A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) by Hillary Manton Lodge Page A

I took the photos of Mireille and lined them up in chronological order as best I could.
    There was another man—I was sure of it. I didn’t have any concrete evidence, but the more I looked at Mireille and Gilles, the more I believed that the man in the photo I found was my true grandfather.
    My cell phone buzzed while I was still midthought; I picked it up absently.
    “Jules! Guess who got tickets to hear Feist tonight at the Bing Lounge?” Linn practically yelled the question into my ear.
    I sat up straighter. “Really?”
    “Are you free?”
    “Absolutely! What about your husband?”
    “He’s strictly a Decemberists kind of guy. Feist isn’t his jam.”
    “Then I’ll start getting ready now.”
    “That’s all I could ever want.”
    We made plans to meet and drive over together, and for the first time in a week, I felt a little lighter in spirit.

Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.
    —M. F. K. F ISHER
    In preparation for the concert, I changed into a black jersey wrap dress with long sleeves, black patterned tights, and black boots. I added a vintage-looking silver collar necklace and a coat of soft pink lipstick to keep the look from being too severe. When Linn arrived, I threw on my red trench and Burberry-esque scarf.
    Feist had just finished her first set when I felt my phone vibrate in my boot. Fearing a family emergency, I glanced at the phone. A text message from Nico. “Where are you?”
    “Bing Lounge with Linn,” I texted back.
    My phone vibrated again a moment later. “Cool. See you soon.”
    I had no idea what that meant. Later in the evening? Later that week? month? Who knew? While Feist and her band sang “My Moon, My Man,” I double-checked to see if I’d had an e-mail from Neil.
    Still nothing.
    Two songs later, I felt a tapping on my shoulder. I turned, curious, to find my brother and a stranger standing just behind me.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to walk that fine line between being heard over the band and disturbing other people’s experience.
    Nico grinned; I knew he’d have a long story on the subject once the concert was over. Since he didn’t seem to need anything but an acknowledgmentof his existence, I turned back to face the front and enjoyed the rest of the band’s set.
    Afterward, I asked him again how he’d managed to get in.
    “I simply asked the nice young lady at the door,” he said, wearing his European charm like a strong cologne.
    I knew for a fact that more than a young lady stood between my brother and the interior of the venue. “It’s an invitation-only event.”
    Another shrug. Linn looked impressed, but I wasn’t. I knew my brother could charm the brass knuckles off a bouncer. And not only had he gotten himself in, but he’d smuggled the stranger in as well.
    “I’m Adrian,” the stranger said, rather obviously giving me a visual once-over as he proffered a hand and grinned.
    “He’s the one I was interviewing for the sous-chef position,” Nico explained.
    “Ah,” I said, and found myself taking a defensive step back.
    Adrian stood two inches taller than my brother and possessed the kind of long lashes and ringlets many women would envy. On some men, it would look effeminate, but on Adrian the opposite appeared true.
    He was good looking, and with the show of friendliness turned my way, I suspected the feeling was mutual.
    Not that it mattered. I’d fallen for a coworker once; never again. Adrian could flirt with me all he wanted, but I wasn’t interested. Far from it—remembering how things had ended with Éric made me sick to my stomach.
    “We were thinking of going out for a bit,” Linn said, no doubt thinking she was performing a kindness by extending the evening. “You’re welcome to join us.”
    “We’d love to,” Adrian said, his grin somehow growing wider.
    I narrowed my eyes. “How are either of you here? It’s Saturday night, after all.”