“Dites-moi ce que. . . .”
Like a madman, I punched key words into my phone to get the gist of what she was saying, but as she started to walk down the aisles passing a sheet to every student, I realized what she wanted.
We were to write down the last five dishes we’d cooked. She wanted to know where we stood in the kitchen.
Well, that was easy enough, I thought. Okay, let’s start with a pot au feu last Thursday, then I had some pasta with seared scallops in a white wine sauce the Monday before that, and a few days ago I made a delicious, fabulous grilled salmon with a mustard crunch over wild rice. Then what? Let’s see. I had a burger a few days before that, then had dinner at that crappy restaurant, grabbed a pizza on the way to the dorm . . . Oh, yeah, that braised brisket. That was great.
A string of students had already begun to line up in front of Lilly’s desk to hand in their list of dishes and I got up to get in line. It was funny how nervous I felt as I slowly approached her. I was apprehensive, as if what I’d written on my list was of the utmost importance. I wanted to impress her. Damn it. Was what I’d put down enough? Stretching to my full height, I glanced over the shoulder of the guy in front of me; pigeons aux petits pois, navarin de homard, fricassée de volailles aux morilles . . . Shit. Where was this guy from? And more importantly, what was he doing in a beginner’s class?
I had to go back and add something . . . change something. My list was so goddamned unimpressive.
“Yes, Bobby,” Lilly said as the guy in front of me walked off.
“I didn’t know you were going to be my teacher.” I knew, without a doubt, that I sounded exactly like a seven year old.
“I guess I should have suspected you’d be one of my students.” Her smile was warm and genuine, but I could have sworn her eyes sparkled with interest. “Are you going to hand in your list?”
“Um, I . . . I haven’t really cooked much these past . . . You know; new country, new residence, new language.”
“That’s okay. It’s not a test, Bobby. It’s just a quick and easy way to evaluate where each student is situated.”
And where am I situated? I wanted to say. At the bottom of the heap?
“You’re awfully young to be teaching, aren’t you?” I said as I handed her the list.
“I guess you could say that. Not a lot of twenty year olds teach other twenty year olds, right?”
Nodding like an idiot, I grinned. “So how d’you land this gig?”
Scrutinizing my page, she nodded as she read. “It was quite unexpected. At the last minute the teacher who’d been hired to teach this class decided he wanted to throw himself into a new bistro, so he quit. They didn’t have anyone else on such short notice, so, since I have a bit of time between lab experiments, they asked if I could fill in.”
“Oh, good.”
She looked over the page at me and tilted her head to the side in a silent question.
“I mean, it’s just that . . . well, if you’re officially my teacher . . . it could be awkward, but if you’re not . . . If you’re just a substitute . . .” Hell, I was making such a mess of this. “Like, maybe we could go out sometimes.”
Setting the page down on her desk, she looked at me with the strangest expression. You’d think I’d grown antlers. “Like a date?” she finally said.
“Yeah, like a date.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone on an actual date, but the idea suited me. “I think I would really like to take my time with you. You know, the whole nine yards; dinner, movie . . . maybe some dancing. I’m usually a lot quicker to get to the serious business, but I want to take the slow road with you instead of rushing to do the nasty.” I bit my lower lip for emphasis. It always drove the girls wild.
“Do the what?” Her lips parted in horror and her eyes went wide with astonishment as she glared at me.
“Oh, don’t worry about sex for now. I can easily wait until our second or third date. It’ll make it all the more exciting, don’t you think?”
“Mr. Cummings,” she said. “Thank you very much for handing in your recent cooking experiences. If you would return to your seat . . .” She looked past me and I turned to see another student heading up to the desk to hand in her list.
Although the pretty female student smiled and batted her eyes at me, I stared straight ahead and walked back to my desk. I was like a deer caught in the headlights. What had just happened? And when had I turned into Mr. Cummings?
Mr. Cummings? Shit. That was the worse.
