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Sarah Chamberlain Books

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The Slowest Burn

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Love Walked In

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“You know what it's like when you see a rainbow?" I said carefully, like I was walking along a narrow, high wall, resisting the urge to put my arms out for balance. "Yeah?" she answered just as slowly. "Like everyone stops to look at it, to appreciate it, because you can't help but take in all those colors? That's what it's been like, having you at the shop. You walk into a room and everything gets more vivid, and people can't help but feel... joyful." My unspoken words floated in the air between us. You make me smile. You make me laugh. When you open your mouth and say something saucy, all I can think about is the curve of your lips.”

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Book:Love Walked In
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“Maybe she hadn't worked in a restaurant, but anyone who made their cookbooks look like that must have known something. I flipped through a few others. Thai salads, meringue-topped cakes, Carolina barbecue. Then on the bottom shelves, I found a row of cheap black-and-white speckled notebooks. They didn't fit the grown-up vibe of the rest of the room. Everyone has a soft spot, Jay had said. I reached for one. "Cooking Notes," it said in sparkly green pen on the cover. The handwriting was rounder. A kid's. "October 25," I read slowly, trailing my finger along the page. Fish sticks. Cook at 400F for two minutes longer than the box says. Hank likes one tablespoon ketchup and one tablespoon yellow mustard mixed together. Mom likes one tablespoon mayonnaise with juice of a quarter of a lemon and one teaspoon Tabasco. Hank's waffles. Toast Eggos on medium, put on butter and maple syrup, then microwave for ten seconds to melt everything together. I flicked through a year of little Ellie's cooking. A lot of it was her trying to dress up convenience food--- pancakes, ramen. Toward the end of the notebook, she'd started to try random scratch recipes. Ground Turkey Tacos had lots of stars and fireworks drawn around it, while another for zucchini omelets only had "Yuck.”

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“I don't judge other people for doing what they need to do. But you know what sex does? It makes oxytocin. Bonding hormones. Running around your system willy-nilly and making things all warm and fuzzy. Anyone who thinks that they can have sex more than once without catching at least some kind of feelings is delusional, because catching feelings is biology." I put my hands up. "OK, Einstein, I take your point." "Einstein wasn't a biologist." I laughed, all disbelief. "I'm telling you that I want to be naked in your bed, and you're being a smartass?" She blushed. "Stating facts isn't smartassery. It's pedantry.”

SexSmartPedantryOxytocinBlue BallsCatching Feelings
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“What is it about you and my hair?" I asked, half laughing as I pulled out the first pins and put them in my pockets. "It's just wavy and brown." "You see brown." He pulled the rubber band off the end of the braid when it fell and started to unravel it. "I see chocolate and nutmeg and cinnamon..." I raised my eyebrows. "I think you might need some non edible adjectives. It's like you really want to eat me." He raised his eyebrows back. "Don't I?" A giggle bubbled up. "Touché.”

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Book:Love Walked In
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“The rich smells of long-simmered chicken, onion, and garlic curled around us, and Nicole hummed with every mouthful. Ten seconds later, my stomach hissed in protest. "Can I taste it?" Nicole pulled out a second spoon from under the placemat. From the first spoonful, the warmth of the rice porridge soaked into my bones. It was care in a bowl, and the tears that surged up almost choked me. "Ellie?" Her voice was as cozy and comforting as the stew. No, I was tired of crying. "I like the ginger and the citrus in this," I managed. She smiled. "Exactly. It's got to have the calamansi lime juice in it to make everything else sing. But Nanay swears it's all about the chicken.”

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“Speckled brown eggs that the farmer promised had been laid just that morning, two dark loaves of sourdough that crackled when I squeezed them gently. Meaty bacon from happy pigs, a chunk of salmon glowing coral and smelling like the sea. Little waxy potatoes firm to my touch, dirt-skinned onions, bouquets of fresh herbs. As I inhaled the scent of a bunch of rosemary, hot dusty summer captured in its needles, I felt my worries loosen their grip on me for a second, pleasure taking their place.”

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“As he stroked between my thighs, he trailed his mouth up to my ear, told me with a voice like dark chocolate and smoke that I was everything he'd ever wished for, so perfectly soft and hot and slick on his fingers, how he'd tortured himself in his lonely bed thinking of my sexy little sounds, how hard he was going to fuck me once he made me scream. "Oh God, Leo, please," I begged as I pushed my hips into his hand. He groaned. "Yes, that's right. Let me make you feel good, love. Let me give this to you.”

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“It was like a hand had turned the volume way down on the hum of anxiety that always buzzed in my head. He was all calm competence. He knew what to do, and he'd tell me how in that dark-brown-sugar voice, and I could just be. I slowly followed his instructions. He leaned in and I got a whiff of white soap and pine forest. "Closer," he said softly. "Cut closer." He could whisper in my ear, he was that near. His scarred lower lip so close to my skin.”

