MISE-EN-PLACE

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Sorbet

Sorbet [soar-bay] is a frozen dessert made from sweetened water flavored with fruit (typically juice or purée), wine, and/or liqueur. Sorbet is variously explained as either a Roman or Persian invention. The name comes from the Latin verb "sorbere" and the modern Italian verb sorbire, meaning to eat and drink at the same time. The noun form, sorbetto, is a mixture of a solid and liquid food. The term sherbet or charbet is derived from the Turkish şerbet, "sorbet", from the Persian sharbat, which in turn comes from the Arabic شربات sharbāt meaning "drink(s)" or "juice." Sorbet is sometimes served between courses as a way to cleanse the palate before the main course.

Sorbets in service à la russe dinners are most commonly citrus-flavored.

Citrus-Ginger Champagne Sorbet

4 C good-quality Champagne

2 C granulated sugar

4 C water

2 C fresh-squeezed orange juice

1/2 C fresh-squeezed lemon juice

4 tbsp ginger, peeled and finely chopped

2 tsp each finely grated lemon and orange peel

Sprigs of mint for garnish

Pop cork from champagne bottle 1 to 2 hours before using. Gradually pour champagne, allowing for foaming, into a 2-quart container; set aside. Combine water, sugar and ginger in heavy large saucepan. Bring to boil, stirring until sugar dissolves. Reduce heat and simmer 10 minutes. Add citrus peels, boil 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Whisk in citrus juices and champagne. Cool completely. Pour mixture into 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish. Cover and freeze until solid, about 6 hours or overnight.

Transfer mixture to processor and puree until smooth. Return to same glass dish; cover and freeze until solid, at least 3 hours or overnight. (Can be prepared 3 days ahead. Keep frozen.)

M-e-P

The music was loud over Edward's house-wide sound system. I loved this song. It was atmospheric—moody—and it made me feel sexy. I swung my hips to the sultry techno beat as I stirred the simple syrup on the stove. Listening to the lyrics, I wondered why Edward was playing this song before he'd left for a meeting with his agent. He said something about a 'smart action' movie. I was making him a light dessert so we—he, so that he could celebrate without overloading his still-sensitive stomach. He'd been sick for days and was finally on the mend.

Shit, I hoped this wouldn't be too acidic. And I hoped we wouldn't be eating it to drown his sorrows, but really, these days there was hardly a role that Edward wanted which he didn't get. He was already speaking to a trainer and a nutritionist about conditioning his body. The first thought was indeed appetizing, the latter not so much. My last experience with one of Edward's nutritionists was horrible. Not even I could make undressed poached chicken breasts palatable.

I sang along the two harmonizing women. I added the grated citrus peel to my saucepan. The sunny-bright peels swirled along with the eddies my spoon had left behind: sugar-water spin art. The essential oils coated my skin, and I could taste them on my tongue. I let my eyes unfocus and just watched the play of color. It was hypnotic, just like the music. Peppery ginger aroma filled the kitchen as I swayed. It tickled the inside of my nose. I hit the back button to play the song again.

I clicked the stove off and closed my eyes. I stretched my arms over my head, silicone spatula still in hand. I may never get a Michelin star working for Edward, but I could dance by myself in an empty kitchen—no restaurant could offer me that freedom. Or good health insurance. Edward being a dickbag aside, I loved my job. Loved it.

And I loved Edward, too.

I picked up the bottles of champagne and ran my thumb over the lip of the one left over from Edward's date. My stomach still fluttered when I thought about the implications of this mostly full bottle. I had to get over Edward. He was charming, funny, and smart (for an actor), but he was also really uneven. Fickle. I thought of pineapple and firelight, and my stomach fluttered again. He may have been acting nicer toward me lately, but Edward had burned me once. Yeah, his date had been bad, but he was still dating. I hadn't been out with a guy that wasn't a fishmonger since I started falling for Edward.

I poured the champagne into the large saucepan, one bottle then another. I stirred for a second, then added the mixed citrus juices. Another stir; I licked the spatula and hummed. Sweet-tart, with a mild bite from the alcohol. Next time, I'd use cheap champagne that I'd cooked first.

The kitchen felt hot. I wiped my forehead with the dish towel on my shoulder, then dragged it down my neck and through the half-unbuttoned placket of my whites, down my chest and between my breasts. I dragged it up my body again, somehow not feeling like a cheap belly dancer. The lemon oil and heat were a muggy veil enveloping me. I felt shielded.

Maybe I'd go to a club. I wasn't the type to hook up, but maybe I could get my mind off things for a while. Dancing felt good.

"Holy fucking shit."

I whirled around. Edward was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, messenger bag in hand, mouth slightly open. He'd only left about a half hour ago.

"Edward? What are—"

His bag hit the floor, the leather smacking against the marble. In three strides, he was in front of me, one hand on my waist and the other behind my neck. I barely had time to register the expression of intense desire on his face before he tilted my head back and kissed me—hard.

