“Girl, you always were my hero.” Andrew shook his head. “I wondered why her coffee wasn’t doing the trick. This morning I saw the label. Decaf? What’s the point?”
“Exactly!” She took down two mismatched coffee mugs. “How do you take yours?”
“Black, but I’ll use that half and half for the omelets.”
“Now we’re talking.” She poured the coffee and leaned against the counter, watching him cook.
“Do you really have to leave on Monday? Or are you just trying to keep the trip short? Ya know…”
“Because Dad and I can’t do anything but argue?” Andrew finished her sentence.
“Yeah. That.”
“You’re not going to believe this, but we’re getting along great.”
“Really?” Dawn pushed her mug aside and placed her hand on his arm. “That’s great, Andrew. I’m so glad. He really has mellowed a lot the last couple of years.”
“I probably have too.” He pressed his hands against the counter. “I really thought we’d never have a relationship again. I’m glad I was wrong.”
“Stay longer. Please.”
“I can’t. I have to be in New York on the seventh. It’s a nine-hour drive, so I have to leave the day before. I can’t arrive dead on my feet.”
“You came all the way from Paris to help some friend open a restaurant?”
“Yeah, but it’s turned out to be so much more. I’m so glad this trip fell into my lap.” He wanted to tell her the real reason so badly.
“He must be a good friend. What exactly is it that you’re going to do for him?”
He kept his attention on breakfast. Dawn would see right through him if he made eye contact. “I’ll do whatever he needs me to do.” He poured the egg mixture into the pan, pretending to concentrate on the omelet. She always asked a million questions. It was hard to not tell her the truth.
“This is just so out of character for you. One…to just drop in unannounced. Two…to not have a plan. You always have a plan.”
Same old Dawn. Nothing got past her. “Maybe I’ve loosened up a little.”
“Or you’re just playing it close to your chest. This restaurateur wouldn’t happen to be a woman, would she?”
He laughed out loud. “No. There’s no woman waiting for me in New York. End of story.”
“Did you meet this chef friend in Paris?”
“I did. We went to culinary school together.”
“But unlike you, this guy finished his training and then came back home.”
He knew exactly where she was going with that. “He did.”
“Why haven’t you come back?” Her eyebrow lifted. “The studying I get, but you finished all that years ago. You’ve proven yourself, and this is home. Don’t you remember all the good times we had here?”
“I do. We had a great childhood.” He flipped the potatoes in the pan and removed them from the heat.
His phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket, thankful for the interruption. “Sorry. Have to take this.” He turned his back to her and put the phone to his ear. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s a mess. I fired that good-for-nothing—” Francois, his boss and mentor for the past seven years, was up in arms again.
Andrew backed the phone from his ear. That man had a set of lungs on him. Much worse over the phone where there wasn’t a loud kitchen to tone him down. “What happened?”
“He went off menu complètement,” Francois said in his own mix of English and French. “Qui pense-t-il être?”
Andrew heard the clatter of pans. François was on another rampage. He hated that he wasn’t there to shield his team from Francois’ wrath.
“Sneaky. Defiant. Ungrateful. He’s sabotaging my business!”
Occasionally Andrew would offer advice, but he’d learned early on Francois didn’t want that, and it usually left Andrew in the wake of the angry explosion too. He kept his opinion to himself.
“I fired him on the spot.”
Great. Francois was talking about Victor. He’d only been with them a few months, but he was a great asset to the team. He’d warned Victor to stick to the menu.
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Thankfully, Francois bid adieu and disconnected the call. No doubt when Andrew got back in town, Francois would want him to rehire him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Andrew turned down the ringer on his phone and set it aside.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “What were we saying?” He shook off the remnants of the call. “Oh yeah, opening a restaurant in the United States. It’s just different. You wouldn’t understand.”
Dawn must’ve picked up on his mood shift. As loud as Francois had screamed and bellowed, she may have even heard the conversation.
“Here’s what I do understand. You’ve earned your stripes. You’ve done the training. You’ve proven yourself. If you have dreams, then make them happen. None of us knows what tomorrow will bring.”
“That was deep.”
She slapped him on the arm. “Shut up. It’s sincere. Mom and Dad are getting older. Things are changing. Even this town is changing, even though most of us would’ve been happy for it to stay the same forever. Maybe you’ll bring a little something special and different back here.” She cocked her shoulder. “What about your dream of owning a restaurant?”
“I still plan to do that. I’ve saved quite a bit of money.”
“I guess you have. Aunt Claire seems to love having you in the guest house.”
“She does put me to work when she has parties, but I don’t mind. It’s a nice trade-off. I’m just waiting for the right time and opportunity.”
“Sometimes you have to make your own opportunities.” She leaned in closer. “There are opportunities here too. You can make your dreams happen anywhere. Why not here? Don’t say anything. Just tuck it under your toque.”
“I don’t wear a toque.”
“I thought all the famous chefs did,” she said, poking him in the ribs as she moved by.
“I’m famous enough to do what I want.”
He was so close to telling her why he was really back in the States, but he couldn’t. Not after putting his whole career at risk by leaving on such short