Scent Of A ManIntimate MomentsKitchen RomanceCalm And Quiet
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“In the States, the best ones I've ever eaten were at Bedford Street Bakery, in Brooklyn." "I heard the pastry chef at Qui raving about that place. The woman who runs it is Kiwi, right?" "Yeah. She bakes these beautiful seasonal pastries. I was there around this time four years ago, and there was one with apricots, crème pâtissière, and toasted almonds, and it was just gorgeous." Her shoulders dropped, and her mouth went slack remembering the pleasure. I pressed myself back into the hard bench to hold off the wave of horniness that crashed over me. Jesus, Kieran, get a grip. "That was a quality Homer Simpson drooling noise," I said. Jokes were safe. Jokes meant I wasn't turned on.”

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“He dug his thumbnail into the blushing peel and pulled until the dark red fruit appeared, spraying citrus oil everywhere. As he pulled the fruit into its sections, it glowed like rubies. It made the fruit I'd bought at the supermarket for our ill-fated experiment look dry and stale in comparison. "Why do you have to show me now?" I stopped cold, because he'd grabbed my chin. His fingers were soft, insistent. "Because I want to. Open," he said. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Determination? When I gaped at him, he popped the orange segment in my mouth. I bit down, and my eyes fluttered shut. Sweet-sour fireworks exploded across my tongue, and I couldn't help but moan a little bit. I tasted orange, of course, but there were raspberries and a little bit of rose petal, too. "That's incredible," I said once I'd swallowed. "Like eating a sunset." When I opened my eyes, he was staring at my mouth. I felt fireworks again, this time in my stomach. But a second later, he smiled big and said, "I was going to say a party in my mouth, but I guess that's why you're the writer.”

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“Once my plate landed on the table, I couldn't help eating the hash like I was starving. He'd added a little sautéed garlic and parsley at the end, and the fragrance against the crispy potatoes made me hum with happiness. I was about to pick up my plate and his to wash them when he said, "I could make amazing fries if you wanted." I shook my head. "They wouldn't work for the book. People think deep-frying at home is incredibly messy, and the low-fat and low-carb lobbies finished the job." He laced his fingers behind behind his head. "That's a shame. But I didn't mean for the book." I stared at him. "You'd make fries just for me?" His cheeks went a little pink.”

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“I felt like I'd been dumped onto a deserted beach. There was the ocean on one side and a dark forest on the other. No map to guide me, no radio for rescue. It was just me, alone, and I had to choose between drowning and walking into the unknown." He shook his head. "You wouldn't have drowned." I raised my eyebrows. "No?" "You would have found a way to make some kind of machete and hacked your way through that forest no matter what. You're tough." He smiled a little. "It's what makes you such a pain in my ass." I snorted at his crassness, and I felt another emotion sneaking in alongside my respect for his drive and his talent. Liking. I liked this man.”

Enemies To LoversSlow Burn RomanceSupporting Each Other
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“I love strawberry ice cream." I blinked, confused. "Yes, I saw you chugging your In-N-Out milkshakes like you'd spent forty days in the desert. But what does that have to do with feelings?" He tugged my hand. "No, listen. I mean, I've always ordered it whenever I go to an ice cream store, because I know I like it, even the cheap kind that's like the Ghost of Strawberries Past. Until I met you, I was basically treating my life like strawberry ice cream. I'd found something that I was good at, that I knew worked for me, and just did that, day in, day out. I told myself that this was what it took to be successful, but deep down I was afraid of fucking up, just the same way my parents are terrified of fucking up. I was afraid if I got close to someone, I'd make a mess and disappoint them. "But now, with you, I want to try the whole ice cream parlor. I want to order, like, a monster sundae with all the crazy flavors I can think of. Blueberry cheesecake and mocha almond fudge and mango sorbet." It still wasn't adding up. "You want to try new things because of me?" "I want to be brave," he said earnestly. "To give my all to everything, even though it might not work out." He swallowed hard. "You're so strong, Ellie, and you believe in me. I want to be worthy of that. Worthy of your faith and your strength.”

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“But now I saw a battered hardback on the nightstand next to Mari, the cover a yellow like summer sunshine. I picked it up like I was a burglar and it was a ruby in a bank vault, then found myself smiling at the familiar wide-eyed bear in his floppy hat. I sat back down and opened A Bear Called Paddington, looking for the beginning as familiar and sweet as marmalade sandwiches, Mr. and Mrs. Brown meeting the stowaway bear on the railway platform.”

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Book:Love Walked In
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“After I'd polished off one pastry and was halfway through a second, he asked, "Happy pastry?" The laugh bubbled up around my mouthful of blackberry jam and vanilla custard. I swallowed and said, "Understatement. Ecstatic pastry. Delighted pastry. I-love-you pastry." He cracked up. "Wow, strong words. All I had to do was bring you the finest croissants in the land." I put my plate on the nightstand and crawled to him. "Please don't think you have to buy me fancy pastry all the time so I'll stay in love with you." "What do I have to do?" He set his plate aside. "Spoil Floyd rotten? Make you shrimp for dinner every day?" "Be yourself," I said. His wolfish grin was gorgeous, and when I kissed him, his joy was buttery sweet on my tongue.”

