Chapter 17 The Critic #2
Sophia moved closer to the bar. The page showed Francois DuPont’s byline again, plus a short profile box from the magazine website Brett had printed.
Francois DuPont Born in Beauvais, France.
Raised in his family’s restaurant before studying journalism, then building his name as a dining critic.
Joined Windy City Magazine after freelance work in Chicago’s dining scene.
Known for precise palate, elegant prose, and uncompromising standards.
Victoria snorted. “Uncompromising standards is what people write when they mean rude.”
Sophia read the profile again. Beauvais.
Family restaurant. Journalism. So he wasn’t just some man being mean because he owned a thesaurus.
That almost made it worse. If he knew food, if he knew restaurants, if he had grown up with servers and cooks and tired parents and regular customers, then why write about people like they were decorations that failed to match the room?
Antonia touched the edge of the page. “He knows what he is talking about.”
Gia sighed. “I hate that.”
“So do I,” Antonia said.
Brett looked at Antonia. “That is why he matters.”
Sophia stayed quiet. Her stomach tightened again, but she made herself keep reading.
Another paragraph from one of his older reviews said a chef’s sauce had “the memory of technique without the discipline to honor it.”
Gia read over her shoulder. “What does that even mean?”
“It means he liked it and wanted to be mean anyway,” Victoria said.
Brett’s mouth twitched. “Not inaccurate.”
Antonia closed the magazine. “Enough.”
Everyone looked at her. She stood straighter. Owner. Chef. Antonia.
“If he comes here, or if anyone from that magazine comes here, we do what we do.”
Gia lifted a hand. “With slightly more panic?”
“No.”
“With hidden panic?”
“No.”
“With internal panic and excellent posture?”
Antonia paused. “Acceptable.”
Gia nodded. “I can do that.”
Sophia smiled despite herself.
Antonia’s gaze moved to her. “Sophia.”
Sophia straightened. “Yes?”
“If he comes, you may serve him. You may not. We don’t know where he will sit or when he will appear, if he appears at all. But if you serve him, you serve him like anyone else.”
Sophia nodded. Her throat felt a little tight.
“I can do that.”
Vinny came through the kitchen door wiping his hands on a towel. He must have heard the last part, because his eyes went straight to Sophia. Not worried, exactly. Watching. She gave him a small look that said, I can. He stopped where he was, and Antonia saw that too.
Vinny looked at Antonia. “Pastry attempt one was too thick.”
Antonia’s face shifted back into kitchen mode. “Yes.”
“Attempt two?”
“Show me.”
Vinny nodded and turned toward the kitchen.
Sophia wanted to follow. Not because of the dessert.
Well, partly because of the dessert. Mostly because she liked being near him when he cared about something.
But she had work. And school later. And this was his test. Not hers to stand in the middle of unless he asked.
She stayed where she was. Victoria bumped her lightly with one shoulder.
“That felt mature,” Victoria said.
Sophia glanced at her. “What?”
“Not following him.”
Sophia’s face warmed. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You were considering it.”
“I am allowed to consider things.”
“Yes. And I am allowed to notice.”
Gia leaned across the bar. “I also noticed.”
Victoria pointed at her. “No.”
Gia closed her mouth.
Then opened it again. “One simple supportive observation?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
Antonia looked at Sophia. “You start at five?”
“Yes.”
“Fair. Eat first.”
Sophia blinked. “What?”
“Eat. Before service. You look like you studied through lunch.”
Sophia opened her mouth. Closed it. She had.
Brett looked mildly amused. “That appears accurate.”
Victoria turned toward the kitchen. “Vinny!”
Sophia grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”
Victoria looked down at Sophia’s hand. Sophia let go.
“I can get my own food,” Sophia said.
The words came out sharper than she expected. Not loud. Sharp enough. Victoria’s expression changed. Gia stopped leaning. Antonia looked at Sophia, then at Victoria. Vinny appeared in the kitchen doorway, probably because of his name and the sudden still.
“What?”
Sophia felt heat climb her neck. Not again or everyone looking.
Victoria held up both hands. “She is right.”
Sophia looked at her. Victoria’s face was serious.
“I was about to do the thing,” Victoria said. “You can get your own food.”
Sophia swallowed.
“Thank you.”
Vinny stayed in the doorway. He looked like he wanted to ask if she was all right. He didn’t. He had listened to at least that part. Sophia looked at him, then at the kitchen.
“I’m going to make a staff plate,” she said.
Antonia nodded. “Fine.”
Sophia walked past Vinny into the kitchen.
