Al stopped by the bar and surveyed the restaurant, taking in the mostly empty tables, subtle decor, and single waiter working the entire restaurant. He paused when he saw Lou approaching him with a smile engaging her entire body. Lou kissed him quick on the lips and stepped back. She hadn’t felt nervous until he walked in the door, and now every nerve danced the jitterbug. She looked down and bit her lip.
“You came. I didn’t know if you would make it.”
Al looked surprised.
“Nonsense. Luella’s is your baby. I have to visit.”
Lou grabbed his hand and squeezed.
“Thanks.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Besides, I recall the promise of a free meal.”
“You’ll get your food. First you need to meet some people, then I’ll give you the nickel tour.”
Al looked around for the people Lou planned to introduce him to. He already knew Harley and Sue in the kitchen. She led him to the center table, where Otto and Gertrude sat holding hands. They both seemed to be losing weight. She’d bring them both a dessert on the house tonight, since they’d already finished their dinners.
“Al, I’d like to introduce you to my very best customers and good friends Gertrude and Otto Meyer. Gertrude and Otto, this is my . . . Al.” Lou stumbled over what to call Al.
“Herzchen, this is your gentleman friend, yes? The one that makes you smile so much?”
Lou smiled and blushed.
The door jangled and new customers entered the restaurant.
“Excuse me; I’ll be right back.” Lou hurried off to assist the new customers. A full house at this stage wouldn’t save Luella’s, but every new customer meant a few extra dollars she didn’t have to earn before she could open her new restaurant. As she left, she heard Gertrude tell Al, “Sit. I don’t like looking up when I talk to people.”
• • • • •
Al sat. He already didn’t want to disappoint this lovely, small woman. His phone beeped.
“Excuse me while I check this,” Al said.
“You young ones with your gadgets. When do you get a break?” Gertrude said.
“I guess the theory is if we’re always available, then we don’t have to be in the office as much,” Al explained as he searched his phone.
A text had arrived from Hannah.
RIP AW. Need obit asap.
Al absorbed the words, let them swish about in his gray matter and funnel into every cell. He’d done it—well, almost. The news energized him. Phase one of cover-his-tracks completed. He tried to ignore the niggling fact that he was still hiding the whole truth from Lou.
Now that he had Hannah’s response, he powered off his phone.
“My apologies. My attention is all yours,” Al said.
Gertrude waved his apology away.
“Is everything okay? Not bad news, I hope,” Gertrude asked.
“No, not at all. The very best news actually.”
“Delightful,” Gertrude said. The three paused in conversation, deciding where to go next.
“Lou tells me you come here quite frequently?” Al asked.
“Oh yes. She makes the very best food. Her servers are always attentive. We’ve never had a bad meal, have we, Otto?” Otto nodded his head in agreement.
“She’s only cooked for me a few times. What I’ve had ranks among some of the best ever. I can see why you come here often.”
“It’s really a shame she has to close. I can’t believe that horrible man wrote such awful things about her cooking, our Liebling’s cooking. He is a Dummkopf.”
“Quite right.” Al nodded in absolute agreement.
“Lou fancies you.”
Gertrude leaned in as if sharing a top secret, a smile brightening her pale face. Al tilted toward her to respond.
“I should hope so. If not, she should stop snogging me so much.”
“Are you saying you don’t like it?” Lou swooped down from behind and kissed him on the cheek. Otto’s eyes crinkled at the affection, and Gertrude clapped her hands.
“Haha. They are in love, Otto. You remind me of when I first met him. We couldn’t stop touching. At our age, people seemed to think we should keep our hands to ourselves. I say bah to such silliness. When people are in love, they should show it.” She leaned over and planted a wavering kiss on Otto’s wan cheek, then wiped the smudged pink lipstick off.
“You should see the mess when she wears the red lipstick,” said Otto.
“Otto, they don’t need to know such things.” She gave him a sly wink.
