Craving Perfect (26 page)
I was glad that I hadn’t scared her off for good. “Come back any time.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Callie turned as Carlos helped her with the door, the bell jingling overhead. And then Callie was gone. Just like that. In the time it took me to blink. It didn’t seem possible.
My eyes followed her as she passed by the front windows. The rest of my body turned frozen.
“Grace,” Carlos said gently. His arm returned to my shoulder.
I finally blinked. “That was Callie,” I whispered. It didn’t seem possible. “Now do you believe me?”
“I never doubted you.”
“She’s so beautiful. And so perfect…”
Carlos reached for my chin. “And so are you.” Then he pulled me hard against his chest and kissed the top of my head. When I thought his arms couldn’t hug me any tighter, they did. “Please don’t ever leave me again, Grace.”
“What?” I exhaled the breath that I’d been holding against his neck.
“Well, this isn’t exactly how I planned it.”
“What are you talking about?”
Carlos dropped to the ground. “This seems like the right time.”
My eyes followed him. “What are you doing?” Whether my hands were shaking from seeing Callie or from watching Carlos drop to one knee, I wasn’t completely certain but they were trembling so badly that I had to cross my arms across my chest.
“I won’t lose you again, Grace.”
“Lose me? Never. Carlos—”
“Let me finish.”
I swallowed back an anxious lump as Carlos reached for my left hand.
Still shaking, my fingers met his.
He squeezed my hand and then he kissed the back of it. With his other hand, he pulled a black velvet box from his pocket. He flicked it open with his thumb. An oval-shaped diamond sparkled inside it. For a moment, his warm fingers left mine as he reached for the ring.
Then he held the ring in his hand.
Watching him, I exhaled my words. “Oh. My. God. Carlos?” My hand—my whole body, every muscle and bone—shook harder. Neither one of us had extra money saved. I had no idea how he would have afforded such a beautiful ring.
“Grace Mills, the absolute love of my life…” He paused. “Will you marry me?”
I gasped. My hands flew to my mouth. But then I dropped to the ground right alongside him as if I’d lost both kneecaps. Standing over him was too far away. I couldn’t imagine my life—any life—without Carlos right beside me. My lip quivered as my eyes searched his. “Carlos…”
His eyes grew wider and he swallowed hard, waiting.
But then I smiled at him as tears filled my eyes. “I’d be honored to marry you.”
He looked down at me with a smile that I’d run all day to reach if necessary. His eyes moistened in both corners before he crushed me to his chest.
Behind us, the bell jingled over the door. Uncle Mario marched inside, a bulky brown box balanced between his hands. Two of his restaurant chefs followed after him, pulling a dolly stacked with more boxes.
Tears flowed down my cheeks as I wrapped my arms around Carlos. His hands cradled my face in his hands. His thumb caught one of my tears. Then he leaned down to kiss me as though we were the only two people in the room.
Too soon, we pulled apart, still kneeling together on the floor, alternating between breathless bursts of laughing and crying. But I memorized that moment in that instant. I wanted to cherish it right here, right now, and always.
Uncle Mario stood inside the door with his startled gaze alternating between us. His eyes lowered to the sparkle on my left hand, and then a grin spread across his face. “Hey,
Jefe
,” he called to the man behind him. It was Marco, another one of Carlos’s cousins. And now mine, too. “Go fetch the box with the champagne.
Pronto, por favor
. Looks like the celebration has already started.”
From
The Scones & Sopapillas Café Cookbook:
GRACE’S RASPBERRY COMFORT SCONES
2 cups flour
½ cup granulated white sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons butter, cold and cut into small squares
¾ cup raspberries
½ cup plain yogurt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 large egg, lightly beaten
Generous amounts of jazz music
Ready your iPod, CD player, record player, or radio dial. Crank the jazz.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees and place rack in middle of oven.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Blend the butter into the flour mixture till it looks coarse. Stir in the raspberries.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the yogurt, vanilla extract, and egg. Add this to the flour mixture and stir until the dough begins to form. Do not overmix.
Transfer to a lightly floured surface and knead the dough gently no more than six times.
Pat or roll the dough into a circle until it is roughly 7 inches round and 1.5 inches thick.
Cut the dough into eight triangles and place the scones on the baking sheet.
Bake for approximately 20 minutes or until golden brown. Sprinkle with powdered sugar and then place them under the broiler for a few seconds, turning the pan as necessary. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
Makes 8 scones.
Warning: You will be tempted to eat all of them. Make sure to save one for later.
ELENA’S SOPAPILLAS
4 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons shortening
1½ cups warm water
2 quarts oil for frying
Honey (optional)
Powdered sugar (optional)
Friends to chat with as you bake
In a large bowl, stir together flour, baking powder, salt and shortening. Stir in water and mix until the dough is smooth. Cover and let stand for 20 minutes.
Roll out on floured board until 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. Cut into 3 inch squares.
Heat oil in deep-fryer to 375 degrees. Fry until golden brown on both sides. Drain on paper towels and serve hot. Drizzle generously with honey and/or powdered sugar. Preferably both.
Makes 24. Give half to your best friend.
Born and raised in Park Ridge, Illinois, Liz moved to the American Southwest after college, never expecting to live more than one year among cactus and people who’d never seen snow. She was wrong. When she’s not busy writing her next novel, Liz likes to pretend that one day she’ll finish a triathlon. She also likes to travel, visit museums, support local theater productions and cook Italian dishes that taste as good as her mother’s. Liz and her husband live in Phoenix, Arizona. You can visit her website at www.lizfichera.com.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9193-9
Copyright © 2011 by Liz Fichera
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