Fonduing Fathers (21 page)

“I know that.”

“I told you I was passed over for an overseas assignment.”

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” He waved that away. “No permanent damage. They think all I need is time. That I just need to get you out of my system.”

“And?” I asked, steeling myself. “Do you?”

“No.”

We stared at each other, he with his arms across his chest, me with the tension rod in my hands. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” I asked.

He squinted at me, an expression I recognized. Whatever he was about to say would hurt.

Going for the preemptive strike, I guessed, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

He opened his mouth to answer but I cut him off.

“There’s a position that’s opened up, right? You’re taking it.”

Once I’d opened the floodgates, I couldn’t stop my babbling.

“Soon. It’s soon, isn’t it? You’ve gotten word that something is coming down. Tomorrow?” I glanced down at the half-put-together project in my hands. It seemed such a useless, petty endeavor. I glared up at him. “You don’t even want this new shower curtain, do you?”

I swore I heard him chuckle.

“The shower curtain is great,” he said. “The best shower curtain in the world. I love the shower curtain. And I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

“Then…what is it?”

He kept his arms crossed and the pain in his eyes was back. “I’m damaged goods. You know that.”

I started to disagree, but he shook his head, silencing me.

“Let me say this my way, okay?” Even though he was across the room with his back to the wall, he drew into himself, farther away from me. Whatever it was he needed to say, he clearly needed space.

I wished we weren’t having this conversation across a bathroom.

He stared at me, looking determined, hurt, and vulnerable all at the same time.

Sorely tempted to throw the blasted shower curtain to the ground and shout, “Just get it over with!” I fought the instinct and held my tongue, waiting.

He didn’t move, but every inch of him tightened. Another agonizing minute went by and Gav looked around the little room as though suddenly realizing where we were. “Maybe we should talk about this another time.”

Exasperation made me blurt, “No. Now.”

He gave the briefest of nods. “Okay.” He knew me well enough to know that I wouldn’t let this drop.

“I can’t…” he began. “That is,
we
can’t…” He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t…be engaged.”

My tight grip on the tension rod loosened. “Come again?”

“I can’t be engaged,” he said again, enunciating clearly as though that would make him easier to understand.

“Engaged? As in, to be married?”

He nodded.

“I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up—”

“My track record speaks volumes. I can’t do it again.”

“I’ve told you before: You’re not a jinx.”

“I can’t endanger you.”

“You won’t.” The little C-hooks teetered precariously near the edge of the tension rod. I tilted it to keep them from falling, buying time. “But,” I began carefully, “I didn’t think we were at that point yet.”

“I worry about you,” he said. “I worry for your safety.”

“Are you kidding? I worry more for yours,” I said. “I have a safe job as a chef.”

“Where you get into more than your share of trouble.”

“I’m not in any trouble now,” I said. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Gav,” I said gently, “life is dangerous. You and I both know that. Something could happen to me, but it wouldn’t be your fault. Something could happen to you—” I stopped when I heard the words I was saying. I shuddered, then said, “I don’t ever want anything to happen to you.”

“I’m making you uncomfortable and that wasn’t my intent,” he said. “It’s just that you and I are so right together.”

“We are,” I agreed. “Believe me, I’m sensitive to your history. I do understand. I’ve never expected you to…that is, I never expected us to…” Now I was the one having trouble coming up with words.

“Ever?”

I smiled. “If and when the time is right, we’ll both know.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, pushing off from the wall, “when the time is right, I’ll want to act. Immediately. We can’t have an engagement. We can’t plan. We have to just do.” He pierced me with his gaze. “That’s not fair to you. You’re not the one who the engagement gods seem to hate.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said, trying to lighten the moment, “I haven’t ever tempted them.”

He closed the distance between us, grasping both my arms and pulling me closer. C-hooks spilled to the floor, taking the new curtain with them. I let the tension rod drop.

