Josie smiled. “She sort of reminds me of Aunt Lucille, so warm and friendly.” She paused and stared at him. “You’re frowning again. Any time I mention Aunt Lucille lately you get this funny look.”
“Do not.”
“Do, too. I’m your sister and I know a frown on you when I see one. You’re thinking about that girl you met New Year’s Eve again, aren’t you? Her name was Lucie.”
“No.” His denial was adamant. “Besides, I asked you not to bring her up again.” He’d made his case, given Lucie time, and apparently she wasn’t interested. Nothing gained, nothing lost … although Aren hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind.
Josie simply shook her head, Aren noted, indicating she didn’t think it was worth squabbling about. If they were going to argue about anything it should be Josie and her nonrelationship with Jack. His sister did a good job of hiding her broken heart but Aren wasn’t fooled. She was miserable and far too proud to admit it. He didn’t understand how two people who loved each other to the point of getting close to exchanging vows would suddenly decide to call it quits. Apparently, as the time for the wedding drew close, they’d both gotten cold feet. They’d argued and now stubbornness had taken over common sense.
“Are we going to bicker or look at the menu?” Josie asked, opening the menu. “What looks good to you?”
“I’m in the mood for fish.” Aren scanned the seafood section and found it diverse and impressive. The Dover sole served with beurre blanc sauce appealed to him. “That sauce can be tricky and is a good test of a chef’s expertise.” So was seafood, which so many restaurants tended to overcook.
“Did you hear that?” Will said triumphantly. “The woman with Aren is his sister.”
“And he’s still thinking about Lucie.” This was going to work out better than they’d planned. Mercy could see it already. She watched as brother and sister bantered back and forth, obviously good friends as well as siblings. After a few minutes, she glanced around and discovered Will was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Will?” Shirley asked.
“I’m here,” he said, returning from some unknown destination. Mercy felt it was necessary to explain that it was important that they all stay together, and when she finished she discovered Shirley had disappeared as well.
“Now where’s Shirley?”
——
“The waitress is friendly and helpful,” Aren told his sister. Heavenly Delights was turning out to be everything it promised. If the food was as good as reported, he would gladly write up a favorable review. To this point he found it to be a pleasant dining experience, but the true test, as with every restaurant, was the food.
Several people had contacted the newspaper about this up-and-coming restaurant that had captured the attention of Brooklyn diners. The number of recommendations had been impressive enough for the editor to put it at the top of the list. But in Aren’s experience, many restaurants that came highly touted often didn’t live up to the hype. It was his job to notice the details most diners overlooked. It was like a singer who was gifted with perfect pitch. To anyone else a performer might sound fabulous, but someone with a good ear would instantly recognize when a note was even the slightest bit off key. Aren felt he had “perfect pitch” when it came to restaurants and food.
To this point everything met with his satisfaction. The restaurant was clean. The staff efficient without being intrusive, repeating the specials of the day without needing to refer to notes. Their wine order was taken and water glasses were promptly filled. A few minutes after their wine was served, freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, was delivered to their table. Almost as soon as they set their menus aside their server came for their order. Ah, yes, this restaurant did show promise.
Aren and his sister sipped their wine and after just the right amount of time their meal arrived. His sole was artfully arranged on the plate with small dollops of whipped potatoes in golden toasted swirls. The vegetable was roasted asparagus topped with lemon zest.
“Oh my, that does look delicious.” His sister eyed his plate appreciatively.
“Yours does, too.” Josie had ordered the chicken Parmesan. The chicken had been fried to a lovely brown and topped with a blend of Italian cheeses. The meal was served with a side of spaghetti covered in a rich, red marinara sauce. Her dinner included both a side salad and toasted garlic bread. The scent of the warm bread and garlic was like an aphrodisiac. It was far too easy to overdo the garlic. The kitchen hadn’t.
“My compliments to the chef.” Josie reached for her fork.
“You haven’t tasted your dinner yet,” he chastised.
“Well, my goodness, if it tastes even half as good as it smells, I’ll be in heaven.”
Aren grinned and rolled his eyes. Looks could be deceiving.
“Speaking of the chef.”
Aren raised his hand, stopping her. “Don’t mention the name.”
Josie set her fork aside. “Why not?”
“It’s better I not know, otherwise it might influence my opinion. I’ve seen too many others in my line of work be influenced by a cooking celebrity.” He didn’t dare say anything that would indicate to anyone within hearing distance that he wrote for the Gazette. Aren judged the food. Not the reputation. Not the number of cookbooks published and certainly not the fame. What mattered to him was the food and the overall dining experience.
“You haven’t tasted your dinner yet,” Josie said.
Filled with anticipation, Aren reached for his fork. The sole was cooked perfectly. His mouth watered with eagerness to sample his first bite. He closed his eyes, expecting sheer delight.
Delight wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the sole. In fact, it took restraint not to spit it out. Only by sheer willpower did he manage to swallow his food.
