Page 3 of Recipe for Love (The Andrades 0.5)
Desperate justifications were the first sign that you’re doing something wrong. Unable to meet Alyson’s eyes, Maddy accepted the clothing and said, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, but you should know . . .”
Alyson nudged Maddy into the changing room and closed the door between them. “It doesn’t matter. You’re free now.”
Free. Maddy sighed and began to try on the clothing Alyson had given her. Each outfit fit as if it had been made for her, and their simplicity was refreshing. Alyson had a good eye for sizes and style. Although the clothing was from past seasons, the skinny jeans and high-heeled suede cutout boots Alyson had picked were still in fashion.
Dressed in jeans and a tucked-in oversized linen shirt, Maddy rejoined Alyson, whose arms were overflowing with two shirts, a skirt, and a pair of slacks. Alyson placed them in a large white plastic bag with handles. She accepted the articles of clothing Maddy had brought out with her and added them to the bag.
Maddy asked, “Are you sure I can’t give you something for these now?”
“I’m sure,” Alyson said. “I’ve included some intimate garments and a modest nightgown. You can’t sleep naked at my brother’s house. Although, then he just may notice you, non?” She winked and smiled.
“I’m sure your brother is wonderful, but even if he did like me, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. My life is already out of control.”
Alyson studied Maddy for a moment, then nodded. “I understand that feeling, too. Come, let’s go. I’ll call my brother on the way. Don’t worry. You don’t have to like him. He’s a big boy, non? He takes care of himself.”
“Are you sure he’ll be okay with me staying there?”
“Oui, oui, although he may say differently. The barking dog is not the one who will bite, you understand?”
Maddy shook her head as she followed Alyson out the shop’s back door and into the small alley where her car was parked. “Not really, no. I’m not a dog person.”
Alyson laughed as they both buckled themselves in. “I love American humor. You’re so funny.”
Maddy clung to the door handle as the small yellow Renault Clio hatchback flew down the narrow driveway and cut off another as it flew onto the main road. What if Alyson really does know who I am, and I just became the most willing kidnappee on the planet? No one knows where I’m going.
Am I standing up for myself and what I believe in, or putting myself in danger?
For once, I’m not sure I care either way.
***
“Get out,” Richard D’Argenson roared in French. The flurry of activity in the kitchen of his restaurant froze.
“Let me explain,” the saucier answered hastily.
“There is no explanation needed. You rushed your sauce like a fumbling teenager chasing his first orgasm. People wait for a year to taste my specials. Do you think they want this . . . shit?”
“I just raised the heat a little to shorten the cooking time by a minute or so . . .”
“Just . . . just . . . if you wonder what holds you back from greatness, the answer can be found in that one word. Your job was to precisely follow my instructions. I create. I experiment. You take direction and learn. When you have your own restaurant you can serve them whatever slop you want, but here you cook the way I say or you go. So, get out—”
“You can’t fire me with no notice and just before Christmas.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Please, I’ll watch my times more carefully in the future . . .”
Richard’s cell phone rang in his pants pocket. Everyone knew not to call him during busy hours unless it was a life-or-death situation, and even then he’d rather hear about the outcome later. He let it ring through to voicemail, but then it began to ring again.
“What am I going to tell my wife?”
“Mon Dieu!” Richard growled as he whipped out his phone and barked, “What?”
Unlike almost everyone else in his domain, his sister did not waver or apologize in the face of his temper. “Richard, I have a favor to ask.”
“I’m busy right now,” Richard snapped, pinning the man across from him with a glare. “If I don’t get this idiot out of my kitchen soon, no one will eat tonight.” His next threat was issued to the others who had paused to watch the exchange. “And no one besides me will be working here tomorrow.”
All but the man he was firing returned to their stations and resumed cooking.
“Then just say yes,” his sister suggested.
“To what? Say it fast. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“I need a place for my friend to stay for a few days.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Richard, this is important. I’d have her stay with me, but you know I can’t. Please? You have so many rooms that just sit empty.”
“I’m not a hotel.”
“She has nowhere else to go. She’s desperate.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Richard, have some compassion. She just broke up with a wealthy man and needs a place to disappear for a while. Do you remember Maman’s second husband? These things can be tricky.”
“This sounds like an equally tiresome situation.”
“Do this for me, Richard. I promise, you won’t even know she’s there.”
“That’s what you said about the cat you brought me, and he’s still at my house destroying my curtains.”
“This is different. Trust me.”
The man before him was still pleading for his job, but Richard had tuned him out.
“Fine. She can stay the weekend, but that’s it. I won’t be there very much anyway. This is a hectic time for me.”
“Thank you, Richard. You won’t regret this.”
“I’d better not,” he said and hung up.
The saucier said, “You’re a reasonable man—”
“Is it reasonable to agree to house some crazy woman in my home and likely be robbed in exchange? Non, I don’t think so. But I do it because it is the right thing to do. Just like giving you the opportunity to walk out of here on your own without the embarrassment of me throwing you out the door. I offer you a chance to retain your dignity.” He looked down at his watch. “That offer expires in thirty seconds.”
“I have said I won’t do it again. What more do you want from me?”
“Twenty seconds. Please don’t drag this out. I have a soufflé in the oven.”
“You’re insane.”
“Ten seconds.” Richard removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and said, “I’d hate to get blood on my favorite apron.”
The man paled and retreated a few steps. He appealed to the sous-chef. “Bertrand, talk to him. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, for God’s sake.”
The sous-chef, an older gentleman with white hair and an easy smile, intervened. “Richard, let me handle this. Thibeault, go back to your station. Finish your sauce, then go home. Come in tomorrow and we’ll discuss if you still have a job.”
Richard turned to the man he normally respected. “You forget your place, Bertrand. This is my kitchen.”
When the saucier had returned to his station, Bertrand said, “Richard, I have worked with you for many years now, isn’t that so?”
His temper cooling, Richard gave a reluctant nod. Once upon a time, Bertrand had taken a risk with Richard and given him the money he needed to open the restaurant. They were partners of sorts. Bertrand was a good chef, but he acknowledged Richard’s gift, and that they worked better together when Richard created and Bertrand maintained.
“I know the holidays make you a little crazy in the head.” Bertrand smiled as he spoke. “Last week you would have bellowed and scared the man into precision. You wouldn’t have fired him. Perhaps it is you who should take a day off. Go see your sister. Take the vacation you never allow yourself. Face the demon that makes this time of year unbearable for you.”
“When I want your advice, I will ask for it,” Richard growled
.
“What kind of friend would I be if I waited that long?” Bertrand said cheerfully and walked away.
In the quiet that had fallen over his kitchen again, Richard roared to his staff, “Get back to work. We have people to feed.”
With a nervous burst of energy, the kitchen returned to order and productivity.