I plopped down into my chair and glanced down at the notes I’d taken as she’d made her initial introduction. My eyes were riveted to one word: couvent.
The girl had been raised in a convent and here I was suggesting we do the nasty in a date or two. Shit, I was so damned clumsy. The girl had probably not even been kissed before and I . . . Shit. I wanted to smack myself over the head. Jackass . . . what a dunce.
By the time class let out, I didn’t even dare look her way. I kicked myself all the way to the door at the back of the class and continued to kick myself all the way back to the dorm, but before I could fall into my room to lick my wounds in private, Errol came around the corner.
“Can’t handle the rigors of your first day at the institute?” he said. “I told you this would be tougher than you thought. You thought you’d just sail through, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t that bad.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I wanted to hide in my room and not come out for the rest of the week.
“Then what is it that has your face contorted with self-disgust. Or is that self-pity?”
“You don’t really want to know.”
“Try me.”
“I just put my foot in my mouth.”
“And you didn’t like the taste.”
Was that his idea of a bad culinary joke? Well, I wasn’t laughing. “I tried to impress a girl and . . .”
He guffawed and set his hand on the wall to steady himself. “Girl troubles already? You don’t waste any time, do you?”
I groaned and glared at the ceiling.
“Well, look, Bobby, don’t let this get in the way of the real reason you’re out here to begin with.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to take care of the ladies when you get your degree.”
“Yeah.”
“But, for now, you have to keep your grades up if you’re going to keep that scholarship you got.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And, exemplary behavior is a must.”
“I know.”
“Whatever you do, don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”
Hadn’t we been through all this before? “Yeah, I’ll try.”
He slapped me hard against the shoulder. “Good. Then start trying tonight.”
“Tonight?” He had to be kidding me.
“There’s a faculty student meet and greet. You’re going with Taryn and me.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to. You also have to wear a suit. For God’s sake, make yourself presentable.”
I looked down at the trendy jeans and crisp shirt that hung over them. I thought I looked pretty good, but didn’t argue.
“Don’t embarrass your sister, Bobby. Taryn has worked hard and there’s a possibility she could get her degree a year early. If she can finish a year earlier, that means she’ll be able to accompany me as I travel the world to care for my restaurants, and for pleasure.” He winked at me. “Married life . . . It sure offers a lot of pleasures. It’s beyond my wildest expectations.”
“Yeah. I bet.”
He laughed and slapped my shoulder again. “Don’t become the stain on her good reputation.”
“Shit, maybe I should change my name.”
“Don’t change it. Live up to it.”
Great, Errol. Pile on the pressure.
“Be at la Salle de Montigny at seven o’clock.”
“Right,” I grunted.
“Don’t be late.”
Anything else?
Chapter 4
Lilly
“Miss Cooke,” a light female voice called out to me. “Mademoiselle Cooke.”
Eager to get to the meet and greet, I reluctantly turned to the voice that called my name. “Oui,” I said.
It was Marie France, an older student who’d decided to go back to school after a failed marriage and the death of her elder parents. Within seconds, I was trapped in a circular conversation that seemed to have no end. She slammed her ex-husband and blamed him for everything, complained about the treatment her parents had each received in a retirement home and told me of her plans to get her degree and open up a gourmet restaurant if her lazy-assed ex-husband could come through and pay the alimony he owed her. And then she started all over again. Marie France had a lot to get off her chest and she’d quickly found an attentive ear in me.
By the time I finally managed to free myself twenty minutes later, the large meeting hall in which the meet and greet was held was teeming with activity and buzzing with conversations about food, recipes, new methods and new trends. I looked around for a familiar face.
No, not just any familiar face. I was looking for Bobby’s face. He’d left the class so quickly, I hadn’t even had a chance to explain my firm rejection of him. Then again, what had he expected? Who talks about doing the nasty with a girl prior to their first date?
Bobby Cummings, that’s who. A boy too confident for his own pants.
