“I have no idea.”
“How do you get the dishes to taste the same every time if you don’t have the measurements written down?”
“I feel it. They don’t come out exactly the same every time.”
“You feel it.” She bit her lip. “Then how would someone at home be able to cook them?”
“They wouldn’t.”
Shane watched Audrey’s expression go from irritated to intelligent as she thought through what she should say next. “You’re not at Shane’s Table in New York and Los Angeles cooking every single dish. How does your staff prepare the food?”
“Of course the restaurant menu recipes are written down. We’ll use a few Shane’s Table guest favorites for the book. But it’s supposed to be all new food. Reg promised we’d deliver fresh, rustic and regional, and I’m still working on the dishes. The measurements are the least of my problems.”
Audrey took a big breath into her lungs and held it there.
She sure looked adorable when she was thinking.
“I’m trying to work with you here, Shane.” She exhaled. He liked hearing her say his name. “The restaurant menu had to have been ideas in your head at the beginning. How did you develop the recipes for those?”
“That was a long time ago.” Before Melina died. Before grief and frustration and anger clouded his mind and heart. Nowadays he went through the motions but stayed under the darkness. Which was how he wanted it. Or thought he did anyway.
Another Shane’s Table was opening. Truthfully, so what? A cookbook as a publicity stunt Reg said would bring their brand to every corner of the world. So what? The Feed U Project with the kids was about all he cared about anymore. Just as he and his family had done in a dozen other locations, he’d turned a warehouse in downtown Vegas into a kitchen where he taught local kids how to cook.
Reg’s call interrupted his musing. His brother wanted to meet right away.
“I gotta go, Sugar,” he said to the five-foot-two ray of light.
“I thought we were supposed to achieve something on the cookbook today.”
He turned to the pan he had cooling on a nearby rack. With his fingers, he broke off a taste of what he had baked earlier. From an old recipe that it had occurred to him to whip up this morning. With Audrey in mind, if he was being honest.
“Pan de dulce de leche. Caramel.” Shane popped the chunk of still-warm cake into her delectable mouth.
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