“Someday, I don’t know when,” he said, “the time will be right. And when it is, the only delay will be what’s required by law. Three days, I think.”

“Three days.”

“Unless we fly out to Las Vegas.”

“No way.”

He stared down at me. “That’s assuming you’re willing.”

I knew better than to answer, but he put a finger across my lips just the same.

“No words now,” he said softly. “All I ask is that you think about it.”

WHILE CYAN PREPPED INGREDIENTS FOR A ragout, and Bucky and I cleaned a variety of mushrooms Monday morning, Virgil put the finishing touches on breakfast for Mrs. Hyden and the kids. The president had taken his morning meal in the West Wing several hours earlier. During the school year, the president tried his best to share as many meals as possible with his family. With the kids on summer break and sleeping a little later in the morning, however, schedules had changed. Two breakfasts, two lunches, and occasionally two dinners, depending on how late the president stayed at his desk, had become the new norm. Virgil grumbled about it incessantly.

“I’m telling you,” I said in a low voice to Bucky and Cyan when Virgil stepped out of the kitchen to grab an item from the refrigeration area, “as much as I miss working on the family’s daily meals, having Virgil around has turned out to be a godsend.”

Cyan’s brow puckered. “That’s a stretch, don’t you think? He’s helpful, yeah, but on his own terms.”

“You have to admit, we have a lot more time these days. I’ve been able to work with Josh. We’ve all benefited from having more freedom to experiment than we have in the past. Our last state dinner was astounding. Thanks to you, Bucky. You’ve been coming up with adventurous new combinations.”

Bucky’s expression took on an air of studied nonchalance. “Thank you,” he said, but I knew him well enough to recognize that my praise had hit home. “You’re right about us having more time, but I can’t say I care very much for our little diva.”

“Personalities aside, he’s become an integral part of this kitchen,” I said.

“I wish they’d settle on a permanent chief usher,” Bucky said. “Then maybe we could discuss the pecking order in this kitchen. Right now, Virgil thinks he’s your next-in-command. That was my position. I’m not thrilled with the idea of coming in second to him.”

I wanted Bucky to be my first assistant, too, but I wasn’t sure how much sway I’d have with Doug. “It’ll be best to wait until we have a firmer hand at the chief usher helm,” I agreed.

“Until then, it’s for better or for worse, I suppose,” Bucky said.

His phrasing warped me back to my conversation with Gav the night before. It had played in my head repeatedly, to the point that I’d had difficulty falling asleep. I didn’t believe for a moment that Gav was a jinx or that the dubious gods of engagement, or whatever he called them, had targeted him for tragedy. That wasn’t what had kept me staring unblinkingly at the dark ceiling so late into the night. What had bounced in my brain were little pings of fear and guilt, combined with out-and-out longing.

I didn’t know. Not yet. He and I had been together for a
relatively short time but we’d known each other for several years. The truth was, I’d never felt so comfortable, so at ease with being myself, with anyone else in my life. Gav saw me for who I was, as I saw him for who he was. We were good together. Better than good.

And his eyes twinkled when they looked at me.

I couldn’t ask for more. Nor did I want to. At this point in my life, I knew that if I were ever to be married, it would be to Gav.

The question was, Could I be married when I had such a strong solo streak in me? He was right. His career was as important to him as mine was to me. Neither of us would be willing to give up all we’d worked for just because the other one—Gav, most likely—had been transferred.

I’d been on my own for so long, depended on myself so completely, that it was hard for me to imagine giving up that part of my life for anyone.

But Gav wasn’t just anyone.

“You still with us, Ollie?” Cyan asked, waving thyme-covered fingers in front of my face. “You zoned out there for a minute.”

“Sorry,” I said, shocked that I’d stepped out of the conversation so completely. “Lots on my mind, I guess.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble again?” Cyan asked.

“Where did that come from?”

Cyan and Bucky exchanged a look.

“
Am
I in trouble?” I asked. “That’s news to me. I’ve been incredibly well behaved lately.”

