French Roast (10 page)

Chapter 13

B
rian took another pull from the Jack Daniels bottle and threw a dart across the living room of his apartment. It hit the wall and bounced. Mutt didn’t even flinch.

“I’m sucking pretty badly today, aren’t I?” He scratched the dog’s head. “I miss Jill.” He drilled a dart into his Paris landscape instead of the dartboard.

He took a draw on the drink, reveling in the way it made his throat burn.

Someone pounded on the door. Mutt rolled his eyes up like
are you going to get that?

“You’re a terrible watchdog. Maybe it’s Jill.” Mutt barked. Brian rushed over and opened the door.

Pete held up a brown bag. “Brought some medicine.”

His friend strode into the kitchen. After finding a highball glass, he poured himself a drink. He sat across from Brian, who had sprawled back on his black leather couch, rubbing Mutt’s floppy folds.

“How could you not have told me about the French chick?”

Because he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t tell anyone. Returning to Dare had been hard enough without adding more complications. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, no one in Dare can stop talking about it. That scene in Don’t Soy with Me will keep the grist mill going for weeks.”

“Fuck.”

“I take it you and Jill are on the outs.” Mutt gave a
ruff
.

“Yes, we’re talking about Jillie, boy. We went a few rounds at the cemetery after she talked to you.”

Pete stood, fists at his side. “I wouldn’t call it talking. God, every time I see her, it’s one accusation after another, which only makes me feel worse. I know she needs someone to blame, but goddammit, I’m having a hard enough time as it is. ”

Brian heaved himself up. “You’re not to blame for what happened to Jemma. No one is.”

Pete threw back his drink. “Nothing’s how it used to be, and I don’t think I can take it much longer. You’re finally back, but Jemma’s dead, and Jill’s declared me her mortal enemy. Now I understand how you felt when you left for New York, and she wouldn’t talk to you anymore. When I broke up with Jemma, I knew I’d lose Jill’s friendship, too. I just didn’t know it would suck this much.”

“Yeah, it sucks balls.” And thinking about how he’d felt before only added to his current misery. The problem was that any explanation would make Jill crazy. And she had the right—he’d been a dick for not telling her, for not being able to give her a firm commitment, either on the restaurant or their relationship.

“So this Frenchwoman wants you back?”

He turned away from the Paris scene on the wall. “Yes, but I told her I was with Jill. She wants to open a restaurant together.”

Pete whistled. “Are you thinking about taking her up on her offer and heading back to New York? I never did understand why you came back here.”

Even though Pete was his friend, he felt like Jill should be the first one to hear the whole story.

“Why are you still here if you feel that way about this place?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Pete shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about moving on lately, and I’ve put out some feelers. I can finish my dissertation from anywhere. It might be good to have a fresh start.”

He hated to think about his friend leaving just when they were getting their rhythm back, but he understood. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m headed to Hairy’s tonight. Wanna come?”

“Nah.” His stomach churned like an ice cream maker. He should have eaten with his drink. “Grab me that salami and cheese in the fridge, will you?”

Pete dumped the contents on his granite countertop. “You’ve become such a food snob. What happened to you?” he asked jokingly.

“I got taste. You didn’t,” he concluded in their form of male bonding. Brian cut a piece of sopressata salami and bit in. The cured pork was like a shaft of light, and the truffle cheese made anything seem possible. Food made life seem good again.

“Sure you don’t want to go to Hairy’s?”

“I don’t need to hear people talking about me.”

Pete slapped him on the back. “Understood. Catch you later McConnell.”

The door slammed. Brian gripped the counter. Well, if he was going to stay in tonight, he needed a distraction.

And nothing calmed Brian like cooking.

***

To keep his mind off Jill, he decided to go with comfort food. A quiche? No, nothing French. Nothing he would have made with Simca. He’d go Italian and make homemade lasagna. He pulled some sausage out of the refrigerator. Making the noodles by hand would soothe him. He threw a pan on the stove and added the sausages, spacing them apart.

Some ingredients needed room to reach their true potential. He was one of them. Leaving Dare hadn’t been easy, but it had been the right decision. It had helped him grow up. The question was what he needed now.

When a knock on the door sounded, he turned down the burner. Mutt’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave a jaw-cracking yawn, drool trailing to the floor like melting wax.

Brian hoped it was Jill. He threw open the industrial door and stilled. Seeing Simca twice in one day made him feel off balance.

“Hello, Brian,” Simca said quietly.

“How did you find out where I live?”

“I am resourceful, no? I had something special to give you and didn’t want to wait.”

“I wish you’d called,” he said, but not wanting to be rude, he let her inside.

She leaned against the door and undid a few buttons on her black silk blouse, revealing the tips of an even darker lace bra.

“Sim, you need to stop that.”

“What?” she asked with a slow smile.

“You know. I told you I’m with someone else, and you can’t stay if you’re not going to respect that.”

Her smile dimmed, but she buttoned back up. Thank God.

