Читать книгу A Dash of Love - Liz Isaacson - Страница 7

Chapter Three

Paul Delucci took a bite of the cassoulet and cringed. He’d followed the recipe exactly, the same way he always did. But the pork barely tasted like anything, and the white beans simply felt like mush in his mouth. Not exactly pleasing.

It was no wonder the kitchen had been slow for a couple of months now—maybe longer. If he could just get Holly to listen…

But Paul wasn’t extraordinarily gifted at getting the other adults in his life to listen to him. His own rift with his parents proved that, and no matter how many times he’d tried to explain to his father that he didn’t have a superiority complex, his dad still thought he did.

The three other chefs in the kitchen went about their business, washing tomatoes, prepping desserts, and putting up appetizers.

The sound of Holly’s four-inch heels clicking on the tile alerted Paul, and he stepped around the counter to intercept her. “Holly, a moment.”

She complied, though she certainly wasn’t happy about it. Brushing back her brown hair highlighted with blonde, Holly glared at him with her sharp, hazel eyes. “What now?”

“The cassoulet,” he said, squinting at her. She remained blank-faced, as if he hadn’t mentioned this to her last night.

He backed up a step and folded his arms, ready to get into the fray with her again. “Look, Holly, all I’m saying is that you need to try it. The recipe needs to be tweaked.”

She stared at him, and if he hadn’t been working with her for five years, he might have backed down. Lots of other chefs had come and gone over the time he’d been at Holly Hanson’s, but he’d stayed.

“I don’t need to try it,” she said. “It’s my recipe.”

“I understand what you’re saying. I’m just a little confused.” He sighed. The banging of dishes and the hiss from the stove behind him mirrored how he felt inside. “Look, all I’m saying is that we need to come up with a solution to the problem.”

“And what is the problem?”

Paul could name any number of things. The empty tables. The waitresses complaining that they weren’t making enough to pay their bills. The mysterious, late-night meetings Holly had with her investors.

He chose to go with, “The cassoulet. Have you tried it?” He’d asked her to please just taste it. If it was going to sit at the top of their menu as their chef’s special, it should be the most outstanding dish leaving the kitchen. In Paul’s opinion, it was one of the worst. But he wasn’t Holly Hanson. It wasn’t his name on the door or the paychecks. If he wanted to change a recipe, he needed her permission.

But he couldn’t even get her to see the problem.

She rocked back on her heels. “I know what it tastes like.”

“I don’t think that you do. Because the recipe is bland.” There, he’d said it.

She scoffed, her mind completely closed. “Bland?”

“Yeah.”

She gritted her teeth, and her mouth barely moved when she said, “Perhaps the problem lies with my executive chef, who is unable to execute my recipe properly.”

He kept his arms cinched across his black chef’s jacket, a frustrated chuckle leaving his lips. “Well, your executive chef respectfully disagrees.” Honestly, talking to her felt exactly like trying to explain to his father that while baking was a wonderful thing, Paul wanted to do more than make bread and cookies.

Why didn’t anyone hear him? He was speaking English, wasn’t he?

Holly’s head bounced as she gave him a bit of attitude. “I believe my name is on the front door. So would you please stop arguing with me and do as I say?”

Paul pressed his mouth into a thin line and dropped his gaze to the floor. He wasn’t going to get her to admit anything, not right now—maybe not ever. He nodded once, his anger rising to the top of his head, where he released it. No sense in being upset about something he couldn’t control.

“Are we good?” Holly asked.

He flicked his eyes toward hers. “Yes, Chef,” he said in a loud voice.

“Thank you,” she whispered before striding away—as much as her high heels and sleek pencil skirt would allow her to stride.

Paul went back to overseeing the kitchen, which ran without a hitch. The cassoulet just needed…something to make it sparkle again. If it were up to him, he’d add more garlic—maybe another whole clove—and a splash of heat. Maybe not Tabasco sauce, but perhaps sriracha would give the dish the oomph it needed.

Oh, and he’d cook it longer to get the ragout flavors really deep before adding the beans. But it would take a miracle to get Holly to listen to him.

Nikki felt like she was walking through the pearly gates when she entered Holly Hanson’s. The atmosphere was everything she’d hoped it would be, though she did notice that many of the tables sat empty.