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“Her smile was brittle. "Well, I know Kieran's achieving something if someone like you is willing to be in a relationship with him." "Someone like me?" She gestured to me from head to toe. "Respectable. Elegantly dressed, if a little flamboyant with color. Beautiful manners, well-spoken. Clearly you listened to your parents when they told you how to behave." I choked back a snort at the thought of my biological father being Mr. Manners. The sheer audacity of it. "Kieran probably hasn't told you about all the times we had to get him out of trouble," she continued. I blinked, confused. "No." She ticked off on her fingers as she spoke. "He skipped classes, he stole money out of my wallet, he crashed our cars more than once. Not to mention the drinking, my God. He couldn't hold his liquor at all. We were so ashamed." I held back my eye roll. It was like having a conversation with a steamroller. As she continued to list Kieran's crimes, I realized that she relished this monologue, all the ways he'd done them wrong. Like she never wanted him to grow up because then she'd have to stop being a martyr. "But anyway, that's all in the past. Finally, he's become who we always wanted him to be, and we can hold our heads up." The thought of being a source of pride to these snobby, plastic people made me want to drink ten flutes of prosecco, climb onto their dining room table, and do Amy Winehouse karaoke, Diane's advice about polish and presentation be damned. But all I needed to shock them was the truth. "I haven't seen my father in over twenty years," I began. "As far as I know he's still the lead singer of the second-best hair metal band in Spokane. My mother's salary was for keeping herself in clothes and boyfriends. Sometimes I had to break into my piggy bank so that I could by Cup O' Noodles at 7-Eleven for my brother and me. I've made a good life in spite of my parents, not because of them. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with your son. I knew he was a survivor, too. But thank you for the compliments. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

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“See, you find it very easy to just accost someone and ask for things, but you need to remember that I'm British." She raised her eyebrows. "So what, you're just going to hang around politely drowning because you're scared of inconveniencing people?" It was a very tidy summary, and I could hear how silly she found the whole concept. "Well, yes." She snorted. "Someone needs to explain to me how you all conquered and pillaged a quarter of the world's surface, because I'm not seeing it right now.”

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Book:Love Walked In
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“You're calling me shallow? So you know so much about this, huh? Which restaurants have you worked in?" He held his hands out. "Where are your scars?" I stiffened. I shouldn't have to pour out any of my pain for him to take me seriously. "I don't have to have worked in a restaurant to know what makes cooking really good," I snapped. He folded his arms like a sulky fourteen-year-old. "Then educate me." That clearly wasn't an invitation, but screw it. I stood up and planted my hands on the table. "Caring. I don't mean for the details. I mean caring for the person who's going to eat it. Giving them a little piece of what you love the most." I jabbed my finger at my plate. "All of these dishes, they're just about showing off." He rubbed his forearm hard, his face stony. "But I won Fire on High. I'm kind of a big deal, in case you didn't know. I think it's OK for me to show off." I held up a finger. "You won one competition," I said slowly, contempt sneaking into my voice. "This year. Can you name the person who won two years ago? Three? Unless you take this seriously, your book will gather dust in a remainder pile somewhere, a historical record of a leprechaun in a stupid bandanna who was famous for a hot second." The stone in his expression crumbled away. Bright green eyes flashed, hands clenched. His mouth opened and closed, and finally he hissed, "Who the fuck are you to tell me that? You're nobody. You can't even get your own name on a book. Who gives a shit what you think?" My voice shot high with anger. "I'm the woman who has to clean up your mess, you entitled, arrogant brat." It was quiet. Not the silence of people eating delicious food. It was post-atomic-bomb explosion quiet.”

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“Now I brushed a quick kiss over her ruby-colored mouth that tempted me beyond belief. "You should wear lipstick more often." She snorted. "Why, because you like getting it all over your face?" She rubbed her thumb over my bottom lip and showed me the crimson stain she'd left behind. "You can get all over my face anytime, darling." Her cheeks blushed a lovely complementary shade of pink. "Promises, promises." I grinned at her. "You know I'll keep them.”

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“But Ellie's fingertips brushed over my cheekbone, soft as rose petals. Traced my temple, my jawline. She touched me like I was precious. No one in my entire life had been gentle with me. And her lips said, "I'm here" and "Be mine." But wait. She was faking it. We both were. A fake kiss could taste like vanilla milkshakes and prosecco and feel like floating on a cloud.”

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“It felt like chicken soup when I had a snotty mess of a cold, like a glass of icy apple juice when my body was on fire with fever. I didn't disappear into his embrace like I had in Max's, but he was still strong and comforting and almost like relief. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he found the sweet spot on my back again, rubbing it until I wanted to purr. But then my skin prickled, and suddenly I genuinely felt feverish. It was only supposed to be a hug with a friend, not me climbing him like a tree.”

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