“So how did you first meet each other? In Germany?” Al asked.
“Hasn’t Lou told you?” Gertrude responded.
“You tell it so much better,” Lou said. “I couldn’t do it justice.”
“All right. We were both married, you know. Our parents came to Milwaukee before World War Two. They were smart, our parents. They came here because other friends and family already moved. People spoke the old language, made the old food, supported each other in this very different place.
“Otto and I grew up here but never met. There were so many Germans—we didn’t know everyone. We married our high school sweethearts, then we each buried them after many years of marriage. I had settled into widowhood, content with my friends, my nieces, my nephews. One summer, when German Fest was still new, I waited in line for Spanferkel.” She saw the confusion in Al’s eyes.
“Do you know what this is?” Gertrude asked. Al shook his head no.
“The Spanferkel is a young piglet. They roast it slowly and the juices leak, making crispy skin and moist meat. In Germany, we make this for celebrations. It is not something a widow would make to eat by herself. At German Fest, they had a stand selling Spanferkel. When I made my order and pulled out my money to pay, the most handsome man stepped forward to set his money on the counter.
“At first I grew quite angry, thinking him pushy. But then another order was added and he paid for both. And then he said, ach, I’ll never forget his words. He said, ‘If I may?’ ”
“That was it? Just ‘If I may?’ ” Al said.
“My Otto uses few words. His polite question gave me shivers I still feel now. I nodded; he carried our orders to a nearby table, waited until I sat; then we ate. After a cold beer, he asked me to polka. We danced all night to every song. I remember his sparkling eyes under these same bushy brows. They were darker then. He danced with springs on his toes. By the end of the night, I danced on springs, too.”
While Gertrude told her story, Al and Lou looked at each other, remembering their spontaneous dance at Irish Fest. Lou gave a gentle squeeze to the back of Al’s neck and continued to play with his hair. She swirled soft circles across the bare skin. The gentle touch went directly to his soul, soothing any lingering tension from his meeting with Hannah and uncertainty about their future.
“It is so fun to watch young love,” Gertrude said. “Now, this young man is hungry. Aren’t you a chef?”
Lou looked a little startled at Gertrude’s obvious dismissal. Al was sad she took her hands away, but the rumble in his stomach agreed with Gertrude’s suggestion.
“I suppose she’s right. I did promise you food. What would you like?”
“Surprise me. If you make it, I know I’ll love it.” Lou nodded and headed back to the kitchen. Gertrude watched her leave.
“Good, I never thought she’d go.” Al didn’t expect to hear that from the sweet little lady. “She’ll be back too soon, but I wanted to chat with you about your intentions with our girl. As you can see, she has become family to us. While you seem a nice gentleman, I want to know what you plan.”
Otto, his bald pate bobbing in agreement, actually cracked a knuckle under the table. Al wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, but the stern look on Otto’s face reminded him of his first girlfriend’s father when he’d picked her up for a date. That particular man had polished his hunting rifle on the dining room table as Al waited for his date to make her entrance.
“First, Lou is quite lucky to have so many people around her who care for her so deeply. I hope that caring someday extends to me. When I arrived, I knew no one other than the few people I worked with. I wasn’t particularly fond of the city. I arrived in the depths of winter to a blizzard and below-zero temperatures. It seemed an omen of things to come.
“Then it warmed, sort of. And Lou fell into my life. She showed me where to find the heart of Milwaukee. I didn’t know it when I came here, but I’ve been searching for a place like this. Lou represents everything I love about this city: the past, the present, and I hope the future. I fell in love. This is my home now.”
“Good,” Otto said, nodding his shiny head again in approval.
“Be good to her, Liebchen. She is a treasure,” Gertrude added.
“I will do anything to make her happy. She is in good hands.”
“I hope your thoughts lean toward a permanent change for our Lou.” She tapped her ring finger with her other hand. “Otto and I met and married within a few months. When you have found your match, you know, right?”
