Chapter 24
I can’t believe it. Connards.” Joelle is picking at her pastry but feeling unequal to eating it. I don’t blame her.
After pushing past Grandin and Martin, I’d grabbed Nikolai by the arm, direct from his station, and went to track down Joelle.
I broke the news on the sidewalk in front of the tabac presse where she’d been buying papers.
I hated to shatter her blissful morning, but delaying the truth wouldn’t soften the blow when it landed.
Thus, we all agreed to let Girard sink or swim on his own and started walking until we ended up at Angelina.
It’s one of those places that’s so good you don’t blame the tourists for swarming, but locals rarely go because of the crowds.
But today is drizzly and decidedly off-season, so there are empty tables at the ready.
And I’ve always thought bad news is easier to bear with a ready supply of chocolate and baked goods.
They were happy to accommodate us in the far back corner at my behest. It’s a nice, secluded spot for a good gripe fest.
I’ve never had time to sample their legendary hot chocolate before, and it has been a huge gap in my Parisian experience. I make a note to buy several boxes of their cocoa mix to take home on my way out.
But how long will I be in Paris? Will it be stupid to buy it just to donate it in two weeks when I’m kicked out of my apartment?
Will it be worth hauling it wherever I land?
I sag in my chair with the weight of having to move on yet again.
It’s the same weight I’m feeling in my own timeline.
It’s not that I want to stay still. I love the idea of traveling all over the world for Michelin.
I just also want the luxury of a home base.
A home base with throw pillows, my satin comforter, and a majestic black cat.
It’s not about settling down so much as having a soft place to land.
I reach over for Nikolai’s hand, and though he only worked one full day at the restaurant, he’s just as sad as Joelle and I are.
He presses his lips to the back of my hand. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
I pull my hand back. “Nikolai S?ndergaard Rasmussen, enough of that. This is one restaurant opportunity out of millions. And I mean that literally. You could get a job in a great kitchen tomorrow without help from anyone. You don’t have to go back to The Mesmerist. I’ll be mad if you do.”
He shakes his head. “I know I can’t go back now that I’ve had a taste of a kitchen like Maison Ortense. But it’s . . . terrifying, you know? Trying to find something new. New doesn’t always mean better.”
“And a bird in the hand doesn’t mean squat if it doesn’t feed your soul,” I counter. “I want you to make a list of ten restaurants anywhere in the world where you want to work, and we’re going to make a game plan. This very afternoon.”
“Yes, Chef.” He actually gives a mock salute. Apparently, I’ve become bossier than I used to be, but in my defense, it seems to be getting some results.
“And you, Chef Durand?” I cock my head and look her square in her deep brown eyes that are doing a remarkable job of keeping back tears, though I know she’s struggling with it. “What’s the plan?”
“I have been unemployed for forty-five minutes. Can you let me catch my breath?” Her words are those of a surly teenager, but she looks more sad than petulant.
“No. You have a dazzling review running in a major newspaper. Today. It’s in every newsstand in the city.
” I pull the paper up on my phone and hold it up for her to see.
“Your face is on the front of the Lifestyle section of their website. That publicity will be buried tomorrow. Not forgotten, but it won’t be front and center either.
Put your feelers out today while you’re fresh on everyone’s minds. ”
She shrugs. “Won’t they wonder why I’m looking for work?”
“Let them wonder. Why would a chef with such promise, one who is so well liked and respected, be let go hours after a triumph like this?” I waggle my phone for emphasis, the website still glowing.
“A bit of bad gossip for Maison Ortense and its investors is just what they deserve. They can’t rescind your severance because you’re job hunting. And you’ll have me as a reference.”
She looks pensive, so I decide to break the somber mood. “Champagne,” I declare, trying to spot our server and make eye contact. “This is an opportunity for better things, not a setback. And we’re going to act like it.”
The waiter, bless him, makes no reaction to my ordering a bottle of champagne at ten in the morning. The French really are wonderful about that sort of thing. Though purists may turn up their nose, I opt for a rosé, because nothing, and I mean nothing, screams celebration like pink bubbles.
Not surprisingly, the champagne improves the mood at the table. “What about you?” Nikolai asks once he’s downed a quarter of his glass. “You’ve got all our lives figured out. What’s next for the great Sabrina Sorensen?”
He’s circumspect in front of Joelle, which I appreciate.
She is too deep in the industry to know about my hopes for Michelin.
And Nikolai is close enough he can’t not know.
Because that crazy lifestyle would affect him too, if I’m ever lucky enough to get the job.
And right now, he’s showing he can be trusted with my dreams.
And it’s true. I’d always planned on applying to Michelin when I was at my zenith.
When I had managed a restaurant they deemed worthy of their highest honor.
But as Rosaline told me not long ago, the right path in life is rarely the most direct.
Is it time to apply? Should I just stay here and live out my life until I catch up with my timeline?
My spidey-sense tells me that as soon as we hit that moment, the one where I first met Rosaline in my timeline, the window for this cosmic redo will be over.
That’s not all that long from now—less than three months.
I could easily just pick things up from here and move on with this life. It does seem like a reasonable option.
Is there anything I would do differently?
It’s a loaded question. I’ve seen iterations of my life that I thought I could improve, and with one exception—the one sitting at the table and holding my hand as if I might flee—none of the changes were really for the better.
Edward is never going to change. Orla helped me see that Rian was a gargantuan mistake.
And, well . . . that third star was just not in the cards for Joelle and me.
I’m just able to see these points in my life from another angle.
I can’t say I have fewer regrets, but maybe I understand them a little better.
It makes them lighter to carry, and that’s not nothing.
“I do have some thoughts,” I tell Nikolai at length and brush a kiss against his cheek.
“I’m going to apply for lots of jobs. Ones that excite me.
Ones that will work for us. I want to open as many doors as I can, and then I’m going to let fate sort it all out.
If the universe knows better than I do what’s best for my future, I’m going to listen. ”
Both Nikolai and Joelle look at me, gobsmacked.
They know me well enough to know I am not one to let my future just happen to me, as though I am a passive participant in my own life.
I am the author of my own story, and I make opportunities.
I don’t just find them. And usually? That’s a solid approach to life.
But this once, it’s time to slow down and see where I feel pulled to go next.
Right now, it’s what feels right. But there are some things I need to do before I let the chips fall where they may.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Sabrina?” Joelle looks only half kidding.
“Oh, I’m still here. And I’m going to give the universe as much material to work with as I can.
We all are. We aren’t going anywhere until we’ve drawn up lists, made calls, and set ourselves up for one hell of a next step.
And once we do that, I’m going to De Gaulle. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up.”
Nikolai’s eyes widen. He’s waited eight long years for me to commit, and to him it looks like I’m preparing to bolt yet again. I take his hands in mine. “I need you to trust me. I won’t be gone long.”
His face relaxes by a few degrees, but he still looks skittish. I absolutely need to be transparent with him. And I’ll tell him everything. Soon. And hope he doesn’t think I’m a total looney tune by the end of it.
But I have to let the events unfold first. It feels like speaking it aloud might jinx the whole thing. But he needs as much honesty as I can give.
“Listen, I may need a few months to settle some things, but you have my word we’ll ring in the new year together. Deal?”
He looks solemn, and we shake hands as if sealing a business deal. Which suits me fine, as this is a promise I take every bit as seriously as a multimillion-dollar merger.
For several hours we monopolize the table in the far corner of Angelina, phones and laptops blazing until we’ve made some significant progress on next steps.
And I send one very important email.