But instead of finding him, it was his sister and brother-in-law who caught my eye. As far as the institute was concerned, they were the royal couple; two talented and beautiful people brought together in the most seductive, harmonious and loving way. They were an enviable couple.
Coming up behind them, I finally saw Bobby. He handed a glass of wine to Taryn and a cup of coffee to Errol. How sweet. I took a good long look at him. He cleaned up good, very good, in fact. Wearing a dark gray suit with a silver gray shirt and a deep mauve tie, he was beyond debonair and way beyond handsome. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, but then I had to remind myself of the type of man he was. The sharp suit and clean shaven cheeks didn’t change the fact that he was a real python, a man on the prowl, eager to capture his next feast. I was sure he saw women as disposable . . . take one, have his way with her and toss her aside only to start up with another.
No one goes drinking alone in the 19th arrondissement just looking to dance and play. He was looking to hook up, or maybe he’d already had by the time I found him. Oh, gross. The thought brought a grimace to my lips. Had I really picked up and brought home a man who’d just expended himself with a cheap harlot? Well, whether he had or not, the fact remained; he was the type of man who played with women’s heartstrings, who flirted with ease and who jumped from one bed to the next without a second thought.
Well, he wouldn’t get into my bed. There was no way I would get involved with him. He was wrong for me in every way . . . every single way. I had every reason not to get involved with him.
Then why was I trying to convince myself?
Probably, because just looking at him, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with him, what it would feel like to touch him, what he would taste like if I kissed him.
Stop it. He isn’t part of your life’s path.
But still, the thought of his kiss, his touch . . . It was enough to make me weak in the knees. What nonsense. I was being silly.
He looked up suddenly and spotted me. I’d never had anyone look at me with such intensity. I was frozen in place as he walked to me, but my brain was running a mile a minute trying to find something adequate to say. Should I apologize? Wait for him to apologize?
“Hi,” he said, his hand outstretched to me. “I’m Bobby Cummings. I’m in my first year in fine cuisine technique.”
I smiled and shook his hand. “Lilly Cooke, lab technician and substitute teacher.”
“Could I bring you something to drink? Wine? A soda? Tea?”
“Iced tea would be nice.”
“Iced tea it is. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He left me and I followed every line of his body as he walked away. He was so sexy and alluring in that suit. So dashing. But I wasn’t the only one to notice. The head of virtually every girl in the large room turned to him as he walked on. They smiled, they pouted, they winked and they perked up their attributes, anything to win a glance from him. If he garnered them with the glance they worked so hard for, I couldn’t tell from my vantage point, but judging by their disappointed pouts, I had to say he hadn’t. Adding insult to injury, he beamed when he returned to me with a tall glass of iced tea and the girls around me huffed and groaned their discontent.
“I’m new here.” Bobby handed me the glass. “Would you mind showing me around a bit?”
I took the glass and took a sip as I studied him from over the rim of the glass. I barely recognized the brash young man I’d met earlier that day. He was so polite, calm . . . a real gentleman. Taking in a deep breath, I let my guard down and looped my arm through his. “Have you visited the courtyard yet?”
He shook his head and I led him into the hall and out the broad doors that opened onto the magnificent garden. Other than the faint glow that spilled from the surrounding windows, a sprinkling of tiny white bulbs was the only source of light, but it was enough to impress Bobby.
“I’m glad you brought me out here. I probably never would have ventured out here on my own. I’ve never really been the type to garden.”
“On your own, maybe not, but in my class you certainly will. In addition to the beautiful and fragrant flowers, we also have a vast vegetable and herb garden. The use of fresh produce is so important to the success of any recipe. It lifts it up, raising it to a level that no dried herb can achieve.”
Taking in a long whiff, Bobby followed his nose and headed to the left, took the right where the path forked and went directly to the herbs. “Ah, yes. Now this I can appreciate. Rosemary and . . .” He took in another whiff. “Basil. Is there anything on God’s green earth that smells better than basil?”
