Chapter 11 Lila
LILA
The next day, Dorian called first thing to tell Vance that the electrical problems would be fixed in a few days.
He’d offered his house again, but Vance declined, saying he and Margot were just fine staying with us.
Secretly, I hoped the repairs would take a little longer.
Mia and I were both having so much fun with our guests—playing family.
Irene was coming for dinner, which made me a little nervous. I worried she’d think Vance and Margot living with us was strange. Moving much too fast. But maybe if she saw us all together, she’d understand better.
Around four, I asked the girls—who were on the patio drawing a vase of flowers—if they wanted to help Vance and me make dinner.
“Me.” Mia raised her hand like she was in school.
Margot looked uncertain. “I don’t really know how to cook. Mom doesn’t like me getting in her way.”
“Perfect time to learn,” Vance said, pulling an apron over his head. “We’re making coq au vin. It’s French.”
“What’s that?” Margot asked.
“Chicken braised in red wine with mushrooms, bacon, and pearl onions,” I said. “Sounds fancy, but it’s actually comfort food.”
“Please tell me we get mashed potatoes too,” Mia said.
“How could we not?” Vance grinned.
Mia grabbed an apron from the hook. “What can I do?”
“You and I are on mushroom duty,” I said to my daughter. “We need to clean them and slice them. Margot, you want to help your dad with the chicken?”
She nodded shyly.
“Come here, mon c?ur,” Vance said, patting the counter beside him. “I’ll show you how to season it properly.”
The kitchen quickly filled with the sounds of cooking—knives on cutting boards, the sizzle of bacon in the pan, Vance’s patient voice explaining to Margot the importance of getting a good sear on the chicken.
“You want to hear it sing when it hits the pan,” he told her. “That sizzle means you’re doing it right.”
“Like this?” She watched as he placed a piece of chicken in the hot oil.
“Exactly like that. Perfect.”
Mia and I worked side by side at the counter, wiping mushrooms clean with a damp cloth.
“This is nice,” Mia said quietly. “All of us cooking together.”
“It is nice,” I agreed.
Mia leaned closer, whispering, “I hope we do it all the time.”
I glanced over at Vance, who was patiently showing Margot how to flip the chicken without splashing oil. “I hope so too.”
By then, the mushrooms were ready. Mia brought them over to Vance. “Where do these go?”
“Perfect timing.” He moved the chicken to a plate and gestured to the pan. “We’re going to sauté these in all that good bacon fat and chicken drippings. That’s where the flavor is.”
Mia watched as he added the mushrooms to the hot pan. “How did you learn to make this? Did your mom teach you?”
Vance laughed. “No, my mom’s idea of fancy cooking was adding cream of mushroom soup to a casserole.
I learned this from a chef in Paris—a guy named Antoine.
He worked at a little bistro near my apartment, and we became friends.
He’d stay after service and teach me things—proper knife skills, how to build flavor, why French cooking isn’t actually complicated; it’s just about technique and patience. ”
“That’s cool,” Mia said. “So he just taught you for free?”
“Well, I paid him in wine. I’d bring him bottles from my collection—things he couldn’t normally afford—and he’d teach me his grandmother’s recipes.
” Vance stirred the mushrooms gently. “He said cooking was about more than feeding people. It was about creating memories. About showing love through food.”
“I like that,” Mia said softly.
“Me too. And coq au vin was the first thing he taught me. He told me every French person has their own version, passed down through families. That if I was going to live in France, I needed to know how to make it properly.”
“Did you make it for Margot? When she was little?”
Vance’s expression softened. “All the time. She’d sit in her high chair, and I’d let her taste the sauce on a piece of bread. She loved it.”
Margot looked up from where she was watching the chicken. “I don’t remember that.”
“You were very young, mon c?ur. But you’d make this little humming sound when you ate it. Like you were singing to the food.”
A small smile tugged at Margot’s lips. “That sounds like something I’d do.”
“It was adorable,” Vance said. “And now we get to make it together. All of us.”
An hour later, the kitchen smelled of garlic, herbs, red wine, and bacon—rich and comforting. Vance had taught Margot and Mia how to deglaze the pan with wine, and I’d shown the girls how to tell when celery root was tender enough to purée.
“Can I taste it?” Margot asked, eyeing the sauce.
“Me too?” Mia asked.
“Absolutely.” Vance dipped a spoon in, blew on it to cool, and offered it to her, then did the same for Mia. “What do you think?”
Mia tasted carefully. “It’s really good. And the wine doesn’t taste like wine anymore.”
