Hungry for More (2012) (9 page)

Bridget was so sure that the answer would be no that she let herself relax.  Perhaps she had been silly to be so worried about coming to Paul’s restaurant?  If she and Tad came and left by the back door and ate in a deserted restaurant no one would see her after all. 

However, after what appeared to be a monumental internal battle, Paul finally answered Tad’s question.

“You can peek from the doorway
if
you clean your plate.”

“Okay!” Tad nodded quickly.

Bridget’s stomach churned again, even though peeking didn’t sound
too
traumatic. 

She took Tad through to the luxurious dining area. The tables were covered in fine linen, but the place settings were missing.  Bridget let Tad select a table and sat down with him.  He eagerly chatted away about everything that he had seen that morning.  Bridget made a mental note to get him some books about fish. 

“Pardon me, mademoiselle, but Chef Devoe asked me to set your table.”

Bridget jumped in surprise when a stranger appeared at her side. “Oh? Oh! Thank you,” Bridget flushed with embarrassment and quickly removed her purse from the table.  “I can do that really, it’s no trouble-”

“
Absolument pas
!” the man replied in French, looking mortally offended.

“What does that mean?” Tad asked curiously.  He was looking adorable and angelic. Bridget was glad to have the man’s attention diverted away from her.

“It means I would not dream of a guest of the restaurant setting her own table,” he smiled.

“Wow, it means all that?” Tad goggled.  “Do you work here like my daddy?”

“I am the
maitre’d
.  I look after the customers who come to eat your father’s food,” he nodded, obviously charmed by Tad.  Bridget was glad; she couldn’t believe that the
maitre’d
himself was setting their table.  “Can I get you anything to drink?” he offered, having finished with the utensils.

“Could Tad have a glass of water, please?”

“Of course.
And for yourself, Mademoiselle?”

“Oh, nothing for-”

“She’ll need a glass of the good Australian Chardonnay, the Millamolong Reisling, Georges-Pierre.”

“Of course,” the
maitre’d
nodded at Paul and then disappeared.

“Is that the
shark
, Daddy?” Tad gasped gleefully, peering at the plates that his father had just carried to the table.

“It is,” Paul grinned.  “Basted with lemon juice, garlic and butter, and grilled over charcoal.”

Bridget was pleased that Paul was learning to use words that Tad could identify, even if she was beginning to panic at the sight of two plates of food.

“I hope you both realize that these have to come back to the kitchen
empty
if I ever hope to show my face at work again.” Paul winked, setting the mouthwatering dish in front of Bridget and Tad.

Bridget stared down at the steaming platter and tried to stop the rumbling in her stomach. She swallowed hard, and then looked up at Paul, who was watching her with rapt attention.

“Go on!” he said.

Bridget used her knife to cut off a tiny piece, which she held on the tip of her fork. She stared at the flaky meat. She was hardly a gourmet, but she could tell that it was cooked to perfection, and the smell was
amazing.

Paul was still staring. His eyes were tracing the path from the fork to her mouth, urging her to take the bite. It hovered, indecisively- and then she saw her way out.

“Oh! Tad! I’m sorry- Nanny needs to cut it for you!”

In truth, the fish was flaky enough that he might have managed, but she seized the distraction.

“Is it
really
shark, Nanny?” Tad asked, practically quivering with excitement.

“Yes,” she told him as she loaded a bite into onto his fork. “Aren’t you a lucky boy? You get to bite a shark instead of having a shark bite you.”

She popped the morsel into his mouth, and then watched for his reaction. Thankfully, it was a good one.

“It’s YUMMY,
D
addy!” Tad said and opened his mouth like a baby bird, begging another bite.

“I think you have another hit,” Bridget said, smiling as she obligingly fed the child. Paul smiled tightly, “Well, that’s half of you I’ve pleased then,” he said and looked at her intently. “Now, what do
you
think?”

“What do I? Oh…I…I’m just…” Bridget fumbled for an escape. She knew from Tad’s reaction that the food was going to be good. She’d never be able to stop at a delicate mouthful, and she’d simply die if Paul saw her stuff her face. “I…er…had so much breakfast…I never dreamed…maybe I could just take it home?”

“Surely you can try one bite? It won’t taste as good heated up.”

“Oh, but I…” Bridget twisted her fork, salivating as she looked at the delicate morsel it held. “I’m…er…allergic.”

“You’re allergic to seafood?” Paul asked. He plucked the fork out of her hand and started to reach for the plate, when he paused, “But…the kippers?”

“Only
some
seafood…” Bridget said, knowing that she must sound foolish.

“You didn’t mention it before.”

“But…it’s really not that big of a deal…”
S
he was starting to feel idiotic, “You know…er…I just get a little rash…I’ve never had shark and maybe…”

She averted her eyes from Paul, concentrating instead on Tad, who had nearly wolfed down his entire portion.

“I see.”

Paul didn’t see. She could tell from his brooding expression. He thought that she simply didn’t want his food. Nothing could be further from the truth, but she didn’t know how to tell him that.

“It
smells
delicious.”

“It’s no big deal,” Paul said tersely, and picked up her plate. Tad had a few bites left, but Paul picked up his plate too.

“Hey!” the little boy exclaimed.

“You’re finished.”

“Are we going to have des
s
ert?”

Bridget was glad that Paul shook his head no, even though Tad began to whine.

“I’m sure you have something important to do back at the apartment,” Paul said in a piqued tone that let Bridget know just how badly she’d stung him.