He stepped aside without touching her. Inside, the kitchen smelled like sugar, pastry, toasted walnuts, and something faintly tangy that had to be cream cheese.
Sophia went to the staff shelf, grabbed a plate, and put together leftover pasta and roasted vegetables.
Vinny stayed at his station, giving her room to do it herself.
That almost made her cry, which was stupid because nothing bad had happened.
Only something narrow. A tiny version of the bigger fear.
Someone seeing her need and trying to handle it for her.
Victoria had caught herself. Vinny hadn’t stepped in.
Right. Proof. Sophia carried the plate to the little prep table near his station.
“You can ask,” she said.
Vinny looked up.
His face softened. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She picked up a fork. “I just didn’t like everyone deciding I needed food before I moved.”
He nodded.
“That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “I wanted to make you something the second Victoria called my name.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t.”
“I saw.”
He looked down at the pastry squares on his tray.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“That sounds like I want praise for doing the bare minimum.”
Sophia smiled faintly. “Do you?”
“I always want a cookie.”
She laughed. Relief moved through him so visibly she felt it too.
“But no,” he said. “Not for that.”
She took a bite of pasta. He watched her for half a second, then looked away like he was making himself not check whether she liked it.
“I can feed myself,” she said.
His eyes came back to hers.
“I know.”
“And you can feed me sometimes.”
His mouth softened.
“When you want me to.”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
The word settled between them. A slight agreement. Maybe not brief.
Sophia looked at the tray. “Is that the dessert?”
“Attempt two.”
“Can I see?”
He shifted immediately, happy and nervous at once. The dessert pieces weren’t finished, just components. Thin pastry rectangles. A bowl of cream. Candied walnuts cooling on parchment. A low pitcher of crème anglaise. A container of cream cheese ice cream in the freezer waiting for service tests.
Vinny picked up one pastry square. “This one is thinner. It should flake better.”
Sophia took it when he offered. It shattered lightly between her teeth, all butter, sugar, and crisp edges, and her eyes closed.
“Oh.”
Vinny went still. “Nice oh?”
She opened her eyes. “Very solid oh.”
His grin came fast. Then he tried to hide it. Failed. Sophia loved seeing him like this. Proud but still unsure. Happy but waiting for the next correction. Antonia came in before Sophia could say more.
She looked at Sophia’s plate first. “Steady.”
Then at Vinny. “Attempt two?”
He handed her a pastry square. Antonia tasted it. The whole kitchen seemed to wait. She chewed. Swallowed.
“Better.”
Vinny’s shoulders dropped. “Better strong or better keep trying?”
“Yes.”
He groaned. Sophia pressed her lips together.
Antonia’s mouth almost smiled. “The pastry is close. Cream needs more tang. Walnuts are kind. Crème anglaise needs less vanilla.”
Vinny nodded fast. “All right.”
“And the plate can’t look like it fell apart by accident.”
“It’s deconstructed.”
“That doesn’t mean messy.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Sophia picked up her plate and tried to leave before she laughed.
Antonia caught her. “Sophia.”
“Yes?”
“If this goes on the menu, you may have to describe it to guests.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened for two different reasons. Vinny looked at her. Not speaking for her. That helped.
Sophia nodded. “All right.”
“Practice with him after service,” Antonia said. “If you can explain it simply, he made it clearly.”
Vinny blinked. “Wait. That is a test for me?”
“Yes.”
Gia popped her head into the kitchen. “I love when tests happen to other people.”
Antonia pointed to the dining room. Gia vanished. Sophia looked at Vinny. He looked at her.
“After service?” he asked.
“If I finish reading during break,” she said.
His smile warmed. “Study first.”
“Dessert second.”
“Romance third?”
Antonia cleared her throat.
Vinny looked down. “Work first.”
Sophia smiled into her plate and went back to the dining room.
Service that evening carried a strange charge.
Nothing went wrong. That made the tension worse.
Every time the door opened, Sophia looked up.
Every time a man came in alone, Victoria’s eyes narrowed.
Gia kept saying she wasn’t nervous, then reorganized the reservation cards three times and snapped at a saltshaker for being in the wrong place.
Antonia moved through the room calmly. Too calmly.
Brett stayed for dinner at the bar, pretending to review emails but watching Antonia more than his screen.
When she passed, he touched her wrist lightly.
She paused only half a second, but her face changed enough that Sophia looked away.
Engaged. Still new and still them. Vinny stayed focused in the kitchen.
Dessert components moved in and out of the cooler.
Antonia tasted twice more. By eight, she had stopped saying no.