Chapter 21 #2
“La madame peut parler en francais!” Chef Henri clapped his hands together excitedly.
He beamed at Melody as though she’d just proven herself capable of a great feat.
“Oh! For a madame who can speak French, Chef Henri will pull out all the stops.” With that, he went to his pantry where he proceeded to riffle through what looked like spice jars.
“You speak French,” Ben observed as he angled his body to face hers.
“Oui,” she affirmed with a small, impish smile that hinted at a touch of self-satisfaction.
“I grew up in Ottawa. Between it being Canada’s capital and so close to Quebec, most Ottawans learn at least a little French.
Mine is fairly strong for an Anglophone since I was lucky enough to be in French immersion from kindergarten through high school. ”
Ben felt surprise mingle with delight at Melody’s willingness to politely extol her own virtues.
There was something very sexy about a woman who could be confident in herself and her abilities without being haughty.
It added some unexpected zip to her generous allotment of sugar and spice and everything nice.
“Le voila!” Chef Henri exclaimed as he strode back toward them with a glass jar held aloft his head as if it was a prized possession worth viewing from on high.
“Here it is,” Melody translated.
“Les baies de genièvres,” Chef Henri pronounced with reverence as he placed the jar on the table.
“Juniper berries?” Melody questioned.
“Oui,” he confirmed. “I was going to teach you how to make a most delicieux confit de canard, but I wasn’t going to give away all my secrets.” He raised his eyebrows dramatically. “Now, you must promise Chef Henri that you won’t open up your own restaurant and steal his patrons away.”
“I promise,” Melody said. Her voice was a study in sincerity. “I love to cook, but I love my job too much to do anything else for a living.”
Chef Henri looked at her quizzically, as though he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do anything other than cook if given the opportunity.
“I work as a physical therapist,” Melody explained.
“Un quoi?” Chef Henri asked. Ben couldn’t blame the older man for his confusion. He himself was a native English speaker and even he’d had trouble understanding what her job entailed when first confronted with it.
“I help people who have lost motor function due to accidents, illness, or aging to reduce their pain, improve their flexibility, gain strength, and move more freely,” Melody explained. “It’s my goal to keep them healthy and mobile so they can enjoy their golden years to maximum advantage.”
Chef Henri’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head before he began muttering words Ben didn’t think he would have been able to understand even if he could speak French.
It was as though Chef Henri lacked the words and adequate powers of speech to express how impressed he was by what Melody did for a living.
His words still undiscernible, Chef Henri spun on his heels and turned back to the pantry.
“I think you’ve gained a new member of your fan club,” Ben teased.
“I have a fan club?” Her eyes danced in a way that suggested she was delighted by the very idea.
“You do,” he assured her. “I’m waiting on my official badge.” Unable to resist teasing her, he added, “I’m currently trying to wrestle the presidency away from Captain Thom, but he’s been putting up a mighty good fight for such an old guy.”
Melody laughed gaily, as he’d hoped she would. “Thom’s a tough old guy. He was a U.S. Navy Captain.”
“As opposed to a puny hockey player?” Ben volleyed back, a smile tugging at his lips.
She batted her eyelashes playfully. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
The gentle sass in her voice was positively enchanting, as was the way she blushed when he caught her admiring his none-too-puny biceps. He made a show of flexing for her. Her deepening blush suggested she enjoyed it.
“I’m sure I’ll reconcile myself to the reality before me,” he assured her. They shared a warm, charged connection before Chef Henri bustled back to them, a new spice jar in hand.
“These peppercorns are already in the pepper mill, so we would have used them, but these are no ordinary peppercorns.” Chef Henri cocked his head from left to right and then back again, presumably to ensure that no one else was around to witness his specialty peppercorn unveiling.
Certainty of privacy established, Chef Henri flipped the bottle so they could read the label. He was being so secretive one would think he was sharing covert plans detailing black ops instead of revealing the brand of peppercorns he preferred.
“When you make confit de canard,” Chef Henri whispered, “you use these peppercorns. Others will work, but they will lack the je ne sais quoi.”
Chef Henri made a show of holding the bottle out for them in a way that displayed the label prominently before surveying his domain once again.
Having confirmed they were still alone, Chef Henri stepped away and returned the spice jar to his pantry.
Ben noticed that he seemed to go to great pains to stuff it into the very back of the cupboard.
No sooner had Chef Henri closed the pantry door than the main door opened. “Special delivery!” Amy pronounced as she pushed through the doorway. Her arms were encumbered by folded white fabric.
“Here’s one for you, Melody,” Amy explained, as she passed her the top wad of fabric. “And one for you, Ben,” she continued, as she passed him the remaining fabric.
Melody gasped softly as she unfolded the bundle of fabric she’d just been handed. “It’s a chef’s apron with my name embroidered on it.”
She turned wide, wonder-filled eyes on him. “Did you do this, Ben?”
He revealed his own apron, which had been embroidered with his name on it.
“I did,” he said as he pulled the loop over his neck and tied the strings behind his back.
“I wanted to create the perfect evening for you. And, I confess, I wanted to provide you with a memento that would make you think happy thoughts about me whenever you saw it.”
“Seigneur,” Chef Henri whistled. He turned to face Amy. “You spoke the truth when you said this one was a true romantic.”
A gentle suggestion of triumph played around Amy’s lips. “And now you see why I approved his request for a private lesson with you, Chef.”
Ben was distracted by the feel of Melody pressing her hand into one of his forearms. Even though his arms were covered by the fabric of his shirt, he still felt her touch like an electrical jolt.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice whisper soft. “Everything is wonderful. Perfect, even.” She sighed.
Her face was so warm and open that, despite their audience, he couldn’t resist making contact by tucking an errant strand of hair behind her left ear. “I’m glad you think so,” he murmured.
“I really do,” she returned somewhat dreamily.
Looking at her now, her eyes and smile soft and receptive, he knew he wouldn’t be able to go another day without sampling her sweet, tempting lips. He just had to bide his time and wait for the right moment. And find it he would. He was a patient man, but Melody was a temptation unlike any other.
“Et bien!” Chef Henri clapped his hands to gain their attention. “Now the work truly begins. Confit de canard takes hours to prepare, so I have completed most of the steps in advance, so you will be able to enjoy un repas parfait after your lesson.”
“The perfect meal,” Melody supplied in a helpful undertone.
“We will go through all of the steps together, but I will tell you how long you would truly have to wait before moving on to the next step.”
Chef Henri slipped back and forth between French and English as he detailed their lesson plan. Melody translated as needed.
“I’m certainly glad one of us speaks French,” Ben admitted after what must have been at least her twentieth translation.
“And I’m glad one of us thought to plan this incredible evening,” she said as she tipped her head up to smile at him.
“I guess that makes us a great team, huh?” His words were innocent, but suggestive of possibilities to come.
Melody bit her lower lip and smiled shyly.
As he settled in beside her to follow Chef Henri’s instructions, he was determined to prove to her just what a great team they could be.