know, all joking aside, you could actually call her directly. I’m a tiny bit more secure than certain people to whom I might be speaking.”
Luc looked at his phone rather blankly. Calling another chef’s wife directly had never occurred to him as a possible means of communication before. How would he feel if Sylvain called Summer?
Fairly indifferent, he realized on a blink of surprise. For all her past filled with boyfriends, he couldn’t even imagine Summer leaving him for another man.
That wouldn’t be why she left him.
Tension recoiled, tight and deep. Why had his own mother left him? Life just too tough, and she’d preferred to ditch him and his father for the warmth and happiness she found back in her island home? She’d certainly found maternity too much to handle.
Insane Me, please, please, please leave me alone.
I need to be sane for this. I’ve got to be. I’m going to be a father.
And I’m still trying to figure out how to be a husband.
“So when are you coming to visit?” he asked Sylvain abruptly. “June in Provence. It’s a nice time to be down here.”
A tiny silence on the other end. They’d been on teams for contests representing France, they’d met in professional associations and worked on charity benefits together. But chefs rarely had time to hang out with other chefs over drinks, and they hadn’t ever even had dinner at one another’s homes until Cade had dragged Luc and Summer over there in her initial matchmaking attempts. So from there to acting as if a visit to Provence to see them was normal and expected was a bit of a leap.
“Lonely?” Sylvain asked, voice still chocolate-easy but sympathetic. “It’s a switch from Paris, isn’t it?”
Luc rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s for Summer. I think she needs, you know, female friends, right now.”
Another little silence, impossible to interpret. “Well, let’s see—lavender in bloom, the Mediterranean right there at your doorstep, and a pregnant cousin. I’m pretty sure Cade would be happy for us to take a trip. You’re not inviting Dom and Jaime, too, I hope?”
For some reason, out of the blue, Luc started to smile, and that one gesture made all the tension in him ease. “You know you love him.”
“I do not, merde .” A thumping noise on the other end of the connection, possibly Sylvain’s head against something.
Luc’s smile grew until it almost felt—relaxed. Enjoying himself. “It will be fun.”
Sylvain’s groan as he hung up was so expressive that Luc was actually grinning as he left his office. Things were starting to heat up a little as they got closer to lunch hour, Nico’s side swinging into full battle mode first, Luc’s in a half hour delay after. He poked his head in on Nico. “Good peach,” he murmured.
In under half an hour, standing at this spot between the main and pastry kitchens would be like standing between two battle zones, the insane clash of pans and flash of knives and flame on Nico’s side, and the more delicate, more intense, equally brutal work on Luc’s side, with its own clashes of pans and plenty of flaming torches, smoking liquid nitrogen, boiling caramel and oil. Right now, things were practically calm in comparison. Of course, it was all calm in comparison to a luxury hotel kitchen with a hundred cooks on staff. Over all, Luc liked this smaller kingdom, but sometimes his leftover adrenaline didn’t know what to do with itself.
Nico, his knife blurring through potatoes as fast as a hummingbird’s wing, gave him a quick, pleased smile, without even coming close to cutting his own fingers off or slowing his rhythm. “Yeah?”
“Summer liked it.”
“Aww.” Nico beamed. “Did I help feed the little baby? Damn. Makes a man feel good about himself, doesn’t it?”
It would, yes. If Luc ever managed it. “I don’t suppose you have any peanuts over here?”
Nico looked at him blankly. “I thought you said West African dishes didn’t go with our
Luc looked at his phone rather blankly. Calling another chef’s wife directly had never occurred to him as a possible means of communication before. How would he feel if Sylvain called Summer?
Fairly indifferent, he realized on a blink of surprise. For all her past filled with boyfriends, he couldn’t even imagine Summer leaving him for another man.
That wouldn’t be why she left him.
Tension recoiled, tight and deep. Why had his own mother left him? Life just too tough, and she’d preferred to ditch him and his father for the warmth and happiness she found back in her island home? She’d certainly found maternity too much to handle.
Insane Me, please, please, please leave me alone.
I need to be sane for this. I’ve got to be. I’m going to be a father.
And I’m still trying to figure out how to be a husband.
“So when are you coming to visit?” he asked Sylvain abruptly. “June in Provence. It’s a nice time to be down here.”
A tiny silence on the other end. They’d been on teams for contests representing France, they’d met in professional associations and worked on charity benefits together. But chefs rarely had time to hang out with other chefs over drinks, and they hadn’t ever even had dinner at one another’s homes until Cade had dragged Luc and Summer over there in her initial matchmaking attempts. So from there to acting as if a visit to Provence to see them was normal and expected was a bit of a leap.
“Lonely?” Sylvain asked, voice still chocolate-easy but sympathetic. “It’s a switch from Paris, isn’t it?”
Luc rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s for Summer. I think she needs, you know, female friends, right now.”
Another little silence, impossible to interpret. “Well, let’s see—lavender in bloom, the Mediterranean right there at your doorstep, and a pregnant cousin. I’m pretty sure Cade would be happy for us to take a trip. You’re not inviting Dom and Jaime, too, I hope?”
For some reason, out of the blue, Luc started to smile, and that one gesture made all the tension in him ease. “You know you love him.”
“I do not, merde .” A thumping noise on the other end of the connection, possibly Sylvain’s head against something.
Luc’s smile grew until it almost felt—relaxed. Enjoying himself. “It will be fun.”
Sylvain’s groan as he hung up was so expressive that Luc was actually grinning as he left his office. Things were starting to heat up a little as they got closer to lunch hour, Nico’s side swinging into full battle mode first, Luc’s in a half hour delay after. He poked his head in on Nico. “Good peach,” he murmured.
In under half an hour, standing at this spot between the main and pastry kitchens would be like standing between two battle zones, the insane clash of pans and flash of knives and flame on Nico’s side, and the more delicate, more intense, equally brutal work on Luc’s side, with its own clashes of pans and plenty of flaming torches, smoking liquid nitrogen, boiling caramel and oil. Right now, things were practically calm in comparison. Of course, it was all calm in comparison to a luxury hotel kitchen with a hundred cooks on staff. Over all, Luc liked this smaller kingdom, but sometimes his leftover adrenaline didn’t know what to do with itself.
Nico, his knife blurring through potatoes as fast as a hummingbird’s wing, gave him a quick, pleased smile, without even coming close to cutting his own fingers off or slowing his rhythm. “Yeah?”
“Summer liked it.”
“Aww.” Nico beamed. “Did I help feed the little baby? Damn. Makes a man feel good about himself, doesn’t it?”
It would, yes. If Luc ever managed it. “I don’t suppose you have any peanuts over here?”
Nico looked at him blankly. “I thought you said West African dishes didn’t go with our
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