“Your sense of smell is impressive.” I came up beside him, directly in front of the fragrant basil. “There’s also . . .”
“Don’t tell me.” He held up a finger as he let his nose discover the various aromas. “Savory. Oregano. Sage. Um . . . and chives. Garlic chives to be precise.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. He was being so charming and so adorable. He was positively irresistible when he wasn’t trying so hard to be suave.
“I love coming out here,” I said. “You absolutely have to come during the day. The beauty of the floral forms, the brilliance of the colors and the sublime scents . . . it’s almost sensory overload.”
We strolled side by side on the narrow path until we reached the rose bushes. Bobby picked up a perfect white rose that’d been cut earlier and left on the ground. “Such a beautiful flower. Why would someone throw it away?” He held it out to me. “I think it needs someone kind and loving to tend to it.”
With a wistful smile, I accepted the rose. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? No doubt it’s someone who thought it would make for a romantic gesture.”
“But the girl was upset with her suitor and cast his token of affection aside?”
I pouted and twirled the stem of the rose between my thumb and index. “Could be.” The inevitable happened. Silly me. I don’t know if it was Bobby’s proximity that kept me from using better judgment, but I twirled the stem until a nice spike of a thorn cut through my thumb. “Ouch.”
Bobby grinned, took the rose away and held up my thumb to his scrutiny. “Maybe that’s why the dreaded rose was tossed aside.”
“So beautiful, yet with the capacity to cause such pain,” I whispered. My eyes were riveted to his, as if staring at him would extract the real Bobby, bring him to light . . . warn me of the potential dangers of being so close to such a man.
I pulled my hand
away before he could kiss the pain away. I couldn’t allow it. Already the touch of his hand over mine was enough to make me dizzy. What would the touch of his lips do?
“You have to see the vegetable garden,” I said. Pulling away, I walked to the rows of cabbage. “Such a versatile vegetable, don’t you think?”
“Cabbage? I guess.”
“You can eat it hot in a soup, chop it coarsely and throw it in a stew, or shred it and serve it cold in a slaw.”
“Don’t forget sauerkraut.”
“Ah, yes. My favorite. I can’t have a hot dog without it.”
“You eat hot dogs?”
“Just because I work at a culinary institute doesn’t mean I eat gourmet food all the time.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I know where you’re coming from. I do love my slice of pizza every now and then, and not some asparagus, béchamel fancy thing. Real pepperoni, cheese, mushrooms . . . the whole deal.”
“Speaking of asparagus, we have some growing here. Did you know it takes four years for them to go from seed to this stage?”
“Four years? Who has four years to wait around for a vegetable to grow?”
I laughed as we came to the zucchini plants that climbed up a trellis. A few bright yellow flowers remained, but most of them had fallen, leaving a small, growing zucchini in its place. “Did you know that the blossom is edible?”
“Another lesson learned. You know, I’m enjoying my first lesson very much,” he said in a low tone that seemed to imply so much more.
I stared down the row of zucchini filled trellis and tried to get a hold of the jumble of emotions churning inside me. A chill traveled up my spine, but at the same time, a ball of heat burned through my belly.
I took a final sip of my iced-tea and tossed the plastic cup in a nearby recycling bin.
Bobby slipped his hand over mine and let it linger there, his fingers brushing lightly along mine while he looked at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. This is lovely.”
“You look sad all of a sudden.”
Did I? I shrugged. “There was a garden very much like this at the convent. Oh, it wasn’t surrounded by such austerity, and it wasn’t very high tech, but it was functional and productive. We had cabbage and tomatoes and radishes; carrots, snow peas, red peppers, green peppers, yellow peppers. We had some flowers thrown into the mix; flowers that were supposed to deter certain insects. Some cosmos, capucchinos, moonbeams. It was great. A lot of hard work, but well worth it.”
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