In a word the sole was dreadful. The beurre blanc sauce was salty to the point that it ruined the entire dish. Apparently the chef realized the mistake and overcompensated with lemon, which left an acidic flavor so powerful he nearly puckered his lips. If that wasn’t bad enough, he distinctly tasted cayenne pepper. The only thing he considered edible was the asparagus, which was cooked to perfection. Unfortunately, everything else on his plate wasn’t fit for human consumption.
This meal was a serious disappointment. By contrast his sister seemed to savor every bite.
“Is something wrong with your dinner, sir?” the waitperson asked as she removed Josie’s empty plate. Unable to force himself to swallow a second bite of the fish, Aren’s plate remained basically untouched except for the one bite of sole, potatoes, and asparagus. Even the potatoes were off, so heavily buttered that their natural flavor was lost.
“No, everything is fine.” Aren forced himself to smile. In other circumstances he would have returned the plate to the kitchen and refused to pay.
“Could I interest you in dessert?” the waiter asked. “We’ve got a reputation for our wonderful desserts. I highly recommend our sea salt caramel mousse.”
“Salted mousse?” Aren repeated. Apparently the chef had a love affair with the salt shaker. Frankly he’d had all he could take. Nothing sweet would redeem this restaurant. He’d already gone through one glass of wine and two glasses of water in an effort to remove the foul taste from his mouth.
“I will,” Josie volunteered, far too eagerly, in his opinion.
“I’ll take a bite of hers,” Aren said.
His sister ordered the mousse and to be completely fair, Aren gave it a taste and it wasn’t half bad. He’d sampled others that were comparable but this chef way overdid the salt. This could be a health hazard to diners with high blood pressure or on a low-salt diet. The menu should come with a warning, which he planned to mention in his review.
“Aren didn’t like his dinner,” Will moaned.
“You don’t know that.”
Goodness was such an optimist. Even Mercy could see that Aren hadn’t taken more than one small bite of the fish. He’d scrunched up his face
as if he’d bitten into a lemon and hardly tasted anything else afterward. He’d returned his plate to the kitchen practically untouched.
“His sister ate her dinner.”
A suspicion began to brew in Mercy’s mind. Each one of her friends had disappeared for short amounts of time. Could it be … was it possible …? Surely they wouldn’t tamper with the food.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Will was more than a little upset and continued to rub his palms together as he mulled over the situation.
“Will, you vanished for a few moments just after Aren ordered the sole.”
“Hmmm, yeah.”
“Can you tell me where you went?”
“Ah …”
“You visited the kitchen, didn’t you?”
“Ah …”
Enough said, that was exactly what Will had done. “You didn’t by chance happen to add a bit of salt to the beurre blanc sauce, did you?”
Will shrugged and then reluctantly admitted to the deed. “Perhaps a little, but just a few shakes. All I was looking to do was heighten the natural flavors.”
“You added salt?” Shirley cried, tossing her hands into the air. “How could you?”
“I was only trying to help,” Will muttered.
“I fear Will wasn’t the only one,” Goodness confessed. “I added a little extra lemon.”
Almost afraid to ask, Mercy looked to Shirley.
“Seeing that red spice, I thought to brighten up the dish a bit,” the former Guardian Angel admitted. “And while I was there I might have stirred in a bit of this and that.”
“Oh dear.” Mercy’s shoulders sank. This was even worse than she’d assumed.
“What about you?” Will asked.
Mercy exhaled slowly and admitted she’d taken part in this, too. “Guilty as charged.”
“We all added extra spice to that wonderful sauce.” Will started to wring his hands. “We’ve ruined everything. Aren won’t have any choice but to write a scathing review. People will read it; it won’t be just the printed version either. Aren’s review will go online and soon it’ll be all over the Internet.”
“Lucie and her mother will be ruined,” Goodness cried. “Their business will go down in flames. Wendy’s entire life’s savings will dwindle away bit by bit and the two of them will lose everything. They won’t be able to pay their bills and will end up living on the streets, homeless and alone, and it will be my fault.”
“And mine,” Shirley wailed.
“We’ve ruined their lives.” Goodness was close to tears.
Mercy waved her arms, silencing her friends. “We have bigger worries than what’s going to happen to Lucie and her mother.”
“You mean there’s more?” Will cried.
“You mean it gets worse?”
With profound sadness Mercy nodded. “Much worse.”
Goodness cupped her mouth. “What more could happen?”
Mercy didn’t hold back. “Gabriel is going to find out what we did.”
Her two friends and Will gasped in horror.
“We’ve really done it this time. Moving a few aircraft carriers around is nothing compared to tampering with Lucie’s sauce.”
“This is the end for sure,” Shirley wailed.
“Did I hear one of you mention my name?” All at once Gabriel stood before them. He’d never looked more daunting, or unapproachable. His massive arms were crossed over his chest as he frowned down upon them.
Will scooted closer to Mercy. Shirley and Goodness crowded her sides as the four made themselves as small as possible.
“What happened here?” he demanded.
No one spoke.
“I asked you a question.” His voice seemed to boom and ricochet around the restaurant. It was a wonder no human heard him, although the walls felt as if they’d buckled with the power of his words.
“We tried to help Lucie impress Aren.” Mercy’s voice sounded as if she’d been tossed into a deep well. It echoed in her ears high-pitched and tinny.
