Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Holy—
No freaking—
You’ve got to be—
Whole sentences were beyond Sawyer at the moment. He was reading Le Monde’s review of Nanine’s, the restaurant he, his friends, and Nanine herself had worked tirelessly to relaunch over the last several months. The review itself was exultant, and the way it had ended…
The last thing he’d expected was for his art to be recognized in the leading Paris newspaper on the arts! And the review wasn’t even supposed to be about his paintings.
Sawyer clenched his Le Monde newspaper, rereading the food critic’s final salvo.
Now you can come to the new Nanine’s for gallery-quality art as much as for an exquisite culinary feast for the senses.
That was him they were talking about! Dr. Sawyer Jackson, aspiring artist since gripping his first paintbrush while he was in diapers.
Mind-blown. Someone might have smacked him with one of the copper pots from the restaurant’s kitchen three floors below.
He and his friends had been tense, waiting to see what the verdict would be on the labor of their heart. Last night’s first patrons had posted effusively online, but he hadn’t expected this. He didn’t think anyone had.
Everyone was either standing or sitting in Nanine’s salon, absorbed by the review.
All of his friends were here—Madison, the head chef; Kyle, the CEO of the hospitality group they’d opened together; Thea, the baker whose breads the article had raved over; Dean, their tech guru who’d brought Nanine’s into the modern age; Brooke, their up-and-coming interior designer who’d added a new panache to Paris’ beloved restaurant; and Thea’s fiancé and Nanine’s lawyer, Jean Luc Mercier.
Their soon-to-be brother-in-law of sorts was the only non-roommate who’d been allowed upstairs for the review reading.
They all had their own copies of Le Monde, which he and Kyle had rushed back with as soon as the newspaper had hit the stands midafternoon.
Brooke was sitting on a settee next to Nanine like usual, worried about her heart after the heart attack that had changed her life and brought them back to Paris.
Thea, who had been nervous about the review, was cushioned between him and Kyle on the sofa with Jean Luc resting on the edge, as if he were too nervous to choose between sitting and standing.
Dean sat slouched down in a chair beside them with his feet kicked out.
Only Madison perched a little outside their cozy circle, her walls a veritable fortress since the review was the first critical commentary on her menu concept and execution.
Sawyer had been ready to quote some deliberately vague Rousseau line about the vagaries of public opinion to help calm everyone down if the review wasn’t as positive as they’d hoped.
This was beyond anything he’d considered. This had his head feeling like he’d been clobbered by his cherished expanded edition hardback Oxford dictionary.
Hold. The. Phone.
“Oh my God!” Thea suddenly let out an ear-piercing squeal. “He mentioned my bread and talked about my bakery opening this February. I can’t believe it!”
Since Sawyer was a speed reader, he knew the others hadn’t gotten to the end of Gustave’s article where his art was mentioned.
“Wonderful doesn’t cut it,” Dean shot out, punching the air. “This is game-changing—”
“Magnifique!” Nanine cried, pressing her fist to her red-painted mouth.
He stared at the woman who had founded this restaurant and given him a home away from home ten years ago, and again when she’d needed help bringing the restaurant back from near destruction. Nanine was more of a mother to him than his own had ever been.
All he’d wanted was to help her get her restaurant back on its feet, contributing two paintings, one she’d asked for, along with a couple other smaller items.
Now there was this.
He slumped back in his chair, gripping his newspaper, and raked a hand through his wild black hair. His mental state might as well be swirls of paint, but he glanced around at the others.
Nanine had tears running down her face, and rightfully so.
The restaurant had been closed for months after her career-ending heart attack, caused by the attempted theft of her restaurant by her own daughter and son-in-law.
The roommates had restored it lovingly, and Madison had waded in as the new chef de cuisine and kicked ass.
His gaze swung to Madison, whose mouth was hanging open like an overstuffed cabinet that couldn’t be closed.
They’d known the new menu was unique. Maybe even risky, although they’d hoped for avant-garde. No one else was doing the course-by-course bread pairings they were offering, courtesy of Thea, and the review stated again and again in flowery French how they’d knocked it out of the park.
But the art he’d painted for the restaurant?
He’d agreed to brave his fears and help decorate the new Nanine’s because Nanine had asked him.
But he’d felt inspired to dig deeper into his tortured soul and painted a portrait of her, agonizing over every touch of paint.
