chewing slowly.

“Good?” I asked.

She nodded. “Really good. The pizza oven is key. There’s a reason I can’t make a decent pizza in a normal oven, not to mention I’m impatient, so I usually put it in before the oven’s hot enough, and the crust ends up soggy in some places and burned in others.

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