Page 75 of Still Yours
We say our goodbyes and take Stone’s car into town. He’s not as lucky this time around and has to park around the block, but the short walk to the restaurant is nice and chilled.
The frosted air against my cheeks brings a smile to my face and I bite back a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Stone asks beside me.
“Oh, just remembering that one time your mother woke you up by tossing ice cubes in your face.”
“Icecubes? More like you two half-drowned me in a reverse Polar Plunge.”
That sends me into a fit of laughter. He lightly smiles my way. “Glad you enjoyed seeing me shrivel up so much, Lavender.”
“It wasn’t my idea, I swear. But I did kind of enjoy it.”
“I bet,” he says while he shakes his head.
We’re both smiling.
Both of us.
It’s how we are when we walk into Chef Toussaint’s kitchen, where he waits for us with folded arms and a frown.
“The last ones here again,” he says.
That promptly shuts me up. I hurry to our table, noting that we are one of three couples in the room. The younger, college-aged couple isn’t here.
“Is it just the three of us, then?” I ask while tying my apron.
Saint responds with a curt nod. “Claire and Graham have decided not to continue. Likely, the Neanderthal claiming you and storming off scared them off.”
“Let me see him try to touch you now,” Stone mutters beside me.
I elbow him to shut him up.
Saint stands in the middle of the kitchen, demanding our attention. “Today, I’ll begin with a demonstration of how to create Choucroute Garnie à l’Alsacienne. This is a true winter meal that can feed your family on the chilliest of days and keep their stomachs warm. After that, we’ll dive into French desserts. Specifically, crème brûlée. American Thanksgiving is next weekend and I consider it my civic duty to equip you with a true delicacy rather than that abomination you call pumpkin pie.”
“I love pumpkin pie,” Stone obstinately states. He mirrors Saint’s folded arm stance while saying it.
Saint either doesn’t hear him or chooses not to care. He stalks to his chef’s station and prepares ingredients, talking over his chopping as he explains our steps.
Danny and Rad jump into action, cooking along with Saint and following him in real time. Stone notices them, too, and moves to catch up, but I lay a hand on his arm, stalling.
I want to watch everything first, take notes, and then begin. I’ve been practicing the chef’s dishes every night when Stone and Mrs. Stalinski go to bed, and I’ve noticed I do better with all the steps laid out before me rather than jumping into it and learning as I go. It’s a cautious gene, one I don’t believe I inherited from Mom and probably came from my father, who I never met. Because of that, I’ve been nurturing it with pride. It’s a special rarity when I notice similarities between my late father and myself.
Stone sees me pull out the notepad from my apron and watches with that eerily alert gaze of his, like he’s learning everything I know and mastered over the years in five minutes.
When Saint finishes his instructions, I start. With renewed focus, it’s easy to delegate to Stone and organize our pantry items, produce, and meat. Stone doesn’t question what I say,following my requests smoothly. Soon, we’re moving in sync, passing each other what we need and moving at a nice clip.
“Behind,” he says as he walks around my back with a hot pan.
I meet his eye and smile, impressed at how quickly he’s picking up the lingo.
“Never thought I’d find myself in a professional kitchen,” he says while he sautés onions in goose fat.
I snort, reaching around him to add wine to his pan. “Yes, you’d get along really well with the kitchen staff.”
He peeks at me from the side and winks. “I’d get the job done.”
“To the terror of unsuspecting staff.”
