Just a Taste by Deirdre Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

illness. Vivi was itching to ask him how she died, but if ever there was a rude question, that was it.
    For a second, he seemed lost in thought…lost to her , his wife. But then he seemed to remember where he was, giving the pie plate in his hand a little shake. “What have we got here?”
    “Apple tart. My own recipe.”
    “Oh yeah?” Anthony seemed intrigued. “Can I try it now?”
    “After you tell me what contractor you used when you renovated Dante’s,” Vivi reminded him sweetly.
    Anthony frowned. “Oh, that.”
    “Yes, that. You owe me in exchange for my telling you about Natalie, remember?”
    “It’s the DiDinato brothers.”
    It was Vivi’s turn to frown. “Their estimate was the highest.”
    “Do you want the best or not?”
    “Of course I do,” she bristled.
    “Then the double Ds are the go-to guys.” He pointed to the pie plate. “May I?”
    “Of course.” Vivi couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when he took the first bite and his eyes glazed over with sheer pleasure. And sheer envy.
    “Let me just grab a plate.”
    Vivi nodded, sitting down at a nearby table as Anthony fetched a plate and some cutlery. By the time he joined her, her heart was restless in her chest, obeying its own beat.
    “Looks great,” said Anthony, peeling back the foil and cutting into the pie. The sweet aroma of apples and sugar rose up. “Smells great, too.”
    Vivi watched as he cut a piece of pie for each of them. “No, none for me,” she said quickly. She was actually nervous, so much so that she wasn’t sure she could manage even the smallest bite. But Anthony wasn’t having it.
    “My mother always told me, ‘Never trust a cook who won’t sample their own creation in front of you.’”
    Seeing no way out, she accepted the plate he slid across the table to her. “You first,” she insisted.
    “If you say so,” said Anthony, taking a forkful of pie. Vivi’s breath froze as she watched him chew slowly and deliberately, savoring the taste before swallowing. “Nice.”
    Vivi snorted. “‘Nice’?”
    “Nice,” Anthony repeated mildly. He broke off a piece of the pastry, studying it. “This is really good. Sweet. How do you make it?”
    “How do you think I make it?” Vivi shot back. Nice indeed.
    Anthony popped the pastry into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “There’s sugar in it.”
    “What kind?” Vivi pushed, folding her arms across her chest. He thought he was Mr. Hot Chef? Let’s see how good he was at pinpointing ingredients in French pastry.
    “Confectioner’s sugar.”
    Bastard.
    “Very good.” She tensed as he took another bite of pie. “How’s that piece you’re chewing on now?” she asked tartly. “Nice?”
    “Very nice. But I think it would be better if you used a little more brown sugar, you know?”
    Vivi contemplated picking up the pie plate and marrying it to his face. Instead, she picked up her fork and speared a bite of pie from his plate. “What you’re saying is, you can do better.” She popped the morsel into her mouth, raising an eyebrow. “Right?”
    “Well…”
    “Go on, then. I dare you. I dare you to do better.”
    Anthony reared back in his chair. “You’re challenging me?” He seemed affronted. He was a raving egomaniac!
    “Yes, I am,” Vivi replied fiercely. “Bake me something better. Bake me a pie that will leave me drooling and begging you to share the recipe. I’ll bet you can’t.”
    Anthony’s eyes seemed to ignite at the thought of competition. “That’s a pretty big gauntlet you’re throwing down there, Ms. Robitaille. You sure you’re up for what we in the States call a major butt kicking?”
    “Absolutely. There’s no way you can best me. You know it, and I know it.” She leaned across the table, staring hard into his big, brown eyes. “As you Americans say, ‘Bring it over.’”
    “I think you mean ‘Bring it on .’” Anthony sprang to his feet. “When?”
    Vivi rose, nimbly wrapping her own