“Then we’re good.”
Turns out her pantry is a treasure trove for a vinaigrette meister like me. I find shallots, garlic, honey, and an orange. Her spice cabinet yields mustard, sugar, salt, ground white pepper, celery seed. I mince a couple of shallots and a bit of garlic, grate a little orange peel, and blend these with the other ingredients, and set the mixture on the counter so the flavors can blend.
“The oil and vinegar will separate before we eat the salad,” she says.
“No they won’t.”
“Ever heard the expression oil and vinegar don’t mix?”
“I think you mean oil and water.”
“That’s the lesser known expression, as any cook will tell you.”
“You’re a cook now?”
“Well, I didn’t run a bed and breakfast in Florida and hunt squirrels in the attic like that guy in the novel.”
“Funny.”
“But it doesn’t change things. The oil and vinegar will separate.”
“I added some honey.”
“So?”
“It sustains the emulsion.”
She cocks her head at me. “Do you ever listen to yourself talk?”
“No. That’s your job.”
She pulls the cover off the blender, pokes her index finger into the vinaigrette, licks it.
“Fuck the salad,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“I could make a meal out of this. Why’s it so good?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Callie opens her silverware drawer, takes out a spoon, dips it in the mixture, puts the spoon in her mouth, swallows. Then licks the spoon.
Sees me staring at her mouth.
“What?” she says.
“Have you ever heard of a Pocket Rocket?”
She gives me a curious look, then says, “You asshole!”
“Huh?”
“You were fantasizing about me. Again.”
“What makes you think—”
“Sexually.”
“Well…”
“It’s just a mouth, Donovan. Everyone’s got one.”
“Not like yours.”
She shakes her head. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
She smiles. “What difference does it make?”
I shrug.
She dips her spoon into the dressing again, puts it up to her mouth. But this time, before tasting it, she blocks her mouth from my view with her other hand. Then she winks.
“You know I love you,” I say.
“How could you not?”
My cell phone starts vibrating.
“I’ve made vinaigrette a dozen times,” she says.
“So?”
“It never turns out like this.”
“The ratio of oil to vinegar is everything.”
My phone vibrates again. I look at the caller ID.
“Tell me,” Callie says.