She’d needed to be there. People had to remember this incredible woman.
Hanging it on Nanine’s cherished walls had tested his courage as much as his ability to keep food down.
He’d been terrified it wasn’t good enough even after Brooke’s new beau, a famed interior designer, had assured him it was a work of art.
That compliment alone had made him hope his dream of being a successful painter could still come to pass, even though it hadn’t when he’d tried ten years ago.
That agony seemed ages ago now.
If he were back in the seventeenth century, he’d be pulling out his smelling salts.
He was glad he was sitting down. Was this shock?
He couldn’t feel his body. His heart pounding in his ears told him he was alive, so that was a relief.
He wasn’t ready to leave this life when he’d finally gotten a taste of validation.
Artistic recognition by a well-known authority…and it had happened in Paris, the city he loved more than his own life sometimes, a city that loved art beyond compare.
“Madison! This is so freaking awesome.” Dean lifted his wide-eyed gaze to look at their stunned friend, who was clutching the newspaper like a life preserver. “You killed it. Pierre too! I love that Gustave mentioned the little guy again as another bonus to coming to Nanine’s.”
Sawyer had been in the pet store when Dean had found their cuisine-loving parrot, whose previous home had been another famous Parisian restaurant. Dean had insisted the stars had aligned in their favor by bringing them to Pierre. At the time Sawyer had doubted him, but maybe he’d been right.
“We knew Madison and everyone else nailed it last night after all of the posts online from our first patrons,” Kyle followed up, coming out of his chair to cross to her.
He reached for her hand and touched it briefly, making her jerk as if jolted by lightning. Oddly perfect, Sawyer’s mind spit out, since the French word for lightning was foudre and a coup de foudre meant a sudden unforeseen event like the one they were having right this minute.
He was glad his synapses were still able to fire.
“Way to go, little sister.” Kyle wisely returned to his seat and touched Thea’s now blushing cheek before ruffling his newspaper. “But hang on, I’m not finished with the article yet.”
“You’ll want to keep reading until the end.” Brooke was sitting with perfect posture next to Nanine, who still had her hand pressed against her mouth, her expressive brown eyes gleaming. “I know this from fashion reviews.”
Her suspicious tone almost sent hysterical laughter gushing from his throat.
She was worried about some snarky comment at the end?
Yeah, that wasn’t on the menu. His new art career was, and this after he’d received his first commissions last night from Axel and Carl Adams, Brooke’s father and Nanine’s fiancé. As if that wasn’t mind-blowing enough…
Had the cosmos shifted?
Had the Three Fates altered his thread of destiny?
“Oh my God, Sawyer!” Thea practically shrieked, her newspaper cracking as she gave it a happy shake. “Your paintings are mentioned.”
Dean rose and walked over, gripping his shoulder.
Sawyer was glad for its weight, bringing him back down to earth.
“Hang on! I’m so reading the end out loud.
‘I would be remiss not to mention that the new artwork at Nanine’s is equally intoxicating as is the exquisite cuisine.
On your visit, you will notice The Women of Nanine’s as well as a portrait of the founder and famed chef who has stepped back for health reasons, Nanine Laurent.
There are also vines gracing the walls, painted by the same artist, and a new hand-painted sign to welcome patrons. ’”
“Me next!” Brooke shot out of her chair and put her hand on Dean’s arm.
“‘The artist is Dr. Sawyer Jackson, an art professor at the University of Maryland on sabbatical here in Paris. He is a former summer intern at the restaurant some ten years ago and part of the new Paris Roommates Group that has invested in Nanine’s for the new renovation.’”
“God, could it get any better?” Dean asked, shaking Sawyer like he was a caroler in a snow globe.
“Yes!” Brooke cried. “‘Patrons enjoyed the Wall of Fame in the former Nanine’s with signed photos from celebrities like Meryl Streep and Ryan Gosling, along with a prized photo and handwritten note from Andy Warhol. Art lovers will hear the echo of such greats as they view Dr. Jackson’s works for their deeply emotional, brilliantly colorful, heartfelt depiction of the true strength of women such as Nanine Laurent.
We can only hope that Dr. Jackson will soon grace Paris with his first art show.
’ My God, this is the best review since Alexander McQueen’s fall 2006 show. ”