“You aren’t investigating anything?” Bucky asked.

I couldn’t share anything about my dad without explaining Gav’s involvement, so I countered with another question. “What is going on here? You two seem to be much better informed than I am.”

Again, the shared look.

“Quit it,” I said. “What’s going on?”

Virgil took that moment to reenter the kitchen, arms
laden with ingredients for whatever he had planned for lunch. He scooted behind Bucky without a word and went to work at the far countertop.

“You know that Agent Quinn,” Bucky said. “He was in here early this morning, asking where you were.”

Cyan added, “Secret Service agents don’t usually come calling for you, Ollie. Not unless you’re in hot water.”

Virgil snorted. Measuring out butter, he turned to join the conversation. “Yeah, and then they swarm the place.”

I pooh-poohed their comments. “I never turned in my disguise from Saturday. I didn’t know who to give it to, so I took it home. I figured it would be nice if I at least cleaned the dress before I returned it. I’m sure that’s why he’s looking for me.”

Cyan’s and Bucky’s exaggerated agreement and wide-eyed gestures told me they thought I was covering because Virgil was in the room.

“Really,” I said, “if it’s something else, I’m sure I’ll find out. But I bet that’s it.”

“Or…” Virgil chunked a hand on his hip and turned to face us, “Quinn is sweet on you.”

That made me laugh out loud.

Virgil waved his knife in the air, cutting through my mirth. “No, seriously. Think about it. When you’re in trouble—which I’ve had the pleasure to experience more than once—this place is crawling with agents. Now it’s just one: Quinn.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “That’s true.”

“It’s the costume, I’m telling you,” I said.

Even Cyan looked skeptical. I was sorely tempted to call Quinn up on the phone just to put the matter to rest, but that may have been construed as protesting too much. “Fine,” I said, “believe what you choose. When he shows up here, you’ll understand.”

About an hour later, Josh tumbled in, his mother following a moment later at a much more sedate pace. The boy
held one of the freebies we’d picked up Saturday. I recognized the DVD’s cover immediately as one from a major brand that had presented there. “Did you watch this, Ollie?” he asked, eyes bright as he held it out for me to inspect.

From behind, the First Lady placed her hand atop her son’s head. “It would be nice if you said hello to everyone first, don’t you think?”

He looked around the room as though noticing everyone else for the first time. “Oh, hi,” he said. “I mean, good morning.” To Virgil, he said, “Thank you for breakfast; it was great.” He twisted to shoot a grin up at his mom then turned to face me again.

“This shows how to make a cheese fondue, step-by-step, including stuff to dip. Can we do that today?” He looked around the room again as though expecting any of the other adults to shut him down. “My mom says if I make it, we can all have it as part of dinner tonight when Dad’s back upstairs.”

At this, Virgil sniffed, reaching for the DVD. Josh, who had once held Virgil in high regard, eyed him suspiciously before handing it over. Virgil examined the case, front and back. “This was created by LaPlace Cheeses,” he said, his face scrunching with exaggerated pain. “I’m sure they made certain to highlight all their own products in making this. And two million people have this exact same recipe.” Handling the DVD case with only the tips of his fingers, he returned it to Josh. “I wouldn’t ever make such a generic item.”

Downcast, Josh turned to me. “I guess this isn’t all that great then, is it?”

My earlier kind words for my colleague suddenly tasted sour in my mouth. At that moment, if I could have banished Virgil permanently in order to save Josh from the man’s careless insensitivity, I would have—in a D.C. heartbeat.

“Let me see it, Josh,” I said, taking it from him. “There is nothing wrong with LaPlace Cheeses,” I said. “Not a
darned thing, and I would be happy to work on it with you. The one thing Virgil might be forgetting,” I added, shooting a tight smile at my colleague, “is that every single recipe we prepare for our families is wonderful in its own way. We might follow this exactly; we might make a few adjustments along the way. Would that be all right with you?”