Hungry for More (2012) (12 page)

Bridget looked at him and Paul felt his heart
hurt
.  She looked so sad and so beautiful.  

“I don’t even remember how it started, not exactly.  I’d always been big…bigger than my friends.  When my mother started telling me that I was fat and-”

“Your mother told you that you were fat?” Paul asked in disbelief.

“She put me on a diet,” Bridget answered.  “I hated how she monitored everything that I ate.  I stopped eating when she was watching me.  I would just pick at a salad or move things around my plate until everyone else was finished.  I was never full, but being hungry sort of felt good,” she continued, to Paul’s mounting disbelief.  “Eventually I would lose control and binge,” she said, her voice full of self-loathing. 

“Sweetheart, if you were trying to live on lettuce leaves it’s not surprising that your body found a way to rebel.”

“No one else has ever thought that,” Bridget said, her voice wobbling.  “Richard used to lock the fridge!”

“Richard?”  Jealousy and anger flared to life in the center of Paul’s chest.  “Who’s Richard?”

“My ex-fiancé,” Bridget whispered.  She looked like she might cry again.  “He thought I was fat and disgusting.  In the end he was ashamed to even be seen with me.”

Paul wanted to
kill
Richard.

“
You
should have been ashamed to be seen with s
uch a jerk!
”  Paul’s retort was so vehement that it actually drew a tiny giggle from Bridget.  Paul lifted his hand to her face, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  “You shouldn’t have listened to them.  I think you’re beautiful and perfect just the way you are…And do you know what else I think?”

Bridget shook her head.

“I think you need to start treating yourself better, because you
deserve
better, and you’re going to have to start believing that soon because I’m not going to let you kill yourself on-” he picked up a packet “-Fritos and… chocolate Hobnobs!”

“Chocolate Hobnobs are actually-”

“A thing of the past,” Paul said firmly.  He looked again at the ingredients listed on the wrapper.  “I could definitely whip up something superior!”

Bridget smiled tremulously.  “You can
improve
on chocolate Hobnobs?  Now that I would love to see!”

“Is that a challenge?” Paul asked, arching his brow comically. Bridget started giggling at the look.

The sound was a little bit manic, but Paul forgave her the lapse of decorum. He felt so good that he’d been able to help. Bridget had been absolutely flattened when he first found her. Now she was smiling through her drying tears.

“Thank you…” she said shyly, and started to turn away. Paul caught her cheek. He cupped it tenderly, and stroked away a lingering teardrop with the pad of his thumb. Then, because he felt he’d earned it, he gave her another kiss.

Maybe she was right about the Hobnobs.
Paul could still taste the cookies on her tongue when she timidly slid it between his lips. It was an intriguing blend of salty and sweet that tempted him to kiss her deeper.

Not yet…
a voice whispered deep inside, and he decided to heed it. Life and experience had taught him that the most delectable experiences were seldom rushed.

He released Bridget slowly. He settled back onto his stool, taking the time to admire her flushed cheeks and tousled hair.

He didn’t know what to say. Bridget seemed to be in the same predicament. She kept peeking up at him
,
catching his eyes and then quickly looking away. The tense silence stretched on, until she reached to take a sip of the tea that she’d been drinking and acciden
tally tipped her bag of Fritos o
nto the floor.

“Oh,
God!
” Bridget exclaimed. She scrambled off the stool to clean the mess, but Paul beat her to it. He picked up the empty bag and tossed it into the trash.

He carried the food that was left to the cabinets and refrigerator, and then took out some food for himself.

Bridget watched him curiously. “You didn’t have dinner yet?”

Paul shook his head, “I never eat dinner, really.”

“You never eat dinner?”

“Well, most nights I just taste…a
lot
.”

“And you didn’t tonight?” Bridget asked, curiously. She glanced at the clock. “You’re early…Is something wrong?”

Paul looked away. He didn’t want her to see the turmoil on his face or to spoil the pleasant, playful mood. “Tough night at work,” he shrugged.

“I know how that goes,” Bridget answered, soothingly.

“Do you?” Paul blinked.

Bridget was embarrassed when she realized what she’d said. “Er…no…not really, I mean, Tad’s an angel! Always! I just…”

“…have to watch out for your lecherous boss always sneaking home early and trying to steal a kiss.”

Paul made sure that his tone was teasing, but he was actually holding his breath, waiting on
the edge of his seat
for her response.

Bridget looked down at her hands and dared another tiny timid smile.

“Actually, that’s one of the perks.”

Chapter 10

Paul’s home life was as good as it had ever been but work was utter hell.  He knew that he shouldn’t have walked out of service, but he also knew that other chefs had nights off. Plenty of the top chefs managed to have a life outside work.

His passion for good food was still strong and steady.  It burned away at the very heart of who he was, but the politics of his kitchen were getting out of hand.  Paul no longer wanted to go into work.  He wanted to stay at home with Tad and Bridget and rediscover what it meant to be part of a normal family.

He smiled to himself when he thought of the pair of them.  He couldn’t believe that he had been content to live his life without Tad in it.  He felt guilty for neglecting his son in the past.  He was determined to change, but work continually got in the way of his good intentions.  At least Tad had Bridget for when his father still fell short.  Paul’s affectionate smile gained a wolfish edge when he considered the nanny.

