Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
He turns and raises a brow, then nods. “I don’t see why not. This’ll be my first ramen for breakfast dish, so go easy on me.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” I settle in as Theresa offers me a cup of coffee. “Thanks.” I take it, not sure when I had coffee last. My mother is a fan, as long as there’s no cream and sugar in it.
“We have Italian cream and a crème brûlée version that Carter makes.”
“That sounds amazing. I’ll try the crème brûlée, if that’s all right?”
“Of course.” She turns, her dark ponytail whipping a little as she hurries to the fridge.
Carter opens the cabinet by the stove and pulls out several different packages of ramen, all of them different from the ones I’m used to, then selects two and drops them into the pot.
My stomach grumbles as I watch them work seamlessly, each of them clearly a master in the kitchen.
“Do you like to cook, Mrs. Milani?” he asks.
“Call me Lucretia.” I chafe at the thought of being ‘Mrs. Milani’, especially when I was never given a say in the matter, though that would’ve been true even if I were ‘Mrs. Manchello.’ “I’ve never been much of a cook, though I was getting pretty proficient with the microwave during my freshman year.”
He winces. “The microwave, hmm?”
“Yep. I had a micro-fridge in the dorm. Microwave on top, fridge below. I could just grab a hot pocket—” He winces again. “—from the bottom and pop it into the top, and in all of two minutes, lunch.”
“Well, in that case, I’m particularly glad you’re here with us now.”
“That makes one of us,” I say under my breath.
Theresa gives me a knowing look, one that almost seems to pity me, then makes herself busy in the pantry.
Carter stirs the ramen then pops the lid back on before coming over to the island. “How are you holding up?”
I snort. I can’t help it. “You ask it like I’m in a hostage situation. Or maybe on my deathbed.”
“You aren’t on your deathbed, but the first part doesn’t sound so far off.”
“I guess everyone knows how I got here.” I rub my eyes and try to erase the images of Horatio and his dead brothers lying at my feet.
“Yes, word travels fast. Mateo told me the day before you arrived that I’d be cooking for you.”
How long had Mateo been planning this? It’s something I’ve wondered, but I’ve been too keyed up to spend much time thinking about it. This must’ve been in the works for quite some time for him to show up at the wedding with the bride price at the ready and his men in position to wreak havoc. I’ve also pondered the why of it. Not that I’d ask him, and not that anyone else in this house would tell me. Was it really just to gain a foothold into the Fontana name? He has to know it’s nothing more than a façade at this point. If the name died with me, it wouldn’t be that odd. After all, plenty of big names have died out in our violent world, and no tears were shed over their loss. So why go to all this trouble?
“Lucretia?”
I look up at Carter and realize he’s been calling my name more than once.
“Sorry, I was just … thinking.”
“Not a problem. But your ramen is ready. I just need to know if you want an egg and scallions on top.”
“An egg?” I’m unfamiliar with it, but I’m down to try it, especially since I’m certain Carter knows what a good ramen is supposed to look like. “Sure. But I’m a no on the scallions.”
“Noted.” He ladles the steaming ramen into a bowl, cracks an egg over the top, and slides it over to me. “Enjoy it. If you don’t, please let me know. I’m here to feed you, and I can’t do that if you aren’t honest about your likes and dislikes.”
“You have my word.” I don’t know if I’m being entirely truthful, though. Carter is the only friendly face I’ve found in this place, so I’m not keen on telling him if I don’t like his food.
Thankfully, he turns away and starts wiping down the stove and counters as I pull my first bunch of noodles from the bowl and blow on them. The broth is so hot that the egg is cooked except for a slightly runny yolk. When I finally put them in my mouth, I close my eyes at the taste. Rich and perfectly salty, these are easily the best ramen noodles I’ve ever had in my life.
“So good,” I say around the mouthful.
“Good. Now I know your baseline, and I can experiment from here.” He ladles the rest of the noodles into a large bowl, adds more broth, then places them on the serving line next to the caprese salad. Somehow, I already know that’s one of Mateo’s chosen snack foods.