Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
Doing reconnaissance for Operation Sawyer had been so much fun, Dean decided to resurrect the tactic for Operation Madison.
Only this time, instead of casing out a prospective gallery for Sawyer—Phoebe’s—he was swinging by the restaurant, all casual-like, to scope out how Madison was doing.
He had his concerns after their family dinner Thursday night, especially about the plan to keep Nanine in the dark.
He was positive Nanine had sensed the tension simmering around the table at their family dinner.
Of course, all the spies in the movies had cover stories, and so would he—if she had questions, he’d claim he was coming by to visit Pierre. Given her obsession with the parrot, she could hardly fault him for that.
When he strolled by the restaurant, he noted one last couple at the tail end of their meal.
No dishes. Only tangling their fingertips on the white linen, romancing each other.
They’d be out soon. Madison would be cleaning up post dinner service along with the others since she was a hands-on kind of chef.
Perfect timing. When he used his key on the door and walked in, he felt a smile of pure pleasure cross his face.
The smell of roasted meat and fragrant shallots hung in the air amidst the busy scene before him as Nanine’s chandelier gave a happy chime.
Madison glanced over from her place scrubbing down the stove, frowning. Yeah, she wasn’t about to pull out a pair of pom-poms to cheer for Operation Madison.
Still, Dean waved to her and everyone else in the kitchen. Pierre, bless him, immediately squawked and flew from his perch toward his shoulder. “Dean!” he cried.
Tickling the creamy white feathers under Pierre’s chin, Dean crooned, “Mon vieux. ?a va?”
Pierre bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Oui, mon frère. Jacqueline?”
“She got stranded in a little village in Burgundy because of a strike that canceled her train.” Shooting a glance at Madison, he added, “I thought I’d come see my buddy, Pierre, and get some grub.
I figured odds were in my favor since it’s Saturday night and the restaurant will be closed for two days, meaning leftovers. Can I raid your cooler? I’m starving.”
“Do you have a reservation?” she shot back with an eye roll. “What do you want?”
“You don’t need to make me anything.” He could almost hear the eggshells under his feet as he walked to the cooler. “I used to work here, remember?”
“That was so long ago your voice was still changing.”
A few of the English-speaking staff chuckled as they scrubbed down counters and tidied up their stations. “Good one. I’ll make myself a plate if that’s okay. Pierre, come tell your buddy what to eat.”
Together they selected lobster salad, roasted chicken, and some boeuf bourguignon still warm in the chafing pan. He grabbed a couple slices of Thea’s breads—a midnight black variety and an aromatic one with fennel and orange.
When he reentered the kitchen, the rest of the staff was gone, but Madison was waiting for him with an assessing gleam in her eyes.
She wasn’t carrying her cleaver, so that was a win.
The dessert she’d plated for him was a surprise, a good sign he wasn’t going to be killed tonight. Unless she’d poisoned it…
Nah, too slow a death.
“Leftover Cherries Jubilee with cinnamon swirl bread and apple tart with fudgy chocolate bread,” she told him.
“Thanks!” He leaned over and quickly kissed both of her cheeks before she decked him. “I never know if I should greet you Parisian style since you’re not a hugger.”
They’d known each other a good ten years, and in that time, she’d given him a sum total of maybe five hugs.
“You can say, ‘What up?’ or ‘Hey, Madison,’ or just incline your chin.” Then she crossed her arms. “Stop being weird. I know why you’re here.”
He gave a playful wince. “You could hear my tummy growling? How embarrassing!”
She gave him an equally playful shove to the shoulder. “Stop pretending. Are you planning on giving me some emotional talk about kismet and soulmates? Because if so, let me grab a couple forks so I can poke my eyes out.”
He hoped his laugh didn’t sound nervous as he wandered over to Nanine’s beloved kitchen table. “Why would I talk to you about that stuff? I only came by to tell you I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Kyle too. You’re both my friends. That’s it.”
Grabbing a bottle of water, she joined him as he dug in, groaning at the flavors. It was the best damn meal he’d had since he’d been at the initial chef’s tasting, plus there was an added bonus. He couldn’t talk with a full mouth.
