Read Online Meet Me in Venice by Elizabeth Adler - Free Book Online Page B

certainly perfectly presented. Which did not mean towering edifices of food; nor mean-spirited small portions disguised as fashionable; nor those slurps of heavy “extra-virgin” olive oil poured over everything, completely destroying the individual carefully cooked flavors.
    Anyhow, tonight she meant to outdo herself. Preshy was bringing a boyfriend—well hardly that, she’d only met him last night and the guy was leaving for Shanghai tomorrow. It certainly didn’t sound too promising to Sylvie, but Daria said he was gorgeous and Preshy seemed crazy for him, and she intended to check him out carefully. Shanghai was a long way from Paris. It would be easy for a visiting businessman to have a quick affair and then forget all about it, and Sylvie wasn’t about to let that happen to her friend.
    They arrived at eight-thirty, windblown and a little wet from a sudden rainsquall. “Welcome, welcome,” she said, advancing to greet them, smart in her chef ‘s whites. A flushed, smiling Preshy introduced Bennett, who shook her hand firmly. He was smiling, but not too much, Sylvie thought, not as though he wanted to impress her and try to make her his friend.
    She put them at a quiet corner table, told them there was no choice and that she was in charge of dinner and she wanted no complaints. She sent over a chilled bottle of Heidsieck Rosé Sauvage Champagne and an
amuse-bouche
of a tiny curried crab cake wrapped in spinach leaves, then went back to her kitchen, where things were quite literally hotting up, since the dining room was now full.
    It didn’t faze Sylvie; she was used to the organized chaos of a restaurant kitchen. Her keen eye took in that everyone was in their appointed place, that her sous-chefs were chopping and stirring, cooking and plating. She ran her usual interference then went to the stove and prepared to send Bennett James the meal of his life. She’d see what he had to say to that. Then she would get the true measure of the man.
    As she sent out the first course of lobster ravioli, she peeked round the door. They were sitting close together on the banquette, not opposite each other, which was where they had started out.
And
they were holding hands. Humph! This looked serious.
    “She’s very cute,” Bennett said later, watching Sylvie moving amongst the tables, chatting to the other diners, on top of everything as always. “Not only that, she’s a fabulous chef. Where did she learn to cook like this?”
    “Believe it or not, she really got interested when she went to stay at Daria’s family’s summer place on Cape Cod. We used to hang out there together in the summer and Sylvie got a job at the local lobster house. She’d bring home the leftovers and rehash them the next day into something superb for lunch. Between that and her barbecues we all gained weight, and Sylvie ‘s fate was sealed. A chef was what she wanted to be and she never looked back.”
    “Sounds like fun,” Bennett said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. Their glance smoldered.
    “You’re taking my breath away,” Preshy murmured, releasing her hand. “I think I need more wine.”
    “Will it bring back your breath?” he asked as he filled her glass with the simple chilled Brouilly Sylvie had recommended to go with the entrée.
    Preshy shivered as she sipped her wine, but it wasn’t because of its chill. “I confess, I don’t want it back.” She smiled at him. “I kind of like being ‘breathless.’ “
    “Doesn’t it impede your eating ability?”
    She threw back her head and laughed. “Nothing ever stops me from eating,” she said, tucking into the moist, tender Bresse chicken that tasted the way no other chicken in the entire world did.
    “I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvie said, passing by. “Everything all right?” she asked, in French.
    “Sylvie, this food is . . .” Bennett seemed stumped for words. “It’s marvelous,” he said. “I’ve never eaten anything so good in all my