A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) (28 page)

I leaned forward. “Yeah?”

“She made it all the time for my dad when he was a kid. Made it every night for six weeks, just so she’d be sure that she’d got the recipe down.”

“I love it.”

“When she moved on—I think it was to custard or something—my aunt said, ‘Thank goodness you’re off that kick.’ That’s how the story goes, at least.”

I laughed. “It’s a good story. How did your cake come out?”

“Good. Tasted like I remembered. Maybe a little crispy around the edges, but still gooey.”

“I’ll bet it was good,” I said, choosing not to suggest checking on a cake when its aroma becomes apparent.

“I thought so. Tell me how the restaurant’s shaping up.”

I tilted my head, considering. “Would you … would you want to come see it?”

He did. So we left—the check having been paid long before—and drove our separate cars to the patisserie.

He parked on the street while I pulled my car into the hidden back space. “One of your front headlights is out,” he said, once we could see each other’s faces again.

“Yeah?”

“I can fix it for you. It’s probably just the bulb.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I said, ducking my head to hide a pleased smile, using key selection as my cover. We used the back entrance, mainly because that’s where all the light switches were located.

He followed behind me in the dark and waited patiently as I flipped each dining room light switch.

“This is incredible,” he said, taking it in.

I couldn’t disagree.

The floors that I’d had stripped and stained myself over two long weekends, the fresh oyster-gray paint that lent the room its sophisticated air. The oriental rugs I’d purchased mainly because they came with a perfectly worn-in patina, but had not yet been destroyed. The vintage light fixtures over the tables.

And the chairs—oh, the chairs. The ones Nico and I had argued over endlessly. They were my biggest expenses, even though I’d used Dad’s chairs, but having them restored with leather made the room look so cozy and perfect, like you could sink into one and sit and eat forever, without a care in the world.

Neil knew all of this, of course, because I’d told him in one e-mail or another. In many ways he’d wrestled alongside me as the various pieces came together.

This was his first time seeing it, though, and I couldn’t help but take pride in his reaction.

“You did good,” he said at last.

“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my arms. “The last detail I’m working on is some fused-glass accent pieces for the tables. But the wiring has been cleared, and the inspector’s coming next week.”

“Have y’all set an opening date?”

“We’re aiming for early September. I’ll be meeting with vendors, tasting wines, that sort of thing, until then. We’ll have a seasonal menu, but I want to make sure we’ve got some classics down before we open.”

I looked up at him to see him staring down at me, intently. “What?”

He shrugged. “I like hearing you talk about the restaurant.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I looked up into his warm brown eyes. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, smiling down at me.

Our gaze held. I knew deep inside, in that moment, that I wanted him to kiss me. I craved his kiss like I craved the first sunshine of the year, like a hot shower on a snowy day, like cold milk with chocolate cake.

Did he feel the same? I thought so. We stood there, kept company by eight tables, sixteen chairs, and some charmingly worn rugs, simply gazing at each other. My gaze flickered to his lips, surrounded but certainly not buried in his well-trimmed beard. I wanted to touch him, but my hands, my arms, seemed frozen.

His eyes studied my face. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, feeling, but I thought I read desire in his gaze.

I tipped my head back.

He smiled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

Tomorrow? I could barely think about tomorrow. “I, um, sure,” I said, which was the slightly cooler way of saying yes, absolutely.

“You live upstairs, right?” His eyes drifted upward.

I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. “Yes.”

“What time do you need to leave?”

“Seven,” I said, my voice laced with apology.

“That’s fine. You can introduce me to Gigi.”

I nodded stupidly. “Sure.”

“It’s a date,” he said, the last syllable of his sentence disappearing into a yawn. His hand flew to his mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said, instantly regretful. “Jet lag—what time is it for you?”

“Late enough,” he hedged. “Seven tomorrow?”

“Seven tomorrow,” I repeated. “I’ll walk you out.”

I switched off the lights, slowly and regretfully.

I didn’t sleep much that night.

Did he not want to kiss me?

Was it too early?

Was I too obvious?

