“What if I yell back at him?” she teased in French.
Eustace glared at his brother. “Don’t start none, there won’t be none,” he warned.
Gage held up both hands. “It’s all good, big brother. What can I do to help?”
“We’ve made everything but the bread pudding.”
“I’ll make it,” Gage volunteered. He glanced over at the trays of wings. “I know you didn’t make these.”
Eustace shook his head. “Tonya did. There’s a plate over there with a few samples.”
Gage washed his hands, slipped on an apron, and headed for the plate with the wings. He picked up one, biting into it and chewing it slowly. “Sh-it-it!” The expletive came out in three syllables. “This is the best Thai wing I’ve ever had.”
Eustace angled his head at the same time he crossed his arms over his chest. “Watch your language, Gage. Have you forgotten there’s a lady present?”
Gage winked at Tonya. “Sorry, ma’am.”
She grimaced. Kids referred to her as ma’am. Not men who were closer to her own age. “Apology accepted.”
“Try the sriracha ones,” Eustace urged.
Tonya met Gage’s eyes as he sampled each of the wings, and she knew instinctively they would be a big hit with the book club ladies. And they were healthier because they were baked, not fried. Seeing the brothers together made her aware that although they did not resemble each other their body language was similar. Gage had the advantage of being at least two inches taller, while Eustace probably outweighed him by at least thirty or possibly forty or more pounds.
Gage washed his hands again, wiping them on the towel he’d tucked under the apron ties. “It looks as if you have a little competition, big brother.”
Nodding his head slowly, Eustace flashed a knowing grin. “I don’t mind competition if it enhances Chez Toussaints’ reputation.”
Gage approached Tonya and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful that Eustace won’t try and steal you away from Hannah.”
Tilting her chin, Tonya stared up at the man who stood a little close for comfort as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne. “That will never happen,” she said when he dropped his hand. “I’ve committed to running the café and supper club for the DuPont Inn.” Gage gave her a startled look with this pronouncement. His expression indicated he hadn’t been apprised of the extent of Hannah’s business plans.
“Hannah’s also opening a supper club?”
“Yes.”
“When did she decide this?” Gage asked.
“I don’t know,” Tonya replied. “You’d have to ask her.”
A slight frown appeared between his luminous eyes. “When St. John told me about Hannah converting the house into an inn he only mentioned that she would operate it like a B and B.”
Now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, Tonya saw no further need to act as if the establishments attached to the DuPont Inn were top secrets. “I would never relocate only to serve breakfast, because she could get anyone down here to do that. She’s given me the opportunity to run my own restaurant, and that’s something I’ve wanted to do since graduating culinary school.”
Gage lifted his eyebrows a fraction at the same time he exhaled an audible sigh. “Good luck with that, chef.”
Tonya glared at Gage. Instead of congratulating her, he had wished her luck. Why couldn’t he be happy or encourage her? Was he envious, or had he believed she would not be able to make a go running her own business? She shook off his cryptic remark like a dog after a bath. There was no way she was going let anyone—men in particular—steal her joy. It was the reason she ended her marriage to a man she’d loved enough to marry.
“As soon as you’re finished making the bread pudding, I’d like you to take me back to DuPont House.” Her words were dripping with sarcasm, but Tonya was past placating anyone who openly verbalized their negativity. It had taken a while, but she made it a practice not to associate with toxic people.
Eustace cleared his throat, shattering the uncomfortable silence and the stare-down between Tonya and his brother. “Gage, why don’t you take Tonya back now? Thanks to her, I’m a couple of hours ahead of schedule.”
“I can wait,” she said. “I’d like to see how you make your bread pudding.” Tonya didn’t tell him that if his version of the poor person’s dessert was exceptional, then it would be something she would definitely include on her dessert menu.
Eustace gave her a half smile. “Are you sure?”
Tonya returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “I’m very sure.”
She was not about to let Gage’s negativity dampen her enthusiasm to learn the secrets behind his brother’s signature dishes. If he sought to discourage her, then he was in for the shock of his life.
Chapter 4
Gage knew by Tonya’s clipped tone that she did not like his response. Maybe he should have warned her that since there were so many restaurants in New Orleans, unless she offered dishes that were truly exceptional, her establishment might not survive.
“I’ll show you how to make the bread pudding.”
Tonya glanced over at Eustace, who nodded his acquiescence. “Okay.”
Eustace took off his apron. “If that’s the case, then I’m going home and put my feet up for a couple of hours. These big dogs are quick to remind me how long I’ve been standing.”
Gage stared at his brother under lowered lids. “That’s because you do too much. You were up all day yesterday cooking for St. John’s wedding, and now you’re back here this morning cooking for the book club. I told you before, it’s time you let go the reins and let your girls take over the day-to-day business, while you just concentrate on filling catering orders.”
“And who’s going to help me with the catering?”
“I will,” Gage volunteered.
Compressing his lips, dimples deepening in his rounded cheeks, Eustace appeared deep in thought. “Maybe I’ll start coming in four days a week instead of five so they can get used to running everything. Then after a couple of months it will be three days, and then two. After that I’ll relinquish all responsibility for Chez Toussaints to them.”
