Summer. You’ve got to be strong.
And her baby needed a swing.
***
Or he would manage for her, Luc thought, as he went back to the kitchens. Just to be on the safe side. At least he knew he could always count on himself.
Limes , he noted on a sheet of paper pinned to the corkboard near his work station. Peaches. Raspberries. Mangoes?? On the computer in his office, which was set to favor American sites because Summer was its primary user these days, he searched tips for controlling nausea. Crackers, all right. Ice pops, well, he was doing that. The mother-to-be could try forcing herself to swallow small bites of protein at regular intervals all morning, for which they recommended…peanut butter?
Surely not. He was trying to avoidfoods that made someone feel sick. That was what he got for checking an American site.
Although…Summer was American. And she’d wanted those American pickles.
Peanut butter, though. He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling before he closed his eyes very tightly and then called Sylvain.
“I need Cade.”
A pause on the other end of the phone. Then that amused, chocolate voice: “Well, that’s unfortunate for you, because you can’t have her.”
“I just need her to get me some peanut butter from that American store of hers. In case there’s some kind they like from their childhood. Probably some Corey subsidiary produces some, right?”
“Luc.” Sylvain sounded horrified. “You can’t do that to your wife. She probably left that benighted country just so she could escape peanut butter. I mean, why else would she have come?” Teasing glowed rich and dark under his words, as if even Sylvain’s humor had this base of melted, gleaming chocolate.
“For me,” Luc said tensely.
Sylvain sighed. “You know, Luc, sometimes your sense of humor—“
Yes, he had caught the fact that Sylvain was joking, he just didn’t find it that funny. It would have been far less responsibility on his shoulders, when he found his wife sitting alone and sick in a damn alley behind his restaurant, if Summer had come to France for any other reason besides or even in addition to him. It would have given him something to fall back on if he failed. Look, I know things seem bad right now, but at least you’ve escaped peanut butter!
Yeah, that was going to work, all right.
A flashing vision of his old sous-chef Patrick getting hold of that peanut butter hope and wickedly twitting Luc with it until Luc had to laugh, until it became genuinely funny, reducing all his gut-deep panic into something silly and manageable. But Patrick was taking courses in math and physics to prepare for engineering while he simultaneously helped cover the transition at the Leucé, a schedule even more insane than Luc’s, so it wasn’t as if Luc could call on him. And after that he would be going to California. So Luc really couldn’t call on him. Couldn’t let himself need a friend at all. The best things in my life always leave me.
A deep breath. “This website I found says sometimes it helps with morning sickness. It’s something about the protein.”
A moment’s blank silence. “Well, couldn’t you give her something better? Grind up some hazelnuts, or some almonds, make a nice little praliné base—do you need me to come down there and show you how to do this stuff?” Again the humor.
But Luc stopped, standing still on the restaurant terrace looking out to sea. Because—no, obviously. And yet, for some reason, he didn’t want to say that no. And he had no idea why he should want Sylvain coming down to interfere in his kitchens with that arrogance of his, acting as if he’d invented chocolate personally and was the only person in the world who could properly handle anything to do with it.
“I’m going to try some other things, too. The peanut butter is extra. In case she only likes a certain brand from her childhood or—look, can you just ask Cade?”
“Sure,” Sylvain said, amused. “You
And her baby needed a swing.
***
Or he would manage for her, Luc thought, as he went back to the kitchens. Just to be on the safe side. At least he knew he could always count on himself.
Limes , he noted on a sheet of paper pinned to the corkboard near his work station. Peaches. Raspberries. Mangoes?? On the computer in his office, which was set to favor American sites because Summer was its primary user these days, he searched tips for controlling nausea. Crackers, all right. Ice pops, well, he was doing that. The mother-to-be could try forcing herself to swallow small bites of protein at regular intervals all morning, for which they recommended…peanut butter?
Surely not. He was trying to avoidfoods that made someone feel sick. That was what he got for checking an American site.
Although…Summer was American. And she’d wanted those American pickles.
Peanut butter, though. He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling before he closed his eyes very tightly and then called Sylvain.
“I need Cade.”
A pause on the other end of the phone. Then that amused, chocolate voice: “Well, that’s unfortunate for you, because you can’t have her.”
“I just need her to get me some peanut butter from that American store of hers. In case there’s some kind they like from their childhood. Probably some Corey subsidiary produces some, right?”
“Luc.” Sylvain sounded horrified. “You can’t do that to your wife. She probably left that benighted country just so she could escape peanut butter. I mean, why else would she have come?” Teasing glowed rich and dark under his words, as if even Sylvain’s humor had this base of melted, gleaming chocolate.
“For me,” Luc said tensely.
Sylvain sighed. “You know, Luc, sometimes your sense of humor—“
Yes, he had caught the fact that Sylvain was joking, he just didn’t find it that funny. It would have been far less responsibility on his shoulders, when he found his wife sitting alone and sick in a damn alley behind his restaurant, if Summer had come to France for any other reason besides or even in addition to him. It would have given him something to fall back on if he failed. Look, I know things seem bad right now, but at least you’ve escaped peanut butter!
Yeah, that was going to work, all right.
A flashing vision of his old sous-chef Patrick getting hold of that peanut butter hope and wickedly twitting Luc with it until Luc had to laugh, until it became genuinely funny, reducing all his gut-deep panic into something silly and manageable. But Patrick was taking courses in math and physics to prepare for engineering while he simultaneously helped cover the transition at the Leucé, a schedule even more insane than Luc’s, so it wasn’t as if Luc could call on him. And after that he would be going to California. So Luc really couldn’t call on him. Couldn’t let himself need a friend at all. The best things in my life always leave me.
A deep breath. “This website I found says sometimes it helps with morning sickness. It’s something about the protein.”
A moment’s blank silence. “Well, couldn’t you give her something better? Grind up some hazelnuts, or some almonds, make a nice little praliné base—do you need me to come down there and show you how to do this stuff?” Again the humor.
But Luc stopped, standing still on the restaurant terrace looking out to sea. Because—no, obviously. And yet, for some reason, he didn’t want to say that no. And he had no idea why he should want Sylvain coming down to interfere in his kitchens with that arrogance of his, acting as if he’d invented chocolate personally and was the only person in the world who could properly handle anything to do with it.
“I’m going to try some other things, too. The peanut butter is extra. In case she only likes a certain brand from her childhood or—look, can you just ask Cade?”
“Sure,” Sylvain said, amused. “You
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