“I like your loft,
chérie.
It’s very European.”

She’d get that. Her attention to detail had impressed him, from the kitchen orders to remembering how he folded his T-shirts.

“And you have a dog too. I remember you saying you wanted one.” Mutt put his paws over his eyes. “Your gift.” She crossed over to the kitchen in her ice-pick black boots, already dressed in a different outfit from the one she’d been wearing that afternoon—so Simca.

His taste buds leaped straight off the cliff. He knew that bag. To the naked eye, the leather satchel could be a purse. Inside it held coolant freezer packs to store specialty food items. Leave it to the French.

“I was just in Paris. I brought you back some Epoisses de Bourgogne.”

The bag’s zipper purred slowly. To a chef, the unveiling of this rare cheese was akin to a striptease at an upscale club.

“You take too many chances with Customs, Simca.” Saliva pooled at the sight of that round orange wrapping shaped like a pin cushion. Nine ounces of sheer orgasmic delight. He suspected she remembered him equating the cheese to raunchy sex. She could have chosen any foodie gift, but a sexual reminder was so her style.

“Do I look dangerous?” She broke the vacuum pack and pulled back the ruched orange corners.

He edged closer, the earthy smell drawing him in like a siren. God, he was weak. He remembered the last time he’d sampled Epoisses. She’d returned from Paris and fed it to him in bed.

He didn’t stop her from taking out a toast point and spreading the cheese on it with an engraved butter knife. He eyed the washed rind that had been coated with Marc de Bourgogne, a French alcohol, during the ripening process. How could nine ounces take you to heaven?

When he took the toast point, he inhaled deeply, the aroma punching him in the face. To the untrained nose, it smelled like hell. To Brian, the worse the smell, the better the cheese tasted.

He closed his eyes. Opened his mouth. The exquisite creaminess covered his tongue as flavors of fecundity, grass, and old milk danced around his mouth before elongating into the pleasant dip of sour lemons at the end. The mixture of flavors converged into a dazzling combination—like the harsh notes of a Chopin overture blending together in sheer harmony.

“Jesus, God.” His eyes closed, a shaft of pleasure shooting straight to his toes.

He jumped when a hand caressed his arm. “I have missed you like this. Your eyes closed in delight as the passion of flavor travels down that long, hard body.”

“I told you. It can’t be like this anymore, Sim.” He removed her hand.

She angled her head to the side. “Are you sure?”

Needing air, he cracked open the patio door. The winter wind whistled in, cooling his heated flesh and clearing his head. Mutt howled and lumbered out of the room.

“Yes, I’m with Jill now. I…won’t betray her in that way.”

She leaned against the couch. “I admire that, after Andre. Are you still mad? Andre and I may not have been legally separated, but in the important ways we were not together. There were other women for him. Why could I not find my own happiness? There was only you.”

He wondered if she was telling the truth. “We’re not going to solve this tonight. I need some time to think about your offer to open a place together.”

She wrapped a honeyed curl around an emerald-ringed finger. “I understand. In the meantime, I hope to share some new ideas with you. Being in France again really inspired me. I think you’ll like what I’m thinking. It’s only an addition to what we’ve discussed before, of course.”

Their visions of the restaurant they’d like to open had always been perfectly in sync. He had no doubt it would wow customers and garner a prized Michelin rating.

He could so easily imagine himself back in New York—the cars rushing by, the people striding down Broadway as they talked about business, food, and art. His reputation in the food world would be restored by their partnership. It would change everything for him professionally, and after all the hard work he’d invested in his career, longing flickered through him.

Her body sashayed as she walked toward him. “Let me help you,
chérie.
”

“I know you can. I just need…to decide what’s best for me.” Was leaving Dare for his career the answer? But that would mean losing Jill again. It tore him apart, having to decide between the two things he wanted more than anything: his dream and the girl who had always meant home to him.

“We always worked well together. It won’t be any different now.” Her smile flashed like a sunburst. Turning on her heels, she walked to the kitchen for her satchel. “I will leave the cheese and bid you goodnight. I will draw up a menu while I wait.” She shrugged into her coat. “
Bon nuit.
”

Brian laid the cheese down carefully in the refrigerator and slammed the door. He fingered a photo of him and Jill held by a Don’t Soy With Me magnet.

What in the hell was he going to do? Jill would never go for a long distance relationship because she’d interpret it as him choosing his career over her. And given his fear of long-term commitment, he wasn’t sure he could make that leap either. He wanted to be with her now, but what if something changed? Hadn’t his parents suddenly up and decided they were done with each other? That decision had pretty much destroyed everything in its wake.

God, could she even trust him again when she found out the whole story about Simca? Hell, she didn’t even know everything yet, and she seemed just as upset as she’d been after high school. He understood why she was hurt. She deserved to be with a man who knew what he wanted, one who was willing to making a real commitment to her.

He had to make a decision.

This was the real world. He couldn’t have everything.