Chapter 11
Bruno arrived early to La Petite Maison, a quaint little French restaurant in downtown Decatur where he and Deanne, his first date, would be meeting. Marissa had made all the arrangements based on his and Deanne’s mutual appreciation of French food and this restaurant in particular.
He walked inside to the welcoming hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. The soft lighting created a warm ambiance in the cozy dining room, which contained approximately twelve tables, ten of which were occupied.
On the walls, pictures of Parisian landmarks reminded him of his time in France—the good and the bad.
He remembered Lorraine Dubois, his first love, a French socialite who made him question his decision to start from the bottom in someone else’s kitchen. She had expected him to simply get the money from one of his parents to finance his first restaurant, but he’d wanted to enter the restaurant industry the right way. He had wanted to pay his dues and work side by side with other cooks as he learned the ropes.
Her words echoed in his head, and her tear-streaked cheeks flashed in his mind—all a reminder that so-called love was impatient and fleeting.
Unlike Lorraine, Marissa had understood his insistence on choosing the harder path. I think your commitment to your craft is admirable.She would have been encouraging if they had met in his twenties.
He had been young, but fortunately, common sense had prevailed. The long hours had been grueling, but those years had been some of the best of his career, instilling in him the pursuit of perfection, the reward of hard work, and the importance of using the finest ingredients. Paris had made him fall in love with the art of cooking and helped him hone his skills to the chef he was today—causing him to coin the phrase that all members of his staff knew well: I do not accept mediocrity.
A slender woman with frizzy, curly hair and a makeup-free face approached. He’d been there enough to know her name was Marie. “Bonjour. How many?” she asked in a thick French accent.
“Two. My date should be here shortly,” Bruno said to her French.
“This way.” She led him to a table in the corner.
Before long, Deanne arrived looking as lovely as he remembered. The mustard blouse she wore flattered her caramel complexion, and the gold hoops in her ears brightened her features as they peeked between the strands of her hair.
Bruno came to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. “Good to see you again,” he said in a warm voice.
“Hello, Bruno. Thank you.”
She settled in the chair, and he sat across from her.
Marie returned to take their order. They selected two appetizers to share—escargots de Bourgogne and paté de campagne. She recommended the Chablis as an accompaniment, to which they both agreed.
As they waited for the wine’s arrival, Bruno asked, “How has your week been?”
Deanne sighed. “Crazy busy. Hectic, but that’s nothing new. I love my job as a producer, but some days I want to pull my hair out. What about you—how was your week?”
“Similar. Business has been booming at the restaurants, which is a good problem to have. I try not to complain because the alternative is much worse.”
His attempt at humor fell flat, with Deanne nodding absentmindedly as she checked her phone on the table beside her.
Marie returned with the two glasses of wine, the pale gold color catching the light as she placed them on the table.
Bruno sipped his, enjoying the crisp acidity and citrus flavor. As they waited for the food to arrive, he made another attempt at conversation.
“What do you do when you’re not working?”
Her gaze flicked to his, and her eyes softened. “Paint. Not that I’m any good,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m sure you’re better than you think.”
“No, I’m really very bad. I’ve taken classes and been told in no uncertain terms to stick to my day job.” She laughed and tasted her wine, a hum of appreciation filling her throat. “But I’m not trying to become the next Picasso. Painting is relaxing and different from what I do on a day-to-day basis at CNN. With that said, I’m sticking with my hobby, and no amount of criticism is going to change my mind.”
“Good for you.”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
“I enjoy the outdoors. Fishing and sailing in the summertime, and in the winter you’ll find me on the slopes,” Bruno replied.
Their conversation continued, both of them sharing humorous stories about their respective careers. Though Deanne contributed to the conversation, her mind was obviously elsewhere by the way she regularly checked her phone.
Marie briefly interrupted them when she brought their appetizers and small plates for sharing. The scent of garlic and parsley-infused butter filled the air as she set the steaming dish of snails in the middle of the table.
Bruno placed half on Deanne’s plate, and she divvied up the paté, which was served alongside cornichons, mustard, and a French baguette.
Bruno spread a generous amount of paté on his bread and so did Deanne. They both ate the appetizers in quiet appreciation of the flavorful dishes, laughing when their eyes connected across the table.
“We got real quiet there for a minute. That’s how you know the food is good,” Deanne said.
Bruno opened his mouth to agree, when she checked her phone again.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
She seemed surprised by the question.
“You’ve spent a lot of time looking at your phone this evening,” he said.
Her cheeks reddened. “Goodness, I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have come tonight. Do you mind if we wrap up this date? I need to go home.” Her expression was apologetic.