While he ate, she gulped down the entire bottle of water. Thirsty atmosphere, working in a restaurant kitchen.
“So Jacqueline got stuck, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said over a mouthful of lobster salad that properly honored the sacrifice of those soulmate-loving crustaceans. “You know the French and their greve. Nothing could keep my lady and me apart but a strike.”
She didn’t laugh, and he could see how tightly she was wound from the dents her fingers were making in the empty water bottle. “You really aren’t going to say anything else?”
Her voice was suspicious and rightfully so. He and his roommates could be a bunch of meddlers. “Nope. Unless you want me to. You know my skills. I’m your romance hookup. I know which flower store has the best rose petals—”
“I am not buying rose petals.” She crunched the bottle harder. “Oh God! I hate talking about this stuff. Are you sure you aren’t hiding a special T-shirt for me in your pocket? You know, one that says something like I NEED LOVE THERAPY or MISTRUSTFUL WOMAN SEEKS PLUS ONE—"
“I did see a T-shirt with a broken heart that said I CAN DO IT, but Jacqueline vetoed it.”
Lady Jacs had also voted down the other present he’d wanted to give Madison for the holidays, which was too bad. Now the item seemed perfect.
“I figure you and Kyle have talked everything through yourselves.” But he doubted Madison knew Kyle was learning Spanish.
When Dean had caught him practicing it in his home office, Golden Boy had shown a whole new side of himself.
A man in love who was scared he didn’t have a chance with the girl who held his heart.
Dean had to give Kyle credit. It took cojones to go after Madison.
Dean resumed eating, groaning while Madison looked off in troubled silence. He wished he could help her more, but love was a choice. No one could do it for you. Besides, he and Brooke had agreed it would be disrespectful to push Madison—if not downright scary.
They both thought it best to take on a more supportive role.
“This whole situation is hard for me,” she admitted quietly. “Feeling like this. You guys knowing. Not knowing when the rug’s going to be pulled out from under my feet. But thanks for coming. Even if you did eat like Nanine’s had turned into a buffet.”
An emotional humdinger of a confession, followed up by her usual dry wit to cover it up.
He had to do the same. “You’re welcome. We’re weirded out too.
And honestly, I think we should consider opening a new restaurant with a buffet under our Paris Roommates Group umbrella. I’d go there and chow down every day.”
Her mouth tipped to the side in the barest of smiles. “A buffet would never work in Paris.”
“Oh, you of the limited mind. I’d bet we’d be the first buffet to win a Michelin star.”
Her mouth tightened, the small smile disappeared, probably because he reminded her of the other pressure in her life. The quest for her star. As if falling in love with your best friend and navigating those waters weren’t enough of a tightrope.
He could kick himself for saying the wrong thing.
“Pierre could run the place,” he added, trying to clown up the moment. “We could name the dishes after exotic birds like the Flamingo Shrimp Plate—”
“Dean! Finish up. I need to leave. Ah…Kyle’s probably waiting for me.”
A flicker of nerves passed over her strained face.
Right. She and Kyle were living in that huge house alone now.
He didn’t think they’d jumped each other yet, but he’d bet the tension in that house was thicker than ever, swirling in the air like summer bees.
He ate quickly and then took his plate to the dishwasher’s station and rinsed it off while she pretty much paced the kitchen floor in her black high-tops.
After cooing over Pierre, he settled the little guy back into his cage. “How about I bring Pierre over for a sleepover? With my Lady Jacs gone, the apartment is too quiet. Would that be okay?”
Her eyes went wide with shock for a moment before she nodded. “Sure. We’re closed tomorrow, so it’s not like he’ll be needed in the kitchen. You go on and have some fun.”
Except her voice sounded like it was going through a cooking strainer. “Do you need Pierre and me to walk you home?”
“No, I—” She pressed her fists to her black jeans. “I’m a fast walker. Besides, no one messes with me.”
Except Kyle.
All the more reason to give her that initial present Lady Jacs had convinced him not to pick up. He’d do it the next time he saw her.