My body reacted while my mind went blank. I kissed him back, kissed him with everything I had. I dropped the tea towel and threw my arms around his neck, feeling how his shoulders curved over as he bent down to reach me.

"I can't fucking take it anymore…" Edward muttered when the kiss broke as he tilted his head to the other side. His lips were hard against mine but his tongue was soft, teasing. He groaned and slid his hand down to my thigh, gripping it and lifting me up onto the counter. When my ass hit the cold marble, I gasped.

"Hire you a bodyguard, don't care… Worth it…"

He stepped in between my parted thighs. My hands were in his hair, my lips were on his, and he tasted so damn good—spicy like the chiles I'd put in his egg whites this morning. He broke the kiss, sliding his lips along my jaw and down my throat.

"Mmm, lemon…" He nibbled on my earlobe, rolling his tongue along the small, sterling studs there, a gift from my mother.

"God, I want you, I want you so bad."

I want you. I felt like I'd been shocked in an ice-bath. I'd heard that before—right before he'd shattered me. He'd callously, coldly thrown me away. What if he did it again?

Edward must've noticed that I wasn't responding anymore. He pulled back and I hated how hot he looked with his mussed hair and swollen lips. My hands were limp in his hair, so I let them drop to my sides. I gripped the edge of the counter.

I saw the moment it clicked for him.

"No, Bella, no—I didn't mean…"

"What?! Again?" I tried to push past him and shove off the counter, but he wouldn't move. I couldn't take this anymore. I'd get a new job. Someone would hire me, my credentials were impeccable. "Let me past, you bastard!"

"No, no-no-no, just listen!" He pulled my chin up to make me look at him. Edward wiped my face with one hand, gently brushing tears away. He kissed a few off the other cheek and I tried to shove him away again.

"Bella, I'm sorry, but please just listen. Will you? Please?"

I nodded. I had no idea why.

"I did mean it. I meant it, and I meant it the first time." His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, silenced it, and tossed it on the counter. In the same motion, he grabbed the stereo remote and aimed it over his shoulder, turning the volume way down.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm sorry for what I did to you before—not the kiss, but the way I handled it. And for the way I did this."

"What? Is this supposed to be making me feel better or worse?"

He closed his eyes. "I'm such a fucking moron. Bella, I wanted to—fuck—I wanted to take you out, okay? Like a normal guy. I wanted to take you out to some really great place and fucking impress you and act like a real man would, but only after I'd proven you could trust me, and—goddamn it!" he shouted when his phone began ringing again. He grabbed it and answered it.

"Yes! Yes, I'm on my way, Victoria. I fucking know he's important, all right? I'll be right there, I have something to take care of first. Yes, something more important." He hung up. Edward reached up, his fingers already shaped to pinch the bridge of his nose. He set his hand down on the counter next to mine instead.

"You have to go." It was something halfway between a question and a statement.

"Yeah. In a minute, yeah. I just… there's a reason I did what I did. I'm not saying it was a good reason or that I did the right thing, but I thought it was right at the time. I am sorry, though. Bella, I'm so sorry. Will you please let me try to make it right?"

After a long pause during which his eyes became increasingly anxious, I nodded again. I wondered why anyone loved anyone.

"Thank you, Bella," he said, a sigh of relief. He stepped back, looking at me almost like he was double-checking something. I don't know what he would've seen. Edward half-jogged to his office and I heard him rummaging around in there. He came out with a paper in his hand and slipped it into his bag. The papers in there stuck out in every direction, bent and orderless. The sight of it usually made me twitch with the urge to organize, but right now, it didn't bother me.

"I promise, I'll explain everything. But I have to get back to the restaurant, the director's waiting and he flew in from London…"

"Did you go to the place I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, of course. Hey, do you, um—do you want me to bring you something back?"

I smiled for the first time since I saw Edward in that doorway. "I dunno if a place like that does carry-out, Edward."

He grinned, cute and a little cocky. "For me, they will." Okay, a lot cocky.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Sure."

"What?"

"Just tell the chef who I am, he knows me. He'll pick something."

Edward frowned and shook his head slightly. He walked toward me again, and I marveled at how different a man could look making the same three strides over the same piece of floor.

"Can I kiss you goodbye, Bella?" He brushed his thumb along my lip, his pointer finger resting along my jaw.

"You've never asked permission before."

"I know that."

I looked at Edward for a long time. Really looked at him. The same man who'd broken my heart. The same man I still loved.

"Okay."

Edward smiled. He leaned down to kiss me again. This time—for the first time—he was gentle. He brushed his lips against mine. I lost myself in the sweet sensation. Edward was still smiling when he stepped away from me.

"We'll talk when I get back?" He kissed me again, quickly, and walked out of the kitchen.

"Oops," he said, jogging back in again. He grabbed his bag and left, fingers grazing his lips.

What the fuck just happened?

AN: I continue to be overwhelmed by the reaction to this story. Thank each and every one of you for your reviews. For the first time ever, I got more than I could reply to. I'm stunned and humbled. Thank you, thank you, thank you.