A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) (33 page)

Every head but Nelson’s whipped around to stare at Neil.

Neil cleared his throat. “I’m from the South.”

“What do you eat in the South?” Dad asked.

“A lot of pig,” Neil said, with a discreet wink in my direction. “The main southern food groups include bacon, sausage, pork, ham, and lard.”

Sophie’s head shook from side to side in horror.

“Also catfish,” Neil said, reaching for his utensils, “if you’re farther south.”

“So where are your people from originally?” Dad asked.

“My dad’s family was from Scotland. My mom’s people were Norwegian.”

“Norwegian,” Dad said, rolling the idea around in his head. “And Scottish.”

“Have you ever eaten haggis?” Chloé asked Neil.

Neil chuckled. “No, and I have no plans to.”

My father nodded as if the haggis abstention comforted him.

“My mom’s from Spain,” Adrian volunteered. “Great food in Spain.”

“Eh, that is true. Some of the great chefs of this era are Spanish chefs.” Dad sipped his wine. “The rest of them are Italian.”

My mother cleared her throat pointedly. My father splayed his hands. “I cannot help that French cuisine is dying. I didn’t come up with the exorbitant taxes for restaurant dining. At least the Italians had the sense to keep Starbucks out of Italy. France practically turned out a welcome mat for”—his face contorted into a grimace—“McDonald’s.”

My mother took a deep breath. I knew what was coming—twenty or so minutes of debate. “The osso buco is so tender, Dad. What kind of wine did you braise it in?”

“Sangiovese.”

My parents still glared at each other, but the dueling pistols had been temporarily avoided.

Neil squeezed my hand. I smiled at him.

“Now, Neil”—Sophie leaned forward, and I caught my breath—“if you’re from Tennessee, how exactly did you and Juliette meet?”

“We met online,” Neil answered simply.

“Online,” Sophie repeated, her eyes narrowing. “You mean, like—Facebook?”

“Something like that,” I hedged.

“So it wasn’t Facebook,” Sophie clarified.

Because she couldn’t exist in a world where she didn’t know everything. I took a deep breath, doing my best to ignore Adrian’s stare. “We met on an online dating site.”

Sophie tried, and failed, to stifle a gasp.

“Really?” said Chloé. “That’s so cool.”

“I have no complaints,” said Neil.

“When did you, you know, meet?” Sophie asked.

“Thursday,” I said.

Sophie shook her head. “But
online
—when did you meet then?”

“I think it was the end of March,” I said.

Neil nodded. “That sounds about right.”

Sophie folded her arms. “March? Well, that was quite the secret.”

“Not really,” I lied, as if the fact hadn’t been one part in a towering stack of secrets. “You never asked.”

“Seriously, Soph,” Alex interjected. “Enough with the twenty questions.”

Oh, Alex. I would have to make him cookies.

“Cat’s going to flip,” Sophie muttered to herself.

“So, Neil,” Nico began, “has Juliette told you much about the restaurant we’re starting?” Nico’s hand drew a circle in the air, one that included himself, Adrian, and me.

“She has. I know she’s been working very hard.”

“Yes,” said Nico.

I raised an eyebrow. Really? I’d thought my hard work had been largely taken for granted.

“Even with all the work ahead of time,” Nico continued, “the preopening is the calm before the storm. After the opening, well …”

My father nodded. “It’s true. When we first opened D’Alisa & Elle, I barely slept for a year.”

“The late nights, the long days …,” Nico said, his voice trailing off.

I glared at my brother. “Neil’s a doctor. I’m sure he’s no stranger to crazy schedules.”

“True,” he said, turning to Neil. “It is nice that your schedule is so flexible. Will you be able to fly out for the restaurant opening?”

“I’d like to, yes,” Neil replied.

“That is excellent,” Nico said, but he’d already made his point. “I did not think most doctors were able to have so much time off.”

With Neil’s schedule in Memphis and my schedule here, when would we ever see each other? The travel, the time, the hours. We had our time now, partly because Neil had needed to come to Oregon for business and partly because he was using his vacation time. What happened when that was used up?

And what about me? Even if I did leave my job at the paper—especially if—I would have to stay close to home, more often than not.

My heart clenched as I realized I was falling for a man I’d never be able to keep.

I made it through the dessert course, but as soon as the last piece of cheese had been shaved off and eaten by Alex, Neil and I left.

On the drive home, I tried to pretend everything was okay.

“Why did you laugh at me when I greeted Chloé?”

“When?”

“When we were at the door.”

Neil thought for a moment. “I remember,” he said. “You said, ‘Hello, sweetie.’ I’m a geek,” he admitted easily. “It’s a
Doctor Who
line—one of the characters always greets the Doctor by saying ‘Hello, sweetie.’ ”

I squeezed his hand. “I think you’re a very nice geek.”

“Thanks.”

“You were wonderful back there.”

“Glad you think so.”

He didn’t pick my brain to find out what I thought my family might have thought, and I was grateful for that.

Because I was certain they thought he was all wrong for me. A nice guy. Kind, funny even. But wrong for me because he lived in Tennessee, worked as a doctor, and would never be able to understand my world.

“I was thinking about that photograph of your grandmother’s,” Neil said, his eyes on the road.

“Oh?”

“I was thinking about hidden things. You know, you see it in movies.”

“True,” I said, almost feeling silly for putting so much time and thought into Grand-mère’s mystery.

“What never makes sense to me is when people hang on to incriminating objects. Like in
The Da Vinci Code
—you’ll never be able to convince me that the right way to hide something is to keep all the clues. So you wouldn’t keep things unless they meant a lot or unless you meant to tell someone, someday.

“What I mean, then,” he continued, “is to say, the man in the picture was someone I think your grandmother loved very much. And if you’re related to him, that must be something special.”

“Thanks. Those are good thoughts.” I studied his profile. “Can I make you dinner tomorrow?”

He gave a sideways grin I found devastating. “Sure.”

His right hand found my left, and I clung tightly.

“I had a great time with you today,” Neil said as he walked me to my door.

I smiled up at him, hoping the cover of night would hide my misty eyes. “I could do it every day.”

“I agree.”

But we couldn’t, and there was the crux of it. We were stuck in a game of relocation chicken, and I knew in my gut that neither of us was willing to flinch first.

I hated the distance between our homes. I hated that his life was in Memphis and mine was inextricably in Portland. Neither of us could pick up sticks anytime soon—too many people depended on us.

I pointed up to my apartment windows. “Clementine’s home. We should say good-bye down here.” Tears stung my eyes. “I am really,
really
going to miss you when you go,” I said, then paused to clear my throat. “I know it’s just been a short time in person, but—”

He held my face in his hands. “I know,” he said, before tilting his face toward mine.

It wasn’t a kiss where one person kisses and the other responds. Instead, we kissed each other; I wrapped my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, his hand on the small of my back.

“I’ll see you after work tomorrow?”

I wanted to cry. It wasn’t enough.

Neil stroked my cheek. “We’ll be fine.”

I took his hand between my own. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed in confirmation.

One last kiss and I walked up the stairs to the apartment.

Gigi greeted me at the door. I found Clementine at work in the kitchen, stirring a pot surrounded by panna cotta molds.

“You’re back.” She checked the pot and removed it from the heat. “Just in time—the first batch is about ready. How did it go?”

In reply, I burst into tears.

Clementine spent the evening plying me with panna cotta (I ate two), brioche (two slices, buttered with jam), and tiny fresh strawberries (too many to count).

I stopped weeping after the panna cotta, stopped sniffling after the brioche, and stoically considered the situation as I nibbled the strawberries.