Gage nodded. “That sounds like a plan. Now, go home and make love with your wife for a change while Tonya and I finish up here. I’ll drop Tonya off at DuPont House, and then come back and deliver the food to the book club ladies.”
Eustace shot Tonya an uncomfortable look before he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Waiting until he out was out of earshot, she asked Gage, “Did you have to embarrass him like that?”
Opening the refrigerator, Gage removed a large plastic container filled with pieces of torn French bread and placed it on the prep table. “He isn’t as embarrassed as he is conscience-stricken. Just the other day my sister-in-law came to me in tears. She believes Eustace is having an affair because she cannot remember the last time they were intimate. I reassured Janine that if my brother is having an affair, then it’s with Chez Toussaints. He comes in at dawn Monday through Friday and doesn’t leave until late afternoon. And if he has to cater a party, then it’s much later. He’s probably so tired when he gets home that he just collapses. I can’t even get him to take a night off on the weekend to come to Jazzes to unwind.”
“How old is Eustace?”
“He’s fifty-seven.”
“Isn’t that a little young for him to retire?” Tonya asked Gage, as he reached for a jar of cinnamon and bottle of pure vanilla extract off an overhead shelf.
“It is. But, remember, he would only be semi-retired, because he still will be catering.”
“I’ll get the eggs, butter, and sugar,” she volunteered, opening the refrigerator and taking out the ingredients for a basic bread pudding recipe. “What’s the secret in making Chez Toussaints’ bread pudding?”
“We bake our own French bread for the bread pudding.”
Tonya blinked slowly. “Why bake it when you can buy it?”
&nb
sp; Gage stood next to Tonya, realizing for the first time that she was much shorter than she appeared. He was six-three, and the top of her head came only to his shoulder. Maybe it was her slimness that made him think she was taller. She wasn’t skinny, far from it; although her body was slender, it was still curvy. In fact, he liked everything about her, because he preferred women who were comfortable with their bodies.
He had dated women who refused to let him touch their hair because they feared it would loosen their extensions. Then there were those who would not permit him to squeeze their breasts because of implants. The last woman he dated but refused to sleep with would only splash water on her face, for she feared losing the lashes glued to her lids, and she complained that her acrylic nails had become an obstacle when buttoning or unbuttoning her clothes. He wanted to be with a woman who did not have a laundry list of dos and don’ts. What happened to women who learned to love who they were without altering their appearances? It had gotten to a point that when a man went to bed, he woke up with a woman he barely recognized in the morning.
“New Orleans–style French bread is a uniquely light loaf made with yeasts you can only buy in specialty shops. The oven in the far corner is the one we use expressly for baking breads for this dessert. We do buy the rest.”
“How long have you been making your own bread?” Tonya asked.
Gage measured the equivalent of a loaf of torn bread into a large aluminum bowl. “My dad started making it when he married my mother. She continues the tradition handed down from the French who came to Louisiana from Acadia.”
“Your mother is Cajun.” The query was a statement.
“That she is.”
“Does she speak Cajun French?”
Gage smiled. “Yes. I speak traditional French, Cajun French, and Haitian Creole. It’s been a family tradition that goes back more than a century that everyone in the family speaks more than one language. I know it’s somewhat rude, but when we don’t want folks to know what we’re talking about, we immediately shift from English to a dialect.”
“I realized that when I helped Eustace at your family reunion. I understood most of the French, but not the Creole. I’m lucky to get by with whatever French I picked up in France.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “You lived in France?”
Tonya nodded. “I spent nearly a year there perfecting regional dishes. I also took cooking courses in China, South-east Asia, and the Mediterranean.”
“With that much experience, why aren’t you working for a restaurant serving international cuisine?”
“I did.” Tonya explained how she, Hannah, and dozens of others were downsized when the Manhattan-based investment bank they had worked for merged with an out-of-state bank.
“So, learning to prepare southern Louisiana dishes is your last frontier?” he teased, smiling.
She returned his smile with a dimpled one of her own. “I’d like to think so. Where did you do your training?”
“France. I’d just graduated Julliard when I decided to go to Paris on holiday. What I intended to be two months stretched into a little more than two years. I was fortunate enough to train under one of the best chefs in Europe.”
“You went from the Big Easy to the Big Apple, and then onto the City of Lights.”
Gage laughed softly. “And now I’m back to stay, while you’re leaving the Apple for the Easy. Even though New York is the city that never sleeps, New Orleans is the birthplace of the cocktail, along with a celebrated reputation for food, music, and drink.”
“Is it true what they say about laissez les bon temps rouler?”
“Oui, Madame. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my home until I came back.”
“Why did you come back?” Tonya asked.
A beat passed. “My father was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of pancreatic cancer. I wasn’t back more than three months before he passed away. That’s when I had to step up and help Eustace.”
Tonya braced an elbow on the table and cradled her chin on the heel of her hand. “How old were you when you came back?”
