Read Online A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) by Hillary Manton Lodge - Free Book Online Page B

certainement
. The Bolognese sauce is very nice today. And some soup? When I was in the kitchen earlier, there seemed to be a lot of soup.”
    “That sounds perfect.” I paused to take in my mother’s appearance. Her hair was gently mussed, and she wasn’t wearing any eye makeup. “What’s wrong, Maman?”
    “I’m not feeling well today. I’m just … tired,” she said. But her eyes touched on mine only fleetingly.
    “Oh,” I said, not buying her answer at all. “I hope you feel better. When do you head home?”
    “About an hour or so. You’ll be at family dinner this week, yes?”
    I’d actually considered skipping a week to get caught up on work, but something in her eyes made me rethink my plans. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
    “
Bon
. Go off and get your dinner now,
ma cheri
. Make Nico give you some bread too.”
    I said good-bye and closed the door, no less concerned but aware she was unlikely to elaborate.
    In the kitchen I found Nico, working away, shouting orders. “Hey!” he said once he saw me. “Can you lend a hand? We’re short a guy tonight, and we’re just this side of the weeds.”
    “I was gonna come grab some dinner. If you feed me, I can stay for a little bit.”
    “Sold. Tie up your hair, grab a jacket, and scrub in. Do you mind working first and eating later?”
    “Do you have a little bread hanging around?”
    “The focaccia is very good today. Mario! Give my sister some bread.”
    “Yes, Chef! Heads up,” Mario called back, and a wedge of focaccia flew toward my face.
    I caught it, ate it quickly, and got myself ready to help. “How behind are you?”
    “A ten-top came in. We’re almost there, but it’s slowing down everybody else. Enzo!” he called out. “How’s that asparagus?”
    “Thirty seconds, Chef!” Enzo shouted back.
    “Where do you need me?”
    “We went through a lot of chicken tonight, and I need more chicken breasts pounded. After that, I need you to prep more vegetables.”
    “Yes, Chef,” I said, slipping easily into the role. I worked quickly, replenishing the supply of prepped chicken before moving on to the vegetables. Once those were done, I lent a hand at the roast station. Nico got the ten-top’s appetizers sent out, followed shortly by the entrées. Slowly, the energy in the kitchen shifted from manic and harried to calm and efficient.
    After an hour, Nico turned to me. “Things are slowing down. I should probably feed you.”
    “I’d be fine with that,” I answered, wiping my forehead with a grin. “That was fun.”
    “Yeah? Fun enough that you’ve put more thought into my offer?” Nico asked as he handed me a bowl of pasta topped with Bolognese sauce.
    “Mom was right—this is really good,” I said after a bite. “She also suggested you send me home with soup.”
    “We can probably work something out.”
    “So … here’s the thing,” I said, leaning against the counter. “My job is tough, but I’m good at it. I don’t know that I want to give it up. But I also really, really love restaurant work.”
    “It’s in your blood.”
    “I know. What if we strike a compromise? I checked my ghostwritingschedule—I’ve got two books, but then I’m done for a while. I can help the restaurant get set up, and once it’s off the ground, I can decide then if I want to stay or hire someone else to run it for you.”
    Nico studied the ceiling. “You won’t reconsider?”
    “Not tonight, no.”
    “You really think you can get the restaurant up and running while working at the paper?”
    “I’m used to working all hours.”
    Nico shrugged. “I can’t argue with that. All right, then. Shall we shake?”
    “Sure,” I said. “Just know that you’ve got tomato sauce on your hands.”

    Once I returned home, I found a surprise in my inbox. The e-mail was from OrangeYouGlad, a man with a good-looking photo whose family owned an orange grove in California.
    I loved orange groves, always had. Reading the note, I entertained