I tried tossing, and when that didn’t work, I gave up and tried turning. Neil would be over at seven the next morning, and like as not, I’d wind up with the biggest bags under my eyes.

He did seem to like me, didn’t he? I racked my memory for signs of disappointment. Nothing. Nothing that I’d noticed, at any rate.

I flopped over again and considered my options. I could get up, but I might wake up Clementine. Gigi was already snuffling her sleepy displeasure at my inability to hold still and leave her headrest—my left calf—in one place.

Since movement was out of the question, I reached for my phone and typed a quick e-mail to my sister Cat.

Moments later, my phone buzzed in my hand.

I hesitated, considered my words, and typed out my reply.

Another buzz.

I snorted, waking up poor Gigi.

Moments later, more buzzing. I rolled back, settling in for what was likely to be a lengthy e-mail exchange with my sister.

Fine. If Cat felt confident in my personal state of affairs, I had to stop worrying. And to Gigi’s immense relief, I finally fell back to sleep.

I woke up well before dawn on Friday. Gigi lay at my feet, nestled against my legs with her paws gently aloft.

Clementine had a pastry job and had left earlier in the morning. Gigi and I moved through our morning routine, with Gigi performing her morning kibble dance, followed by a nap on my bathrobe while I showered.

For this appearance, I started with my most comfortable ballet flats—a pair in bronze leather—and worked up. I picked a white pencil skirt and paired it with a sapphire-colored blouse with a wide V neck and tiny cap sleeves.

Since I had woken up so early, I had plenty of time to primp myself into a state of casual perfection and even take Gigi out for a morning stroll.

I ate a quick bite—a scone and espresso—and tossed a ball for Gigi while I mentally prepared myself for the day. I pulled out the crepe pans and spreaders I would use for my segment and stashed them in a tote bag, wrapped in a wrinkled tablecloth.

When I heard the knock at the door, I’d almost begun to relax.

I swung the door open wearing my brightest smile.

Neil stood on my front porch, dressed in khakis and a striped polo and holding a bouquet of …

“For you,” he said, handing me the ribbon-wrapped bouquet of …

“Spoons! I love them,” I said, taking a closer look. The wooden mixing spoons—the ends of each painted a different bright hue—were tied with a wide grosgrain ribbon. “Thank you, Neil!”

“They reminded me of you,” he said, his hands placed bashfully in his pockets. “I figured that flowers wilt, but spoons …”

“They’re perfect.” I gestured him inside. “I need to grab my purse and my crepe supplies. Come meet Gigi!”

Gigi had waited through the whole exchange on her blanket by the fireplace. We had been working on her door manners, and while her short tail threatened to launch her forward, she managed to stay put. “Okay, Gigi,” I told her, and she rocketed toward Neil. A bounce in the air and she settled into an impatient sit while Neil stooped to pet her.

After Gigi received several pets and Neil quite a lot of hand licking, I carried her to her kennel. Then I retrieved my purse. “I’m ready.”

“How are we on time?”

“Early,” I admitted. It was a nice change of pace.

“Then I’ll take care of this,” he said, fishing in his pocket. He held out a small, shiny bulb.

“You found one!”

“I did. It’ll just take me a couple minutes.”

I followed him out, locking the door behind. True enough, he removed the clips to the headlight, removed the old bulb, and spun the new one into place. Once the cover was back in place, he started up the car and turned on the lights. “How’s that?”

“Bright and shiny,” I said. “Thank you.”

We drove to the studio together, with me keeping a running monologue about the buildings we were passing, the shops and restaurants and ways that things had changed over the years. I knew I was rambling, but in this moment it kept my panic down to a manageable level.

Once we arrived, the countdown began much the way it had before, only this time Neil was escorted to the audience area while I continued to the greenroom alone.

Today’s segment would pull from the column that started it all—crepes. I brought three pans so that Waverly and Dean could give it a go, if they wanted to. I brought premade batter that I’d prepared the night before. The batter had separated, but a short stir would fix it easily enough. I put the batter into the small fridge on set, and set the pans to the right of the range.