A Little Bite of Magic (Little Magic) by M.J. O'Shea Read Free Book Online Page A

Stella Artois for his work. Frankie looked over at one point to thank Dom again for working as frenetically as he had himself. It was then that he noticed Dom was drizzling heated caramel cream onto the beignets as he plated them. Bethany came and grabbed the plate he’d just finished before whisking it out to the dining room.
    Frankie wondered for a second when on earth Dom had had a chance to make a caramel cream sauce, and then he got a good long smell…and encountered rum and vanilla and what he knew was a whole lot of trouble.
    “Dom?”
    Dom licked the cream off his fingers before he washed them. “This stuff is amazing. What did you do to it?”
    Frankie started to hyperventilate. “Where did you get that custard?”
    “From the top shelf of the fridge, just like you said.”
    “I said get the vanilla custard on the middle shelf.”
    “No, you said the top. Anyway, who cares unless you had this put aside for some special recipe? It’s perfect.”
    Perfectly disastrous. Oh God, oh God, oh God…
    Frankie didn’t know what had made him keep the charmed dulce de leche. Maybe he wanted to relive that night. Maybe he wanted the possibility of it happening again. But if Dom had just filled a restaurant’s worth of desserts with it, Frankie was screwed.
    Dom looked over at him. His face was all sweet and melty, just like the caramel sauce he had licked off his index finger.
    “You know,” he said, tipping his head to the side. “You have really nice lips, Franks. I never noticed before.”
    I’m screwed.
    He was afraid to look, but he had to see what he’d done. Well, what Dom had done, but it was his own kiss-distracted brain that had caused it, that and the fact that he couldn’t stand to throw away the dessert he’d made for Addison. Shit.
    Frankie tiptoed to the doorway of his dining room. He was afraid to see what was happening out there. He stuck his head around the corner slowly…slowly, and… oh, effing hell!
    It was like Valentine’s Day on crack, San Francisco style. There were housewives with strollers holding hands over their tables, single diners staring dreamily off into space, a business man fiddling with his colleague’s tie and leaning closer for a tender kiss. Owen was offering a morsel of a filched beignet to Bethany, who was all of a sudden looking at him, not with her usual annoyance, but with big blue puppy-dog eyes. Total. Disaster.
    And then Addison walked in.
    * * * *
    “What’s going on in here?” Addison glanced around the intoxicated room in horror.
    “Oh, it’s, um, this thing I call a date lunch. I hold them every so often.” Frankie reached for Addison’s hand. “Come back to the kitchen.”
    He pulled Addison into the kitchen, where he deposited him on the same stool from Friday night, and rushed back out to the dining area. Frankie's behavior was a little odd, but Addison was so happy to see him, he let it pass.
    Addison saw a rack of pastries cooling over in the corner and a pot of caramel sauce bubbling away on the stove top. Addison couldn't help leaning over and smelling the caramel. It was like that amazing stuff from the other night. Addison glanced at the door and decided no one would ever know if he had a few. He piled three pastries on his plate and covered them with a generous ladle of that utterly sinful sauce. He was happily munching away when Frankie came back into the kitchen. Addison wasn’t sure what had happened to him in the past few days, but he did know he’d choose the caramel pastry deliciousness over plain vanilla ice cream (his previous dessert of choice) any day.
    Frankie looked more relaxed when he returned to the kitchen with his friend Dom from the wine bar in tow. Frankie's lips were, if anything, even prettier than they’d been the other night. Addison wanted to kiss him again. Frankie’s somewhat relaxed look disappeared when he saw Addison eating the pastries. He blanched.
    “I’ll pay for it, I promise,” Addison said. “I