Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 25: Secret Scaloppine

"Do you have maids or something?" I asked, observing the fully-stocked kitchen. The countertops displayed fresh fruits in baskets and the refrigerator was abundant with meats and vegetables, along with other ingredients such as dairy products.

"No," he answered while he finished mixing his homemade lemonade. He clunked ice cubes into two glasses, topping them to the brim. "I have some people who clean while I'm away, but I take care of the kitchen."

He gestured to a bowl of clementines and I obliged. "You did this recently?" I began to unpeel the citrus.

Jacob poured the lemonade and handed one to me. His face was a light shade of red that I had never seen before on him. Or maybe it was the potlighting in the ceiling that brought out the underlying rosy glow. "Yes. We needed things for our stay and I didn't want to waste any time at the grocery store. Though, I hope everything is to your liking."

I sipped the lemonade and nodded an approval. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."

He responded with a warm smile and an offer to clink glasses, so we did. "Would you like to sit outside?"

We went out to the front porch and the scenery opened up towards the ocean. Nothing obstructed the view. A few white rocking chairs with cushioned pads were lined up along the wooden-floored porch and we sat beside each other.

In the moments we settled ourselves and absorbed the view, I realized that it was the first time that I could remember being outside and barely hearing a thing—there was no traffic or people shouting, and it tricked me into believing I had gone deaf for a few seconds. There was a faint white noise aspect of the waves lapping on the rocks and birds tweeting in the mini forest of trees that surrounded the property. It was the same kind of absent noise as inside the Bentley.

"I know that you appreciate things, but are you aware that you deserve these things?" he asked.

I sipped the mildly sweet lemonade while I thought of an appropriate response; the inquiry caught me off guard. It wasn't easy to find the right words on the spot, so I took advantage of the natural silence around us for a moment. The truth was I didn't think I deserved anything because what have I done for anyone? I believed in being kind to people, no matter how they treated me. Being mean just made the world an even worse place—it was a choice of which one I wanted to contribute to.

"If someone treats me well, then I'm grateful for their kindness. I never feel like I should have to deserve anything."

I trailed off my last words while gazing at the ocean view before my eyes. It was astonishing to me that nature could be so tranquil in the middle of a hot summer afternoon. I expected to hear a delivery truck's beep as it backed up, or a group of kids' running footsteps as they made their way to or from a park. My body wasn't overheated for once, though the shade helped, but sitting still and calm despite the temperature was revitalizing. I truly felt the weather I never liked before; now it was quite pleasant.

"Deserving is like a reward. What did I do to earn it?" I added.

Jacob either didn't have a response right away or chose silence to be sufficient enough. As the seconds ticked by, the latter became more probable.

I finally parted my gaze from the distant sparkling waves and lent it over to Jacob. He turned to look at me at the same time. His face was relaxed and the corners of his mouth pulled out into a sympathetic smile.

"By being a good person, Chloe. So many people aren't."

I drank down the last of the perfectly tart lemonade and replied, "Everyone should have a chance, I guess. If you're nice to mean people, they may not have deserved it, but I believe in treating everyone right."

"You may feel differently if you knew the people I used to," he remarked with a careless chuckle. My stomach grumbled noticeably and he laughed. "Do you want me to start dinner?"

"Yes, and I'd like to help."

We proceeded to stand up, then Jacob paused and gently caressed my arm. He guided me ahead of him back inside. "We'll see, but I would like you to continue your rest, and there's plenty of other times this week we can cook together. Trust me, I have some things I want to teach you."

~ ~ ~

I watched Jacob dart around the kitchen, moving seamlessly between the stove, sink, refrigerator, and refilling our wine glasses. The kitchen was enveloped in a heavenly aroma of scents from herbs and citrus as the fresh mushrooms cooked in their sauce. The thin veal cutlets were fried in the same pan, reserving some of the oil for flavor. Veal Scaloppine was one of the dishes Jacob regarded as his claim-to-fame.

"What things have you learned to cook?" he asked as he worked.

"Not a whole lot. I know how to scramble eggs; I can't poach one without a gadget. Boxed brownie mixes are my specialty too."

He vigorously flipped the mushrooms as they cooked down quickly and replied in his flurry, "That's a start. Haven't you picked up any skills at the Bistro?"

I nearly spit out the wine. "Everything's frozen, remember?"

He paused to shake his head but immediately returned to his culinary creation. "No offense to the place where you work but, that's painful to hear. They're taking advantage of their prime real estate when they should focus on making a real prime rib."

I scoffed, "The only thing that offends me regarding that place is working there."

Jacob took a tablespoon and scooped up a bit of the sauce. He gracefully carried it to my lips. "Try this." I accepted the gesture and tasted the rich sauce, which was complex in flavor but with a subtle kick of lemon.

"It's wonderful. Did your mother teach you how to cook?"

"Yes, in the beginning. Then I went to a culinary school while I worked with my father," he said. "I also trained with high-profile Italian chefs, then was a personal chef for some notable clients."

Hearing more insight into his life made me smile, but so did the wine as it tingled my bloodstream. "Like who?" I asked.

Jacob switched off the stovetop heat and moved the bubbling pan of sauce onto the counter. He proceeded with preparing garnishes for the roasted potatoes that were almost done in the oven.

"I suppose I shouldn't have used the word 'notable', because you wouldn't recognize anyone," he corrected himself. "More like...well, never mind." He smirked, as if amused with himself.

"I want to know now that you have me wondering," I playfully urged.

Jacob plated our meals and I was patient within the silence as he artfully completed the dinner. My curiosity was exploding inside my mind—overly eager for more information about him.

"Families," he answered. "Organized ones."

He didn't make eye contact while he carried the dual plates to his farmhouse dining table, being extra careful not to spill anything. I occupied the bench seat and he sat at the head beside me. He poured more wine for us, then finally looked at me.

"I'm not involved in that anymore; I haven't been for a long time."

I watched him cut his veal and take a bite—his indirect nod affirmed he was happy with how his dish turned out.

"You mean like, organized crime?" I asked for clarification, then instantly regretted touching on such a heavy topic.

He glanced up and nodded with nonchalance while chewing. "I haven't worked in that for... the better part of twenty years."

The complete picture was painted right in front of my eyes—the reason why he had so much money. Of course it was in part to his successful restaurant business, but now it was more clear how it all started. Surely, the mafia life earned handsomely.

Jacob's aloofness to his confession didn't fool me; it was a defensive tactic. Deep down, he was worried about scaring me off, but I somehow didn't mind it.

"No wonder you nailed this Scaloppine," I remarked. It broke the apprehensive air and we laughed together. After all, I couldn't judge anyone's past when mine, which sometimes included stealing and boosting on the streets for survival, was still a secret from him.