Dinner for One (4 page)

“It’s a religieuse,” he answers, aware that his pronunciation of it is nothing like Bastien’s. “And it’s fantastic.”

“And we have a winner,” laughs Laurence under his breath. “Too bad you’re not reviewing the baking parents.” He breaks off a piece of the top tier and crams it in his mouth. He looks like a chipmunk as he chews. “Ung,” he moans. “So good. I totally get why you were flirting with the redhead behind the table. I think you should marry him so we can eat these all the time.”

James cocks his hip against their table, feeling his cheeks flush. He can’t find that idea appealing. “About that,” he starts. “Do you remember the French place we went to?”

“The one you thought was okay, but overhyped?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yeah. I really liked that soup thing I got. But then again my palate isn’t as discerning as yours.”

James ignores that. “He’s the chef there.”

Laurence’s eyes get wide, and he coughs as he swallows wrong, banging his fist into his chest. “What?” he gasps. “No way.”

“Yep.”

“And he didn’t smash one of these into your face?” He takes another bite, eyes practically rolling in delight. “I should do it for him. These are amazing.”

James draws a swirly pattern on the table with the tip of his index finger. “I didn’t tell him my name.”

“Oh my God,” says Laurence, looking him up and down, gaze taking everything in. “He asked you out, didn’t he? He asked you out, and he doesn’t know who you are.” He looks torn between pity and amusement, like his face can’t decide which emotion is appropriate.

“Yes and no,” hedges James.

“He either did or he didn’t.”

James shrugs, reaching out to steal a piece of the religieuse, ignoring Laurence’s swatting hand. “He invited me to his restaurant to try his cooking. That’s not really a date.”

“Oh my God,” repeats Laurence.

“You’ve been spending way too much time around kids,” says James. “Your vocabulary includes more than those three words.”

“Don’t change the subject,” says Laurence. “This is hilarious. I mean, probably not for you, but for me. Pure gold.” He’s smiling like an idiot. “Are you going to go?”

“I told him I’d check it out,” admits James. “But no. I don’t think that would be smart.”

“I think you should.”

“I think you’re crazy.”

It’s Laurence’s turn to roll his eyes. “The food wasn’t bad. Maybe it’ll be better this time. The service wasn’t awful, you just found the guy a little snobby. You still tipped him well. It’s not going to hurt you to go back.” He wiggled his eyebrows obnoxiously. “You might get a little something more servicewise this time.”

James chooses to pretend he didn’t hear the last bit. It doesn’t deserve a response, and Laurence doesn’t need any encouragement. “Are you ignoring the fact that I gave him a bad review, and if he knew who I was, he probably wouldn’t want me within five miles of his place?”

“Yeah,” says Laurence. “I mean, that’s not something you have to mention right away. You don’t even go by that name. And the review wasn’t really a bad one. If you’d of starred it, it would have been a three. That’s average, not bad.”

James scrunches up his face. That seems like it would be a bad idea, and he knows chefs. They consider average bad.

Marcy comes back then, Jordan and Kaden on either side of her, their smaller hands gripped in her slightly larger ones. There’s frosting in Jordan’s brown hair, coloring the tips of his bangs white. Kaden has a smudge of chocolate on his cheek and what looks like caramel sauce matting his blond hair to his forehead. James reaches around Laurence for the packet of wipes they brought and hands them over to Marcy. “Thank you,” she says, sounding relieved.

The kids are bouncing in place. “Mom,” whines Jordan as she tries to remove the frosting from his hair. “There’s a table with cookies shaped like dinosaurs!”

“That’s lovely,” she says. “I’ll buy you a couple, and you can eat them tomorrow.”

“But I want them now.” He stamps his foot for emphasis.

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have eaten cookies, cake, and brownies already,” she points out. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I feel fine,” he protests indignantly.

She opts to ignore him, moving on to clean Kaden’s face. Jordan turns his attention to Laurence and James, trying to gain their sympathy with his big eyes and hangdog expression.

“Sorry, kiddo,” says Laurence, not looking sorry at all. “Your mom’s right.”

He sticks his bottom lip out, and it trembles. James does not want to deal with a crying kid. He taps Jordan’s shoulder. “If you wait to eat the cookies till tomorrow, I’ll take you out to the movies. Whatever you want to see. We’ll get a bunch of candy.”