“Really yummy,” Margot said, smacking her lips with approval.
“The alcohol cooks off, but the flavor stays.” Vance looked so proud, showing them all his little tricks.
“Mom, you need to try this,” Mia said.
I came over, and Vance held out a spoon for me. “What’s the verdict, ma chérie?”
I tasted, letting the flavors settle on my tongue. “I say we did pretty great.”
I held out my fist for the girls to bump, which they did, both grinning as if they’d just created world peace in a single pan.
By the time we’d finished, the coq au vin sat on the stove, its sauce thick and glossy. The potato purée was smooth and buttery in a serving bowl. The frisée salad was dressed and waiting in the fridge. A French baguette waited to be tossed into the oven at the last minute.
“It’s a lot of food,” Margot said, looking at everything.
“Your grandmother loves this dish,” Vance said.
“She does?” Margot asked.
“She’s going to love it even more knowing you helped make it,” Vance said.
Margot smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my heart squeeze.
“You two should wash up and change clothes,” I said. “Irene will be here any minute.”
Holding hands, the girls headed upstairs, leaving Vance and me alone in the kitchen.
“That was fun,” he said, pulling me close.
“I can’t imagine how it could have been better. A dream come true for me—all of us cooking together.”
“We’ll have many more.” He kissed me, his lips tasting faintly of wine.
“Margot’s warming up to all of us, don’t you think?” I asked.
“She asked me this morning if we were going to get married.”
My heart stuttered. “What did you say?”
“I told her I cared about you very much and that if something like that ever happened she’d be the first to know.” He paused. “She said she hopes we do. Because then Mia would be her sister for real.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “She said that?”
“She did.” He hesitated, a flash of pain showing in his eyes. “Then she asked if she would be allowed to live with us or if she’d be sent away.”
“Oh, Vance, that breaks my heart.”
“I reassured her that, wherever I am, she will be too. But it’s going to take some time for her to believe that. She’s hurting. Missing her mother. Even though she shouldn’t.”
It made me want to pull Margot close and reassure her that I could be her mother, if she’d let me. That I had enough love for her and Mia. “We just have to be here. She’ll start to trust we’re not going anywhere after some time.”
The doorbell rang. My stomach fluttered with nerves.
“I hope your mom won’t be alarmed about you staying with us,” I said as we headed toward the door.
“Don’t be. She’s thrilled,” Vance said.
“How do you know?”
“She told me. Said you were an answer to prayers.”
I laughed despite my nerves. “Really? That’s so nice.”
“She’s been through the worst with me. Now she and Margot finally have a chance to know each other.”
The girls came running downstairs as I opened the door. Irene stood on my porch holding a beautiful bouquet of dahlias and a bakery box tied with string.
“Lila, thank you so much for having me.” She held out the flowers. “These are for you.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said, taking the flowers. “But thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Irene turned to Mia, who was hovering excitedly. “Hello again, Miss Mia.” She handed her the box. “I brought cake from the bakery.”
“Hi, Irene,” Mia said, grinning. “Thanks for the cake. We made coq au vin for you—all of us together.”
“How wonderful. That’s my favorite.” Irene pulled her into a hug and said quietly into Mia’s ear, but loud enough that I caught it, “Thank you for being so kind to Margot. Vance told me you’ve been a lifesaver.”
Mia blushed. “I’m happy to help.”
Vance motioned for Margot to step forward. “Come say hi to your grandmother.”
“Hi,” she said quietly.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Irene crouched down, holding out her arms. “May I have a hug?”
Margot hesitated, then stepped forward into Irene’s embrace.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Irene whispered. “So, so much.”
“I don’t remember,” Margot said. “But Papa says you love me a lot. He told me I called you Mémé.”
“I do love you a lot,” Irene said, pulling back to look at her. “And yes, you called me Mémé. It’s the best thing I’ve ever been called.”
“How old was I when you saw me last?” Margot asked.
“You had just turned four,” Irene said. “I came to Paris for your birthday. The cherry trees were in bloom, and every day the two of us would go out to the park near your father’s apartment and collect fallen blossoms—just the ones that were undamaged.
Then we’d bring them home and press them into our collection. ”
“What happened to them?” Margot asked.
Irene glanced at Vance. “I’m not sure.”
“I have them,” Vance said. “I kept all the art projects you did with Mémé.”
“Where are they?” Margot asked.
“In storage. When our house is ready, we can choose which ones you’d like to hang,” Vance said.
“I’d like to see them,” I said. “So I can plan where to hang or display them.”