Andrew tapped the bell at the window and shoved two more plates of the daily special under the heat lamp, giving her a wink before turning back to the cooktop. Kelly’s dad barked an order, and Andrew hopped to it without a single grumble. Andrew loved being in the kitchen as much as he loved her, and she loved watching him cook.
Kelly spotted the Yorks as they walked in. There was no mistaking Andrew’s father. Except for slight graying at the temples, father and son looked just alike. Tall, athletic, with wide lean-on-me shoulders, light brown hair and green eyes. His mom wore her signature cowboy boots, jeans and pearls with that ever-present smile and an air of kindness you could sense a mile away.
“Good evening. How are y’all doing tonight?” They weren’t big talkers most of the time.
Mr. York gave her a nod.
Mrs. York said, “It’s so good to see you. We’re doing great.”
“Follow me. I’ll get you seated.” She grabbed two menus as she passed the register.
“Thank you, Kelly,” Mrs. York said with a smile.
“I might recommend the savory fried pork tenderloin,” she said as she seated them in a booth. The pork tenderloin wasn’t only the special on tonight’s menu, but it was one of her favorites of Andrew’s recipes. When Andrew’s dad tasted that, he’d have to finally admit his boy really did have a future as a chef, something he hadn’t been supportive of.
“Works for me,” Mr. York said.
Andrew’s mom scoured the menu, which was funny because she always ordered whatever her husband was having. “Let’s keep it simple. I’ll have the same.”
“Great. I’ll be right back with your sweet teas.” She walked over to the kitchen window and waved toward Andrew. “This is your parents’ order.”
Andrew gave her a half smile.
“Wait right there.” He handed a dish through the window. “Appetizer. Not on the menu. For my folks.”
“This looks delicious.” She took the platter. “You’re so thoughtful. I love you for that, you know.”
“I do what I can.” He swept at his brow.
Were the beads of sweat on his forehead from the heat of the kitchen or his parents’ arrival? She couldn’t blame him for being nervous; she was too.
The trio platter had Andrew’s homemade pimento cheese, a heaping serving of made-from-scratch hushpuppies, and a spicy bean salsa that he’d been tweaking for over two weeks. “We might have to add this to our future menus.” Whenever they perfected a recipe, she’d laminate it and put it in their binder full of recipes they’d use in the restaurant they’d someday own together. This looked worthy of the appetizer section.
He nodded toward the dining room. “If Dad likes it, it’ll please anyone.”
“They’ll love it. Don’t you worry.” She zipped by her other tables to deliver the appetizer.
His dad raised his head. “We didn’t order that.”
“On the house,” she said as cheerfully as possible. “I think you’ll like it.”
He scowled and muttered something about not ruining his dinner with filler that she pretended to ignore. Mrs. York dove right into the platter.
Thankfully, when she brought out his dinner, he seemed much more ready to indulge. “How did you enjoy the appetizers?” she asked.
“Fabulous!” Mrs. York said.
Mr. York glanced at the near-empty dish. “Never was one much for hushpuppies, but everything on that plate was good. Probably won’t be able to finish my dinner now.”
“No worries. We can box your leftovers if needed.”
The cafe was busy, but she kept an extra-close eye on their table to be sure to get their dessert to them before they asked for it. When she did, Mr. York didn’t even complain.
“Can I get anything else for you two tonight?” she asked.
“No,” Mr. York said quickly, then rubbed his stomach.
Mrs. York placed her hand atop her husband’s across the table and softly said, “Not a thing, darling. Thank you so much. That was the best cake. So moist. And all those layers? It had to take hours to prepare. You’re an amazing baker.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Kelly heard Andrew say behind her.
She turned and reached for his hand. “Hey.”
His blue button-down shirt was wrinkled from where the apron had been tied against it for hours in the steamy kitchen. “My special girl.” He pulled her in close.
She resisted the urge to kiss him right there in front of his parents. “Thank you.” As she held his gaze, she knew he was thinking the same thing at that moment.
Kelly turned back to his parents. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” A customer across the way was waving her down. “I need to get their check to them. Excuse me.” She left, but she had one ear cast toward their table. Call it female intuition, but every nerve in her body was on alert. Something was up.
She heard his mother’s giggle, followed by, “Tell him, honey.”
“I thought you wanted to tell him. Aunt Claire is your aunt.” His voice was impatient.
“What’s going on?” Andrew asked.
“Aunt Claire called tonight,” his mother said. “You know how excited she’s been about your cooking and all. Well, she’s lined up the opportunity for you to go to Paris to study under one of the best pastry chefs in the world.”
“What?” Andrew’s voice carried across the cafe. Kelly glanced over. He looked flat-out dumbfounded. “But I’m not a baker. Kelly is the baker. I’m a chef. There’s a difference, Mom.”
“You’re no chef, just a short-order cook. But maybe you’ll be as good as Kelly when you get back,” his dad said. “With any luck.”
Kelly gulped. What was wrong with that man? Insulting his own son like that? Andrew had a natural talent in the kitchen. It was something to be proud of. Andrew