He ignores the amused looks he’s getting from Marcy and Laurence. Jordan throws his arms around James’s waist and squeezes. “Okay!” he says brightly, and just like that a tantrum is averted. Well, once he promises Kaden he can come as well.

“They’re staying at your place that night,” warns Laurence.

He doesn’t argue. They’re definitely not. He’ll make sure of it.

Both boys end up behind the table, heads bent over their DSs, talking quietly to themselves.

Laurence nudges Marcy once the boys are occupied. “James got asked out on a date.” He does the obnoxious eyebrow wiggle again.

“It’s not a date,” protests James, a little disgusted by how charmed Marcy looks at the eyebrow dance.

Marcy looks delighted and ignores his denial, gaze darting around like she’ll know who it is on sight. “By who? Is it that brunet eating the cookie? Or the one with the glasses?”

James follows her gaze and the tall brunet eating a cookie is attractive, but he’s not as hot as Bastien. And the one with the glasses is good-looking as well, in that professor kind of way. He’s also got nothing on Bastien. Which is weird. Normally James prefers dark hair.

Laurence laughs and points to Bastien, lacking all subtlety. James has to smack his hand down before Bastien looks over and sees him pointing. “The tall redhead. Who also happens to be a chef at a restaurant he gave a not-so-nice review.”

“He owns it actually,” interjects James, hoping that extra tidbit will make them lay off.

Laurence’s blue eyes open wide, like he’s trying to imitate a cartoon character. “And the plot thickens!”

Sometimes he wonders how the hell they’re related. He turns to Marcy, hoping she can be the voice of reason, but he finds a contemplative look on her face. “Not you too,” he groans.

“This could be good for you,” she says. “He’s very attractive.”

“What part of ‘he owns a restaurant I gave a bad review’ do you two not understand?” He feels like throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“Well,” says Marcy, “you could always not tell him you did the review.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, as a smug look of pride crosses Laurence’s face. He can’t believe they’d both suggest it.

“I already told him that,” says Laurence. “He doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You’ll have to tell him eventually, but I think you could make it into something you maybe laugh about later.” Marcy looks completely serious. James doesn’t know how he’s supposed to argue in the face of such a lack of logic.

“I give up,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. There’s no arguing with delusion.

Chapter Three

THE THING
is, once the idea is there it sticks.

James goes to a new Thai fusion restaurant with a guy he meets at the gym, and the guy is attractive. He’s tall and built, with close-cropped brown hair and light brown eyes. When he texts everything is spelled out, and he’s polite when they’re in the gym. He’s not a grunter. Unfortunately his good qualities appear to end there. He knows absolutely nothing about food, and he talks with his mouth full. James isn’t entirely sure why he said yes when Logan asked him out. After the third eyeful of mushed-up Thai noodles, James is tempted to ask him to leave. He’d leave himself, but he kind of has a job to do.

Staring at his plate, he can’t help but think about Bastien. His ginger hair and the freckles that sprinkle themselves over the bridge of his nose. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, his lashes so long they resemble a thick curtain concealing his bright blue eyes. His long, elegant fingers. The things he would like to see those fingers do….

“So I said, that can’t be all you’re lifting.” Logan’s laugh is loud and deep, and it jerks James from the pleasant avenue his thoughts were about to venture down.

He doesn’t know exactly what Logan is talking about, but he smiles and gives a small laugh. Logan isn’t looking for much more than that. He is, James has discovered over the course of this meal, quite fond of the sound of his own voice. James is growing less and less so.

He can’t help but think going out to dinner with Bastien would be a novel experience. He would know food. Would be able to offer helpful insights without even trying. His opinion would be one James might actually be able to factor in. Which then makes him think about the review. The food hadn’t been as good as it should have. So maybe Bastien wouldn’t know perfect food? But his pastries had been so good…. Possibly he hadn’t been the one to cook the meal James ate at the restaurant. Perhaps that had been a new chef.