“I don’t mind at all,” Bruno said, though he was surprised.
“Thank you for picking me as one of your top three, but I’m probably not the best person to be involved with right now.”
“I understand.” He didn’t, but he appreciated her candor.
He called for the check, and they exchanged goodbyes. Deanne hurried from the restaurant before Bruno came all the way out of his seat.
That went well, he thought. He nodded at Marie on his way to the door and stepped on to the sidewalk.
Deanne had disappeared.
His jaw tightened with the same frustration he experienced after his date with Teresa weeks ago. Was he wasting his time on a matchmaking service?
Instead of going to the parking deck where he’d left his car, he decided to take a stroll around the square to work off his irritation. People milled around, going in and out of the restaurants and cafes, several of them eating ice cream or sipping a cold drink as they walked.
A couple coming toward him walked arm in arm, and the woman reminded him of Marissa. She had a similar build and skin complexion. He paused near a tree. He was supposed to give her an update on each of his meetings. Maybe now would be a good time since the night was young. He dialed her number, and she answered on the second ring.
“Hi, Bruno.”
“Hello, Marissa. Do you have a moment? I wanted to give you an update on my date with Deanne.” He started walking again, past a restaurant with outdoor seating where diners lingered over wine and delicious-looking Italian meals.
“I have time. How did the date go?” she asked in a cheerful voice.
“Deanne and I will not be walking down the aisle anytime soon,” he answered.
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“The evening started out fine. We ordered wine and appetizers.”
“You kept it simple, like we discussed.”
“Yes. She seemed a bit frazzled and frustrated when she first arrived. She mentioned work has been hectic.”
“I get the impression her job can sometimes be draining.”
“So do I,” Bruno said, turning a right down the sidewalk. “The reason the date didn’t go very well was because she seemed distracted much of the time. We’d talk, have good conversation for a few minutes, and then her attention would be drawn to her phone again. She was expecting a call or a text, that much was clear. And she left early, before we finished our meal.”
“You’re kidding,” Marissa said in disbelief.
Bruno paused to watch a woman playing with her dog on a blanket on the grass. “I wish I were. She practically ran out of the restaurant. I’m not sure my ego will recover.”
Marissa laughed, and the melodic tinkle took him by surprise. Did she have any idea how attractive that sound was? It was soft, with a silky timbre and a playful lilt. The sultry undertone ignited a spark inside him and left him craving more of the sweet sound.
“You’re laughing at me,” he said.
“No. I’m laughing with you.”
“I wasn’t laughing.”
“Oh.”
He could almost see her face—the black cat eye glasses on her pert nose, her lovely mouth forming an “O” while she scrambled to think of something positive to say.
“Aren’t you supposed to try to make me feel better?” he asked, purposely putting her on the spot.
“Somehow I doubt that your feelings are crushed.”
Bruno tucked a hand in his pants pocket. “I’m absolutely devastated. I might cry myself to sleep tonight.”
She laughed again, a shorter sound this time. He’d stay on the phone all night and crack jokes if he could hear that sound every few minutes.
“You don’t take me seriously,” he said.
“No, I do not. On a serious note, I could arrange another meeting for you and Deanne. Sometimes people don’t click the first time around, but it doesn’t mean you’re not compatible. She might have been having an off night. I’ll know more when I talk to her, but what would you like to do?”
Stay on the phone with you, Bruno thought.
The brief moments of good conversation with Deanne didn’t compare to the complete transformation his attitude had gone through in the few minutes he’d talked to Marissa.
“I’m going to pass. She’s an attractive woman, and while there were some enjoyable moments during the date, I don’t think we’re a match in the romantic sense.”
“This was your first date… wait, one minute. Deanne is on the other line. Hold on.”
Phone to his ear, Bruno cut through the grass in the direction of the parking deck. He was sliding behind the wheel of his Porsche when Marissa came back on the line.
“Like I said, that was Deanne, to give me her update. I told her I was on the line with you. Turns out her father is ill, and yesterday he took a turn for the worst. They’re very close, and she’s having a tough time. She wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry for her behavior tonight, but she’s not in the right frame of mind to date at the moment.”
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I hope she’ll be okay.” Compassion filled her voice.
“I do too.”
Marissa blew out a breath. “Anything else you want to tell me before you go?”
“No, nothing else.”
“You have a coffee date with Casey tomorrow. Hopefully, that will go a little better. Sasha has a scheduling conflict, and we’re working out the details.”
“That’s fine. I’ll give you a call right after Casey and I meet.”
“Sounds good.”