Bridget was a part of their oddball little family just as surely as he and Tad; she was the glue that held them together, especially in the beginning.  Paul was still learning how to be a proper father, but it became a little easier every day under Bridget’s tutelage.  After the night of the binge, he understood a little better why she didn’t already have a family of her own.  Paul was keen to build up her shattered confidence.  He was desperate not to lose Bridget in the process though. He wanted to show her that
he and Tad
were all that she needed.

Paul played his seduction out slowly. He allowed Bridget no room to doubt that
she
was a prize that he intended to claim but kept her guessing about when he would make his final move.

Paul amazed himself with his restraint.  He wanted Bridget badly, but he wanted it to be
perfect
when he finally made her his own, and he sensed that she needed time.  He loved watching her blossom under his tender attentions.  Her eyes lit up with anticipation every time that she saw him.  Her skin flushed and her lips parted breathlessly. 

More often than not Paul rewarded her response to him with slow, probing kisses, leaving them both reeling when he pulled away from her lush, inviting curves.

It was difficult for him to concentrate on anything but Bridget, even when they were apart.  He found more and more that she was even intruding on his thoughts while he was in the kitchen. That was something that couldn’t possibly go unnoticed for long. 

“Oh,
no!
”

“What?” Bridget let the spoon that she was using to eat her Cookie Crisp cereal clatter against the bowl at the sound of Paul’s voice. His tone was disappointed. She didn’t understand it. She thought that she was doing well not to hide her food the moment that she heard him getting out of bed. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically, “I was hungry.”

Paul sighed and ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. “I didn’t mean it like
that,
” he reassured her. “I know you’re hungry. You must be starved. I just thought that we had discussed how you are going to treat yourself from now on.”

“Treat myself?”

“Yes. You are
not
going to live with a world
-
class chef and continue eating…
that
.
” He looked at the mushy cereal and shuddered.  

Bridget managed a timid smile, relieved by his explanation. “You were asleep,” she explained quietly.

“Well, now I’m awake,” he countered, and then made a great show of flexing his fingers, and then sticking his head into the fridge, “Crepes? Omlettes? Waffles? “

“I don’t have time,” Bridget told him, glancing down at her watch. “Tad and I have to be at the airport at nine. Did you change your mind? Are you going to come?”

“
Damn
!” Paul hissed, finally remembering what day it was. Paul’s brother Drew and his wife, Dixie were taking their kids to Disney
W
orld for fall break. They had offered to take Tad as well. Bridget was accompanying him down to D.C. on a commuter flight, and coming back that afternoon. “I can’t,” he said, but sounded regretful. “We have a reviewer from the
Times
coming in tomorrow night. I’m not supposed to know, mind you…”   

Bridget nodded and hid her disappointment. “I understand. I already told Tad that you couldn’t come. He will want to say goodbye though. He was sleepy, so I let him go back and lie down for a while after I got him dressed, but the taxi will be here soon.
Y
ou should wake him up.”

Paul took the nanny’s advice, woke his son and spent a few minutes talking before they had to go. He walked them both down to the lobby, and felt surprisingly bereft when the taxi drove away.  He knew that his family would be back soon, but their absence left an aching gap.

Paul buried the feeling in the same way he always did- by throwing himself in to work. The restaurant was even more frantic that morning. A friend of a friend had tipped him off that Barry Walker, food critic for the paper, was stopping by the following evening. Paul was treating dinner service as a rehearsal to ensure that everything was
perfect
the following night.

The
sous-chef
had bought the produce. Paul wasted at least an hour sorting through the rubbish and working out what was usable. He put some extra care into the menu. Then he had to deal with the lunchtime rush, and finally, dinner prep. First orders were just arriving when he received a very unwelcome surprise.

“
Monsieur le chef
?” Georges said, ever-formal. “Your investors are in the dining room. They would like a moment of your time.”

“I’m in the middle of service!” Paul snarled back, punctuating his reply with some swearing, but Georges was unflappable.

“They are waiting for you at table thirteen.”

“
How fitting…
” Paul muttered under his breath as he marched out into the dining room. A meeting with his despised partners was certainly a sign of bad luck. He couldn’t even force a smile as he slid in beside them at the banquette.

It seemed that the owners had also been tipped off about the
Times
reporter and wanted to make sure that he had things right. Paul was insulted. Then, when they tried to sort out his menu for the following morning, he became enraged.

“
Prawns in chocolate sauce
?” he bellowed, heedless of the diners around him, “Are you
insane?
What kind of an idiot would pair prawns with chocolate?”

“
Paul…
” one of the men said, with a familiarity that made his blood boil, “Please stay calm.”

“Calm?” he growled, “Why should I be calm? You know
nothing
about cooking. The only thing you know about the restaurant business is how to write a check. I have
never
gotten anything less than a
perfect
five-star review in the
New York Times
and you come in here and-!”

“Chef Devoe, I think you want to watch your mouth,” one of the men said in a tone that was so oily and superior that Paul’s hackles rose.

“It’s my restaurant!” he spat.

“No, it’s
our
restaurant,” the man countered, “Paid for with
our
money. Here
you
have been hired to cook.”

“I have a quarter stake.”

“We have the other seventy-five percent interest.”

Paul saw red.

“Fine!” he said, standing up from the table so angrily that he banged the table. Wine sloshed over the rims of glasses, dripping onto the cloth. “It’s your restaurant? You can run it yourselves!”