If he does go to his restaurant, he can check for himself. Bastien’s cooking could really impress him. Is it fair to not give him the chance to change James’s mind? He’s earned it, he thinks. The pastry had been so good. Bastien obviously has talent. It would be wrong to not let him prove himself. Everyone has off days. It wouldn’t be a date. It’d be a reevaluation. That’s all. Completely harmless.

He spends the rest of dinner arguing with himself over what he should do. He obviously can’t go that night. Would it be reasonable to go the next? Or should he just let it go? He’d never retracted a review before. He doesn’t even know if his editor would let him. Eating at Bastien’s restaurant could just cause a lot of trouble. He probably shouldn’t do it.

By the time he’s standing out on the sidewalk, he hasn’t made up his mind. In fact, he’s allowed it to distract him far too much. He barely remembers what he ate for dinner, let alone if it was any good. He’d been eating mechanically. That answers one question at least. He’ll have to come back to this restaurant the next night, so he definitely can’t go to Bastien’s. The review for this one is scheduled. It needs to happen. He can’t put it off.

He’ll write a pro-and-cons list when he gets home.

Logan leans in for a kiss while James is distracted with visualizing what points he could put on the list. He tastes like beer, and he’s a sloppy kisser. James pulls away, forcing a small smile. “I’ve got work in the morning,” he says, which is a big-ass lie but nicer than saying “I really don’t like you.”

Logan nods, not looking at all disappointed. James wonders if it was bad for him too, then. “See you around,” says Logan, and that easily they part ways.

He pulls out his phone and texts Marcy.
Do you really think I should go to the restaurant?

Normally she’s a voice of reason. The only time he’s seen her do something illogical was when she married his brother. He still can’t figure out how that worked out so well. He’s put it down to a miracle. A quirk of fate. She doesn’t respond right away, and he has to shove his phone in his pocket to keep from repeatedly looking at the screen. He’ll feel it vibrate when she does get back to him.

Halfway home, he starts to think he could go to the restaurant—for date and not review purposes—and if he tells Bastien who he is, and by some miracle the man is okay with that, he can go from there.

That idea sits a lot better with him than omitting the information. But then again… no. He shakes his head. If he was Bastien, he would want to know who James really was. Wouldn’t he?

He’s in the elevator to his apartment when his phone vibrates and he pulls it out, almost fumbles it. Marcy sent him a
yes
and nothing else. He scowls down at the screen and shoves his phone back in the pocket. He doesn’t know why he thinks he should listen to her. What does she know?

He’s not going to go, he decides. He doesn’t need to complicate his life. It’s good the way it is.

“SIR,” SAYS
Henry, coming to a stop by Bastien’s side in the busy kitchen.

Bastien shakes his head, deftly reaching out to flip the chicken simmering in the skillet to his right. “If something is wrong, tell it to Jean.” He does not have time for problems. He adds a handful of onions to the saucepan above the chicken. At the same time, he peeks in the pot to his left to assess the state of his noodles.

“There’s not a problem,” assures Henry, stepping aside so Bastien can reach for the spice rack.

“Then what do you need?” he asks, searching for the cardamom. He knows it’s there somewhere. He shoves salt and paprika out of the way. Why do they have so much basil?

“We have a guest who says he was invited by you.”

Bastien freezes with his hand in the air. Had the guy from the bake sale actually come? It had been a week since the sale, and he’d started to think the man would never show. His stomach gets that empty, nervous feeling. What should he do? The pot with his noodles starts to hiss and overflow. Cursing, he grabs up a rag and lifts it from the burner. The sizzling sound of water bubbling directly on the burner fills the air with its harsh crackle.

Focus.

The kitchen is not a place to let one’s attention wander.

“Did he say anything else?” asks Bastien, fiddling with the heat and stirring the noodles to keep them from sticking. In another minute he’ll be able to drain them. He can’t go out and greet him, not with how busy they are. Not when he’s in the middle of making something. Would he think that was rude? Would he lose the opportunity this presented? His stomach churns at the thought.

“He said he wanted you to surprise him,” says Henry. He’s looking at Bastien questioningly.

“Surprise him?” Did he want Bastien to pop out of a box or something?

“The food,” says Henry. “He wants you to surprise him with your choice of dish.” There’s a wealth of judgment in Henry’s tone, and Bastien can feel himself flushing.