drops his things onto a bench, irritated. Why did she wait until the last minute to tell him?
“I didn’t wait until the last minute,” she says, reading his mind. She straightens up looking mildly irritated herself. “I sent you three emails and a couple of voice-mail messages.”
He remembers now, but he didn’t know she needed a response before tomorrow.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, glancing at the clock. His fifteen minutes have just evaporated and he needs to head to the showers if he’s going to make his meeting on time. “We’ll have to talk about this later.”
“My day’s already pretty full,” she says. “And I’m sure yours is, too. What about discussing this over an early dinner? I’ve always wanted to try that new restaurant, Roux.”
Mark knows Roux, because it was written up as one of the hottest new French fusion restaurants to watch. He’s been wanting to go there himself to check out the architecture and decor, but Julia hates going out. Plus Roux is forty minutes away.
“It’s halfway between Rockford and Avalon,” she continues. “This way you’ll still have the rest of the evening to spend with Julia and Gracie.” The smile on Vivian’s face doesn’t waver. “We can meet at five and you’ll be home by seven.”
If he stands here any longer, he’s going to be late. “Fine,” he says. “Roux it is. Five o’clock.”
When Mark walks into Roux, an apologetic Vivian is waiting by the bar, drink already in hand.
“This is what small town life does to you,” she says mournfully.She looks dazzling in a tailored wraparound dress and heels. It’s professional yet soft and feminine. “I forgot that most restaurants don’t start serving until five-thirty. They’ll seat us at the bar, though, until a table is ready.”
Mark is about to suggest that they just stay at the bar and get this over with, but at that moment a young man dressed in black walks over. Mark recognizes him as Bruno Lemelin, owner of Roux and two other award-winning restaurants in the state of Illinois.
“Mark Evarts,” Lemelin says, shaking his hand. They’ve never met, but Lemelin is all smiles, as if they’re old friends. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. When Vivian called and I heard the two of you were coming in, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I saw the work you did on Bacchanali in Chicago. Nicely done.”
“Thank you.” They exchange cards.
“I’d love to talk with you about a couple of projects I have going on, maybe see if there’s a fit.” Lemelin claps him on the shoulder and gives Vivian a smile, his eyes flicking up and down the length of her body. “The hostess will seat you in a little bit, but I’ll send some apps to tide you over in the meantime. I’m going to have our chef pull together some of his favorite dishes for your dinner.”
Mark doesn’t know what to say. He’d heard rumors that Lemelin wanted to open another place, a high-concept restaurant that would combine stunning interiors with his signature dishes. He also knows Lemelin has a reputation for hiring and firing his architects at the drop of a hat, and it’s clear that he’s shopping now.
Lemelin gives Mark a wink. “I’ll tell the bartender to fix you up with our house martini. It was featured in
Food & Wine
last year. You’ll love it.” He turns and strides into the kitchen with a wave.
Mark is flattered to be getting the royal treatment. He’s forgotten this feeling, this thrill of being noticed, this cutting to the front of the line. Since Josh’s death he’s passed on travel and evening meetings, and he knows his business has suffered for it. His partner, Victor Gunther, has been socializing and hobnobbing on his behalf, but it’s not his forte. It’s Mark’s. He’s forgotten how much fun it can be, and how much he really misses it.
He excuses himself to step outside and call Julia. It’s a courtesy call because she probably won’t answer the phone. Sure enough, the
“I didn’t wait until the last minute,” she says, reading his mind. She straightens up looking mildly irritated herself. “I sent you three emails and a couple of voice-mail messages.”
He remembers now, but he didn’t know she needed a response before tomorrow.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, glancing at the clock. His fifteen minutes have just evaporated and he needs to head to the showers if he’s going to make his meeting on time. “We’ll have to talk about this later.”
“My day’s already pretty full,” she says. “And I’m sure yours is, too. What about discussing this over an early dinner? I’ve always wanted to try that new restaurant, Roux.”
Mark knows Roux, because it was written up as one of the hottest new French fusion restaurants to watch. He’s been wanting to go there himself to check out the architecture and decor, but Julia hates going out. Plus Roux is forty minutes away.
“It’s halfway between Rockford and Avalon,” she continues. “This way you’ll still have the rest of the evening to spend with Julia and Gracie.” The smile on Vivian’s face doesn’t waver. “We can meet at five and you’ll be home by seven.”
If he stands here any longer, he’s going to be late. “Fine,” he says. “Roux it is. Five o’clock.”
When Mark walks into Roux, an apologetic Vivian is waiting by the bar, drink already in hand.
“This is what small town life does to you,” she says mournfully.She looks dazzling in a tailored wraparound dress and heels. It’s professional yet soft and feminine. “I forgot that most restaurants don’t start serving until five-thirty. They’ll seat us at the bar, though, until a table is ready.”
Mark is about to suggest that they just stay at the bar and get this over with, but at that moment a young man dressed in black walks over. Mark recognizes him as Bruno Lemelin, owner of Roux and two other award-winning restaurants in the state of Illinois.
“Mark Evarts,” Lemelin says, shaking his hand. They’ve never met, but Lemelin is all smiles, as if they’re old friends. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. When Vivian called and I heard the two of you were coming in, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I saw the work you did on Bacchanali in Chicago. Nicely done.”
“Thank you.” They exchange cards.
“I’d love to talk with you about a couple of projects I have going on, maybe see if there’s a fit.” Lemelin claps him on the shoulder and gives Vivian a smile, his eyes flicking up and down the length of her body. “The hostess will seat you in a little bit, but I’ll send some apps to tide you over in the meantime. I’m going to have our chef pull together some of his favorite dishes for your dinner.”
Mark doesn’t know what to say. He’d heard rumors that Lemelin wanted to open another place, a high-concept restaurant that would combine stunning interiors with his signature dishes. He also knows Lemelin has a reputation for hiring and firing his architects at the drop of a hat, and it’s clear that he’s shopping now.
Lemelin gives Mark a wink. “I’ll tell the bartender to fix you up with our house martini. It was featured in
Food & Wine
last year. You’ll love it.” He turns and strides into the kitchen with a wave.
Mark is flattered to be getting the royal treatment. He’s forgotten this feeling, this thrill of being noticed, this cutting to the front of the line. Since Josh’s death he’s passed on travel and evening meetings, and he knows his business has suffered for it. His partner, Victor Gunther, has been socializing and hobnobbing on his behalf, but it’s not his forte. It’s Mark’s. He’s forgotten how much fun it can be, and how much he really misses it.
He excuses himself to step outside and call Julia. It’s a courtesy call because she probably won’t answer the phone. Sure enough, the
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