“I’d just turned twenty-three. I graduated high school at sixteen and college at twenty.”
“Your parents didn’t have a problem with you living in a foreign country at that age?”
Gage shrugged his shoulders. “There wasn’t much they could do when I’d left home at sixteen to study in New York. I’d saved enough money from playing gigs during my last two years at college that I didn’t have to ask them to subsidize the trip.”
“What made you decide to live in Paris instead of coming back to the States?”
“A week before I was scheduled to return to the States I met three expatriate musicians who invited me to move into their flat once I’d joined their band. Meanwhile I got a job at a Michelin-starred restaurant, and after a while I worked my way up from dishwasher to sous chef and eventually assistant chef.”
“Were you still playing with the band?”
Gage nodded. “Once the restaurant closed for the night, I went directly to the bar where I played sets until dawn. I didn’t get a lot of sleep, but at that time I was able to get by on less than five hours of sleep.”
Tonya met his eyes when he gave her a long, penetrating stare. “Should I assume you’re still not getting much sleep?”
He smiled, and attractive lines fanned out around his brilliant eyes with the expression. “I’m good during the week. It’s the weekends that are challenging.”
Her eyebrows lifted questioningly. “You don’t work during the week?” she asked. She watched him intently as he measured the ingredients for the bread pudding, and then he slipped on a pair of disposable gloves to blend the mixture with his fingers.
“I do have a day job. After I returned to the States I went back to college to get a master’s degree in education. Right now I’m teaching music at a local high school.”
“Does it have a marching band?”
“Yes. Why?”
She lowered her arm. “What I miss most not going to a Southern college are the marching bands.”
Gage smiled. “There’s nothing better than Friday night football, cheerleading, and marching bands.”
“Do you direct the marching band?”
“No. I’m an artist in residence. The grant’s objective is for me to start up a jazz band for high school students who plan to pursue a career in music.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Why would you say that?” he asked.
“Because so many schools have cut their music and art programs while your school has a marching and jazz band.”
“That’s because music is so much an intricate part of this city’s history. I know a number of musicians who fund-raise to support our schools’ music programs.” Gage filled the greased pockets of two muffin tins and spooned the pudding into the pockets, filling each just barely to the top.
“What do you use to make the sauce?” she asked, changing the topic of conversation.
“I use unsalted butter, sugar, orange juice, eggs, and bourbon. You can substitute rum or brandy for the whiskey, or if you want a nonalcoholic sauce, then use vanilla extract, although most vanilla does contain alcohol. By the way, have you eaten?” he asked her.
“Yes. Your brother made breakfast for me earlier this morning.”
“Did you have beignets?”
“No.”
“Breakfast isn’t breakfast unless you have a beignet. Do you know how to make them?”
“Yes!”
Tonya’s smile was dazzling. When she’d first come to New Orleans and had beignets and café au lait for breakfast, she knew she had to learn to make the fried, puffy, golden brown dough dusted with confectioners’ sugar. It took her two tries before they were doughy and with enough air inside so they wouldn’t sink to the bottom of the fryer.
“Maybe one of these days you’ll make them for me.”
Her smile slowly faded. “That probably won’t be for a while.”
He halted placing the tins on baking pans. “What do you mean by a while?”
“I don’t plan to move down here until next year.”
He went completely still. “Next year?”
“Yes. I still have to tie up a few things in New York.” Her explanation appeared to satisfy Gage; he covered the pans with plastic wrap and put them in the refrigerator. “Aren’t you going to bake them now?” she asked.
“No. I’ll put them in the oven after I take you home. The ladies don’t meet until four.”
Tonya removed her apron, dropped it in a canvas bin with soiled linen, and picked up her tote off the stool. She followed Gage out of the restaurant to the parking lot. He opened the passenger-side door to the SUV for her and waited until she was seated before rounding the vehicle to sit behind the wheel.
Gage slipped on a pair of sunglasses, started the engine, and then executed a smooth U-turn, and that is when Tonya noticed his hands for the first time. They were somewhat delicate for a man his size, the fingers long and beautifully formed. “How many instruments do you play?”
“I can play every instrument in the orchestra. I haven’t mastered the harp, so I don’t count that one.”
She smiled. “You must like music.”
“I love it.”
“More than cooking?”
There came a moment of silence before Gage said, “No. Right now they’re even.” He gave her a quick glance. “Did you always want to be a chef?”
“Yes. As a child I spent summers with my grandparents in Daytona Beach, Florida, and my grandmother prayed I’d grow up to become a better cook than my mother. It wasn’t that my mother is a bad cook, but her dishes are very bland because my dad has a sensitive stomach. Grandma said it’s hard to season food after you cook it.”
Gage nodded, smiling. “She’s right. So, your grandmamma taught you to cook?”
Tonya told him about sitting on the porch helping her grandma snap the ends off greens, and peeling white potatoes, which would eventually be added to smoked ham hocks after the skin was removed. “Nowadays folks wanting to eat healthier use smoked turkey instead of ham.”
Breakfast in Bed Page 5