Page 14 of One Night with Cinderella

“Sorry, Babs, but my big brother has a lunch date with me.”

Gabe glanced back at his brother Cole, a near look-alike for the actor Michael Ealy, strolling up to them dressed in jeans, boots and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. Ever the rebel of the family, Cole ignored their parents’ request for their sons to wear office attire. Just as his insistence on operating his food truck during the weekends was a thorn in their father’s side.

“Another time, then,” the petite and pretty woman said with another lingering look up at him before walking away.

As she passed Cole, he stopped to turn his head to watch her.

“Careful, little brother,” Gabe warned and then silenced any further admonishments as he remembered his own recent tryst with an employee.

“Gabe. Gabe. Gabe.”

Cole finally turned to reach his side and they continued up the hall together.

“Maybe she’ll turn her attention to you,” Gabe said.

“She can play with the fire if she wants,” Cole said. “I’m not the good one who wouldn’t dare break a rule.”

The Good One.

His brothers had often teased him for being a Goody Two-shoes.

“Just once. Then I better make it damn good.”

Funny. He’d been very good at breaking the rules that night.

Gabe bit back a smile at the memory.

“Hundred dollars, it’s fideuà,” Cole said as they reached the double wooden doors to the family’s private dining room.

Gabe paused. “Paella,” he said.

Cole nodded. “Bet.”

They entered the brightly lit room of modern design to find everyone else already assembled around the large round set table.

“Damn,” Cole swore at the sight of the big and wide frying pan of paella in the center of the table on top of a large trivet.

Gabe took the folded hundred-dollar bill from between his brother’s index and middle fingers to slide into his pocket before claiming a seat in between Phillip Jr. and Lucas. The aromatic dish was filled with lobster, mussels, clams and shrimp. Steam still rose from it.

“The paella smells good, Ma,” Sean said, removing the linen napkin atop his gold-rimmed plate and opening it across his lap.

“Ton père a préparé le déjeuner pour nous aujourd’hui,” Nicolette told them, knowing her husband and sons spoke both French and Spanish fluently.

Their father had cooked.

The Cress brothers all paused and shared brief looks surreptitiously before watching their father’s tall and solid frame move around the table as he filled everyone’s goblet with a vintage white wine.

Gabe was sure their thoughts were in alignment with his own. There was no coincidence between their father cooking lunch at work—something he had never done—and the James Beard Award nominations being announced and the family coming up nil in the journalism and restaurant-and-chef categories. In their separate careers as chefs, nearly all of them had been nominated or won as Outstanding Restaurateur or Best Chef. But as a collective under the umbrella of Cress, INC. the accolade had yet to be received.

Phillip Leonard Cress Sr. was not pleased by that fact.

And him cooking such a nuanced meal that took skill, knowledge and use of many techniques to create the Spanish dish correctly—perfectly—was an unspoken reminder that he expected nothing less from his sons than excellence. Earning prestigious awards for Cress, INC. would serve as a testament to the quality of the business.

Phillip Sr. served each of his family members before raising his wine goblet into the air. “À la nourriture. À la vie. À l’amour,” he said before claiming his seat next to his wife.

Everyone tasted the paella.

Gabe fought not to close his eyes in pleasure at the exquisite seasoning, the tenderness of the seafood mix and the perfect, crunchy crust at the bottom of the rice dish. It was divine.

Just as Phillip Sr. knew it to be.

Message received.

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