Al blinked at Gertrude’s suggestion. He hadn’t thought about marriage. It seemed too quick, but he still found himself nodding along with Gertrude; when you knew, you knew.
“We are done now; she comes,” Gertrude said, interrupting his thoughts.
Lou appeared at his side with four plates, two containing entrées and two containing apple tarts with large scoops of ice cream.
She set the desserts in front of Otto and Gertrude.
“Harley sent these out for you. He’s topped them with the salted caramel ice cream you like so much.”
“That man spoils us too much. He will make us fat,” Gertrude said, but the two eagerly scooped up bites.
Lou set the remaining two plates in front of Al and herself.
“It looked so good when I made yours, I realized I haven’t eaten today.”
Al looked down to see a plate of sole meunière. He couldn’t help remembering the last time he consumed this dish in this restaurant. But this was different. She was different. He was different.
He cut off a large piece of fish and shoved it in his mouth with an inward flinch. He chewed. Then sighed. Perfection. How could he have expected anything less? Further evidence of his past arrogance. Al devoured the delicate fish, hoping to smother the guilt stomping about in his stomach.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE •
Al sat alone at the bar sipping a cup of tea. It had been almost three weeks since he’d first entered her restaurant, and he had since become a fixture. She loved the way he looked sitting at her bar.
Miniature pumpkins dotted the surface, most with kooky painted faces. Harley had painted them whenever it was slow. Looking around the restaurant, she could see that each pumpkin had a different expression. It had been slower than slow.
Lou could see Al each time she passed the pickup window. She refused to let him help¸ insisting he’d only get in her way. Every Sunday morning she came in to clean out the fridge of items that wouldn’t last until the next open. Finding food past its prime prodded her latent OCD. Lou could let a lot of things slide, but reaching into a box and pulling out a moldy lemon or slimy head of lettuce triggered the gag reflex. Normally she tossed anything approaching its expiration date, but today she planned to bring home anything usable, and perhaps a few things in no danger of expiring. What was the point of owning a restaurant if you couldn’t use the good stuff occasionally? Today she had plans to make dinner with Al, so no reason to waste perfectly good food.
Lou recovered some foie gras, duck confit, and assorted veggies and herbs. As she grabbed the items, a menu started bubbling to the surface: foie gras ravioli with a cherry-sage cream sauce, crispy goat cheese medallions on mixed greens with a simple vinaigrette, pan-fried duck confit, and duck-fat-roasted new potatoes with more of the cherry-sage cream sauce. For dessert, a chocolate soufflé with coconut crisps. She grabbed a few more ingredients off the shelf to avoid a stop at the grocery store.
“Hey, Al, why don’t you grab a few bottles of wine from the bar? Pick something for foie gras, duck, and chocolate,” Lou shouted through the pickup window.
“On it. Don’t forget the truffles.” Lou could hear him hop off the bar stool and start searching for the wine. She packed all the items into a few bags and her small cooler, then pushed open the doors to join Al.
“I like you a lot, but not enough to use up my truffles.”
“You wound me. Not even a shaving or two?” Al dramatically set a hand across his chest.
“Shameless. How about this? If I still have any by the time I close the restaurant, I’ll make you a truffle-themed meal.”
Al took the bags from Lou’s hands, set them on the bar, then pulled her into his arms.
“That’s all I’m asking.” He set his lips on hers in the faintest of kisses, just a whisper to start. Lou moved to tighten her arms around his neck to settle in for a thorough kiss, but Al ducked his head out of her embrace and retrieved some of the bags from the counter.
“Well, best be off. I’m getting hungry,” he said.
Lou squinted her eyes, hoping to discern his intentions. He was up to something. She grabbed the remaining bags and followed him out.