“By adding salt, lemon, and cayenne to the sauce and a bit of extra butter to the potatoes?”
So he already knew.
“I’m afraid so.”
“What can we do to make this right?” Will asked. The dear boy really was concerned.
“It’s too late for that. Aren is going to write a review that isn’t the least bit favorable.” Gabriel didn’t pull any punches.
“Will it affect their business?”
“It will have the potential to destroy this restaurant. The New York Gazette can do that, you know.”
“Oh, no,” Goodness groaned. She had such a tender heart. Mercy knew that her friend would never forgive herself if Lucie and her mother lost the restaurant because of what they’d done.
“We were only trying to help,” Shirley said. “Please tell me that we can go back and undo what just happened.”
Sadness rimmed Gabriel’s eyes. “You know you can’t.”
“But in heaven …”
“This is Earth and we are bound by the frailties of a fallen world. There’s no undo button, no delete key. It is what it is.”
“What’s going to happen?” Mercy pleaded. Gabriel had the gift of being able to look into the future. Unfortunately, that was a skill they didn’t possess.
Gabriel sadly shook his head. “I think it might be best to wait and let you discover this for yourself. The four of you broke one of the cardinal rules of being Prayer Ambassadors.”
“We stepped in to help,” Goodness confessed.
“Our role is to guide.”
“We have a hands-off directive.”
“Now you will see for yourself what happens when you overstep in giving aid to humans.”
“But our intentions were good.”
“Intentions,” Gabriel repeated. “Intentions, my young man, are pavement along the road to destruction.”
“But—”
“This will be a painful lesson for you all.”
Mercy dreaded what was sure to happen next. “We’re banished from Earth, aren’t we?” Never again would they be allowed to visit humans. They might even lose their status as Prayer Ambassadors and be stripped of their wings. The thought was almost more than she could bear to consider.
Gabriel’s gaze focused on the four. “Have you learned your lesson?”
All four nodded simultaneously.
“Can you promise not to interfere in human affairs again?”
“I promise,” Will lamented. “I’ll never add salt to another dish as long as I serve the Lord.”
“Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy.” Gabriel turned his attention to the three of them. “You know better.”
They hung their heads, their wings drooping so that the tips brushed against the floor.
“What about Aren and Lucie?” Mercy felt she had to know how best to help these two … guide them, that is. She and her colleagues were responsible for messing up God’s plan. The least they could do was make things right, if possible.
“Ah, yes,” Gabriel mused aloud. “Aren and Lucie. Well, my friends, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens next.”
Horrified by the review of Heavenly Delights in the New York Gazette, Lucie crunched up the newspaper and then immediately stomped on it. She’d read it multiple times, searching for a glimmer of something positive. Anything that could be considered constructive, but there was nothing. An encouraging word simply wasn’t to be found. The restaurant had been panned by Eaton Well. The review had been scathing, sarcastic, and that was only the first paragraph. It got worse from that point on. This review was disastrous and had the potential to ruin them.
“Sweetheart, are you reading it again?” her mother asked.
Lucie slammed her foot down on the crumpled-up newspaper and ground it back and forth as if putting out a cigarette butt. This was what she’d like to do to the reviewer, squish him like the roach he was. The man or woman was a parasite. A bug that needed to be ex
terminated. Eaton Well had been completely unfair, mocking her food, belittling her talent, and even going so far as to suggest she give up cooking entirely.
“Lucie, Lucie, sweetie, let it go.” Wendy placed a restraining hand on her daughter’s arm. “Don’t let that ridiculous article upset you so much.”
Her mother remained cool and calm, which served only to infuriate Lucie more. Apparently her gentle-hearted, optimistic mother didn’t understand what this might do to their restaurant. This could be the beginning of the end.
Wendy seemed to take this horrible review in her stride, whereas Lucie was at the boiling point, but then she’d been the brunt of much of the printed piece.
“You’re taking this much too seriously,” Wendy warned.
Lucie stared at her mother. Wendy had always been the optimist in the family, the one who never failed to find something good in any situation. When her mother had first read the review, Wendy had actually suggested that the reviewer must have had a bad day. The poor reporter was probably on a deadline and hadn’t taken time to enjoy his meal.
“Don’t you understand that a review like this could ruin us?” If Lucie had said it once, she’d said it ten times, but apparently the words had yet to sink into her mother’s head.
“Perhaps so, but personally I don’t think we need to worry.” Wendy poured hot tea into her cup and blew onto the steaming liquid before she took a sip. “We haven’t seen a decline in reservations, have we?”
“How could we?” Lucie snapped. “The review is less than twenty-four hours old. Mom, don’t you understand? Readers pay attention to these restaurant reviews. Even if we manage to survive, this has the potential to set us back for years.” Lucie didn’t want to be negative, but one of them had to be realistic. To be reviewed in its own right was a big deal. With literally thousands of restaurants to choose from, to have Eaton Well dine at their establishment meant Heavenly Delights had caused something of a stir. Enough to warrant the Gazette’s attention.
Angels at the Table: A Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy Christmas Story Page 5
