The Hungry {Romance} Writer: Dark Chocolate Guinness Bread

Since this is the last Friday in March, we’re into the fourth week of my short story about when Alex Mitchell (one of the heroes in my romantic suspense Deadly Force series) challenged the other men in the series to a Guinness Cooking Challenge. This means that Alex has set up a cooking contest where the main ingredient is Guinness Beer. And today’s entrant is Vane Tanner and his Dark Chocolate Guinness Bread.

Vane Tanner ~ “Since it’s the last week of Alex’s challenge, and we’ve all eaten so much, I didn’t want to make another main dish. Also, this weekend is The Girl’s Weekend Away. That means that all of the women we love are taking off for the beach for a long weekend of doing whatever women do when men aren’t around. (Sounds kind of boring, to be honest.) So tonight my buddies and I are going to a local Irish pub. I’ve saved enough money to buy wings and potato skins, and Calum Prioleau offered to comp the drinks. Probably because he owns the bar! The best part about this night is that we’re watching an Irish Football game on TV while we hang out, eat apps, drink beer, and play pool. Then, the plan is, I’ll serve my Dark Chocolate Guinness Bread for dessert. (I’ve already cleared this with the bar). Now to actually make the bread, which will be a challenge since I have to bake it in a refurbished toaster oven.

As I carry my grocery bags into Iron Rack’s Gym, I’m assaulted by the stench of male sweat and dirty feet. No matter how well we clean this place, we can’t get the decades of decay out of this building.

“Hey.” Luke, one of my buddies, is manning the front desk. “I just heard the plans for tonight. Sounds like fun!”

“It should be.” I glance into the main office, making sure my boss Kells isn’t around. “I just hope that toaster oven Nate found and fixed works.”

Luke grimaces. “I burnt my toast this morning, so…. watch it carefully. I don’t think the fire detectors work up their either so if your entry burns, it may take down the building.”

I laugh because I know he’s joking. Since arriving in Savannah, we’ve all joked about the fact that the one way to fix this broken-down, pirate-themed gym is to level it by fire, water, surface-to-air missiles, or any other weapon we can scrounge up. “I’m sure it will be fine. And I know it’s going to be the winning entry.”

“I don’t know, brother,” Luke says as he picks up the ringing phone, “you have some serious competition.”

While I disagree, I wave and head upstairs. Yes, all of the meals have been great. But I have no doubt that between hanging out in the pub, watching football, and finishing the night with my dessert, I will win.

Once upstairs, I turn the corner and run into Alex. “Hey, Alex.”

Alex and I rarely talk because we don’t have a great history, so I don’t expect much of a response.

Alex nods and passes me, until he stops and turns to face me again. Then he clears his throat. “Vane…”

“Yeah?” I adjust the bags I’m carrying. They’re not heavy, but my fingers are going numb.

Alex crosses his arms and looks at the old wooden floor. “So, we may have a problem,”

“You mean about going to the pub tonight?”

Alex shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “No, and that’s actually a great idea. I’m looking forward to it. I think most of the other men are as well.”

Good. I keep my grin to myself. That means I might win. “What is the problem?”

“Kells wants to enter the contest.”

I drop the bags and they hit the floor with a low thud. “No.” Seriously, I respect our boss–a lot–but he’s a terrible cook. He can barely open a water bottle. “You told him he can’t, right? We’ll all die of food poisoning before our enemies even find us.”

“I told Kells that, but,” Alex shrugged, “Kells insisted. But, I bought you some time. I told him you weren’t going to make your dish until later this afternoon.”

I check my watch. It’s ten a.m. “Where is Kells now?”

Alex shrugs. “Don’t know. But he’s not here. So I suggest you get your entry done before he gets back.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” I pick up my bags and head for the kitchen. I’m panicked, but if I can get this done before Kells returns I can honestly turn down his help.

Thirty minutes later, the bread is in the toaster oven and I’m sifting powdered sugar into a bowl to make the glaze. I’m so relieved that Kells isn’t back yet. I feel like I’ve dodged a huge disaster. My boss Kells might be one of the best Special Forces commanders around, but he can’t cook or do laundry. It’s like he was born without any kind of domestic gene.

“Can I help?” Kells’s voice booms from the doorway.

I stop what I’m doing and stare at my boss. Today he’s wearing black combat pants, black T-shirt, and combat boots. About as non-domestic as a man could get. “I’m almost done. I’m just making the chocolate glaze for the bread.”

Kells pointed to the bowl I’m holding. “I can stir.”

I seriously doubt that, sir. Although I think that, I don’t say it. Instead, I offer, “Why don’t you try and find a serving dish or tray I can put the bread on?” That’s something I haven’t found yet. And, maybe, he’ll go to the store and buy one.

Kells crosses his arms over his wide chest. He’s taller than I am, although not by much, so he’s always been quite intimidating. But I want to win this contest and I can’t afford to let him near any part of my recipe. I swear, if he stirs my frosting, he’ll ruin it. “I told Alex I really want to help.”

Something about Kells’s voice makes me pause my stirring. It almost sounds…. sad. Or, maybe, despondent. The last five years for our unit has been a hellish existence, and maybe it’s affected my boss more than he’s let on. “Sir, I have an idea of you can help without cooking.”

He tilts his head. “How?”

“We’re eating appetizers at the pub tonight for dinner because I don’t have a lot of money. And I’m not sure if wings and potato skins will fill us all up.” My buddies and I carry a lot of muscle and eat a lot. “Why don’t you buy us all dinner? I’ll give you what money I’ve saved and I’m sure, between the two of us, we can offer them steak pies, fish and chips, whatever they want. After all, the best way to make us all happy is to keep us fed.”

Without killing us with food poisoning.

Kells watches me for a long minute, and then nods. “Good idea. Tell them men dinner is on me.”

I blow out a relieved breath. “Thank you, sir.”

Once Kells leaves, I text Alex and let him know the plan. He sends back happy emojis, and I go back to finishing my glaze. I smile to myself as I stir because I know, for certain, that after feeding everyone a huge pub meal, and then serving my dessert, I’m going to win. And even if Nate, the judge, is on the fence about who won, I’ll just tell him about how I stopped Kells from almost killing us all. That alone will give me the win. I whistle as I look for serving plate because it’s going to be a good day–and a great night–after all.”

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