“Mr. Devoe…” she said quietly, regretting that she’d hurt his feelings
.
“I just-!”

“Don’t let me keep you!” he snapped, and then turned on his heel, dismissing them just like that.

Chapter 7

“
Unbelievable…
” Paul muttered under his breath as he returned to the kitchen.

He slammed the two plates onto the counter, and then looked up- only to discover that the
sous chef
and a couple of
commis
were looking at the untouched shark.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STARING AT?” Paul roared, in even less of a humor than usual to deal with their curiosity or pert remarks.

The
sous chef
smirked, “What’s the matter, Devoe,” he said in the careful sneer of a man who knew that the dog that he was taunting was trapped behind a fence, “Your kid didn’t like it?”

“Tad loved it,” he answered, without thinking to yell back that it was none of his business.

“It was the nanny who didn’t eat it?” one
commis
asked in disbelief.

The man beside him snickered, “That has to be the first meal that she’s missed in her entire life!”

All three of the men started laughing, but two of them stopped when they saw Paul’s face. It had turned completely purple.

“WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” he growled so loud that it hurt his throat. The two commis chefs stumbled backwards, but it didn’t take them away from his wrath. “You think that’s funny? It’s
funny
to you worthless jerks to make jokes about my friends?”

“Er…yes, Chef! I mean-! No, Chef!” One stammered. It was too little, too late.

“You sniveling little piece of vomit!” Paul hissed, grabbing the man by the chef coat and then ripping the garment off. He reached for the other man, but was evaded. “Get out of here!” he bellowed

Even the
sous chef
looked pale. Somehow he gathered the courage to speak, “Er…
Chef Devoe…
”

Paul whirled around, “Don’t think I wouldn’t throw your sorry ass out too if you weren’t so far up the investors’ butts!” He shot the man a withering glance, and then turned his fury back on the hapless pair of
commis.
“Get out!” he screamed again, waving his arms and practically herding them out the door.

At least the service went smoothly after that.

There was loads more prep work to do- after all, they were two men down- but Paul’s violent explosion of temper and the continuance of his vile mood worked like a tonic on the rest of the crew. Paul had never worked a smoother dinner in all of his life!

Bridget didn’t have to deal with any screaming, but her afternoon wasn’t precisely ideal. Tad made a scene before they left the restaurant. He was confused by his father’s disappearance and
heartbroken
that he didn’t get to see the kitchen after all. Bridget couldn’t help but feel responsible for the situation, and so she was extra indulgent all afternoon. They stopped at F.A.O. Schwartz on the way home. She bought Tad a plush shark and a box of d
ominoes. They spent
the evening learning how to play.

As soon as Tad was put to bed, Bridget fixed dinner for herself. She planned to have some salad (Paul left a bowl for her on the second shelf) and some plain chicken…and maybe a fat
-
free pudding for being good, but Tad didn’t finish the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets that she had fixed for him and she didn’t want to throw them away. She polished them off, and then had a handful of chips. After all that junk food, she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to have a cookie or two…or five…or
twelve
.

She had a problem. Bridget’s eyes were watering as she carried the empty packet to the trash and then hid it in the bottom where Paul would never see.

Paul…
Paul…

She felt a twist of agony when she imagined what he would think of her if he saw her eating like this- about what he probably
did
think already! She had been such a fool to snub his meal! She had only been with him for a few days, but it was painfully obvious how important that his cooking was to Paul.

It was only going to get worse…

Bridget felt that she ought to have known that living with a chef was going to be torture. She could suddenly see the future laid out ahead: day after day of lies and excuses and worry. Perhaps she’d do better to go ahead and tell him flat out: she didn’t eat in front of other people.

That sounds ridiculous,
she thought and cringed at the idea. Then she closed her eyes and remembered Paul’s stricken face when she turned away his shark.

How could he possibly think that she simply didn’t
want
his food? She’d have to be out of her mind!

You
are
out of your mind
, she scolded,
if you think that this is ever going to work.

She had to tell him. If she couldn’t work up the courage to tell him flat out, then at least she had to think up a good story. Perhaps she could say that she knew that it was silly, but she’d always been afraid of trying shark
.
Of course- that wouldn’t help her when this came up in the future.

Bridget paced around the living room, trying to work out what to do, but she didn’t come up with any definitive answers. She didn’t come up with any
ideas
except telling the truth.

Bridget couldn’t settle. The more that she thought about her problem, the more ridiculous she felt. She wished that she had some chocolate. Chocolate always made her feel better, but Paul would be home soon. She didn’t want him to catch her mid-binge and so she decided to try a glass of wine.

There weren’t any bottles on the second shelf, but Paul had poured her a glass of Chardonnay for lunch on the day of the Croque-monsieurs. It was still corked and sitting in the refrigerator. Since it was already opened, and had already been offered to her before, she didn’t think that it would do any harm for her to have a little bit more.

She poured a glass.

It was really good, despite spending a few days in the fridge. It was not as smooth as the spicy, apple-flavored Shiraz that she had been offered at the restaurant that day. It had a crisp, refreshing bite with a hint of lemon. She was hardly an expert on wine, but Bridget was pleased to be able to pick out the flavors and to feel them changing as they warmed on her tongue.

She concentrated on the alcohol (which was much more comforting than letting her mind return to its previous pursuits!) and savored every drop. She was surprised when she reached the bottom of the glass.