A smile accompanied her slow steps as she took in the grandeur of the restaurant. The low lighting, the high bar, the swanky music… It all made her want to grab a dish of the chef’s special and curl up in a back booth.

She took off her coat as she advanced farther into the restaurant, glancing around for Angela. She spotted her after only a few steps.

“Hey,” Angela said, sidling over to her with a payment billfold in her hand.

“Hey.” Nikki exhaled, her nerves no calmer now than they’d been hours ago. Apparently, making spicy chicken teriyaki bowls had not given her the distraction she’d needed from meeting Holly.

“You made it.” Angela tipped a smile at Nikki.

“I did indeed.” She couldn’t help the awed quality of her voice. “Wow, just look at this place.”

Angela glanced around but didn’t seem that impressed. “Yep. Listen, give me a minute. Why don’t you go wait by the bar?” She leaned in closer. “And check out the cute bartender. Definitely my type.” She gave the tall man behind the bar a smile as she walked away. Nikki chuckled before turning to hang her coat on a hook.

Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a hive of bees, and she ran her palm down the front of her pink blouse, hoping she would be calm once Holly made an appearance. She took a seat near the end of the bar, and the bartender came closer.

She could see why Angela liked him. Dark cocoa-colored skin. Beautiful eyes. Square jaw. Clean-cut and employed. What wasn’t to like?

He put a napkin on the bar in front of her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What can I get you?”

“Glass of red wine, please.”

“House, or would you like to see the wine list?”

“Uh—”

Angela appeared in the empty seat next to Nikki, her flirtatious smile set on high. “Maybe you could pick out something special for her from the list? This is my best friend, Nikki.”

Nikki raised her hand in a friendly wave, but she didn’t look away from Angela. She hadn’t seen her friend this enamored with a man in…well, ever.

“Nikki, this is Jerrod.”

“Hi.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Same.”

Jerrod ducked his head in an adorable way and moved down the bar to get Nikki’s drink. She turned toward Angela, her curiosity spilling over. “How come you’ve never mentioned him before?”

Angela watched him work. “Oh, because there’s no future there.” She shook her head and met Nikki’s eyes.

“He has a girlfriend or something?”

“No.” She lifted one shoulder in a baby shrug. “But apparently, Holly frowns upon her employees dating.”

Nikki scoffed and laughed. Though Holly could do no wrong in the kitchen, that policy seemed pretty ridiculous. If something like that had happened where her mother had worked, she wouldn’t have met Nikki’s father. She watched Angela go back out onto the floor to drop off a ticket, put on her smile, and get back to work.

Her mind drifted to little old Cedar Hills, a few hours south of Lakeside. Her mother had been a waitress at a quaint diner, and she’d met Nikki’s dad as he came to the restaurant with their supply of produce. They’d fallen in love, and the rest was history.

Nikki sighed. She wished all romances were so easy, but the fact that she still hadn’t met Mr. Right certainly testified otherwise.

Jerrod returned, bearing a lot more than a wine glass. “Here you are. Enjoy.” He placed a red casserole dish in front of her with a roll of silverware inside a black napkin.

Nikki glanced at the food. “Uh, a cassoulet?”

“Tonight’s special. On the house.” He grinned at her.

“Wow, thanks.”

He moved away, leaving her to experience the food with her eyes and nose first. After unwrapping her napkin, she placed it in her lap, eager to taste Holly’s recipe. Nikki picked up her fork and fixed a delicate bite of pork and beans. She lifted the utensil to her nose and sniffed.

The smell of salty pork with a hint of garlic made her eyes roll back in her head. It wasn’t every day that she got to eat at such a high-end restaurant.

She put the food in her mouth, and her eyes snapped open. The smile left her face, and she glanced around, almost embarrassed, to check if anyone had seen her reaction. No one seemed to be paying her any attention, and Jerrod lingered at the opposite end of the bar.

Glancing down at the cassoulet, Nikki couldn’t believe it had tasted so…bland. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad. It was like nothing, which in her opinion, was so much worse. At least bad food tasted like something.

She put her fork down, utterly disappointed. She hoped when she came face-to-face with the celebrity chef that Angela wouldn’t be right about her being a diva.

But no matter what, she couldn’t take another bite of that cassoulet. She lifted her wine glass to her lips to wash down the little bit she’d consumed.