• • • • •
Smells of frying onion and sizzling duck fat hung thick enough that Al wanted to lick the air. His stomach rumbled but his mind couldn’t stop focusing on Lou’s bare shoulders, the way her dress clung to her hips and swished around her bare legs, the waft of vanilla every time she got too close. He wanted to trail his fingers from her ankle until they disappeared under the hem of her dress.
They had all night together without any interruptions, any responsibilities other than to enjoy themselves, and he would make sure of the latter. He planned to add to the growing list of reasons he loved her—the newest reason being the foie gras ravioli she’d planned.
“Are you going to help, or just keep staring at my behind?”
Lou interrupted his daydream that involved strategically dripped Baileys and her neck. Al shook his head. That helped a little. Lou flicked on the radio and returned to her cooking.
“. . . thunderstorm rolling. The air is sizzling with electricity, so watch out for the lightning,” the weatherman said.
He had no idea.
Al enjoyed watching Lou cook. She moved with precision and grace, each move intentional. Any indecision or lack of confidence disappeared when the knives came out—and that confidence was remarkably sexy. She’d been cooking for fifteen minutes. In that time, he’d unearthed the bottle opener, dusted off two wineglasses, and poured them each a glass to sip while they cooked. He thought that was quite efficient. She had unpacked all the food, pulled out sauté and saucepans, heated the oven, chopped and started cooking onions, chopped shallots for the sauce, and heated duck fat for the potatoes. She had lined up ingredients according to the dish with such efficiency it seemed absentminded. Al could have watched her for hours.
Thunder rumbled, indicating the promised thunderstorm was approaching. A cold breeze broke through the heat in the kitchen, a hint of the warring fronts above that seemed to isolate them from the world outside. The increasing winds and electrically charged air added an element of reckless energy to his growing tension. Al picked up Lou’s wineglass, stepped directly behind her, then leaned into her so he could set the glass in front of her. Lou straightened, then melted against him. He leaned over, close enough that the tiny invisible hairs on her ear tickled his lips, and whispered, “Where should I start?”
• • • • •
By kissing me senseless, Lou thought. But Al just set the glass down and stepped away. Maybe he didn’t realize the effect he had on her.
Lou cleared her throat and spoke.
“Think you
can handle the salad?”
“You’re giving me salad duty? You must think I’m useless.”
“Prove me wrong. If you do a good job, I’ll let you make dessert.”
Al went to the salad station to organize the ingredients but knocked a shallot off the counter that rolled near Lou. When he crouched to pick it up, one hand closed around the small bulb; the other grazed her ankle. As he stood, his hand traced a barely perceptible path up her leg until her dress started to bunch. When he took his hand away, Lou turned to react but Al already had his back to her and was chopping the escapee vegetable into minute pieces. She took a deep breath and paused to admire his correct knife-hold and even dicing, just as a professional writer would admire a well-written sentence.
Lou turned back to her ravioli filling, her skin still tingling. She sautéed the foie gras with shallots. Off heat she’d add in finely diced sweet cherries, sage, and a little goat cheese.
Al finished assembling a vinaigrette and put his breaded goat cheese rounds in the freezer so they wouldn’t melt when cooked. He did know more about cooking than she thought he did. He joined her at the stove, standing close enough that she could feel his clothes brushing hers. The strap on her dress had slipped, and Al pushed it all the way off her shoulder so he could brush his lips over its former location.
Between caresses Al asked, “Should I start the soufflé?”
“Uh-huh.” Lou slanted her head to the side, giving him more room to work, expecting him to continue his playful kisses. Instead he stepped away and put ingredients into a pan for the soufflé.
“Hmph.” Two can play at this game. Lou scanned her tasks—no use burning dinner. She just finished stuffing the ravioli and the potatoes cooked in the oven. The duck would wait until right before that course, as would boiling the ravioli. She just needed to start the sauce. Plenty of time for a distraction. She picked up her wine and walked to check on Al’s work. Too bad she tripped on nothing and spilled her red wine all over Al’s back.
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 18