“Unless I’m mistaken,” Sophie said, reaching with a motherly hand to help smooth it back, “you haven’t had time for a cut.”
“That’s true. I should have gotten one in Chicago. There was a painfully hip-looking salon two blocks from Caterina’s place.”
“There are painfully hip salons near your place.”
“Yes, but I’m feeling rather short of time now.” I took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m just a little nutters, don’t mind me. Do you have an elastic, by any chance?”
Sophie dug through her purse. “I have a ribbon—it’s left over from some project of Chloé’s.”
“I’m desperate. I’ll take it.” I took the ribbon from her outstretched hand and used it to tie my hair back. “There.”
“Feel better?”
“Much better.” I shot her a grateful smile. “Occam’s razor—the simplest solution is the best solution.” I looked back out at the scene in front of us. “And I think I know what to do in here.”
Over the next hour, I took measurements and made plans before getting on the phone.
There was too much clutter for us to handle on our own, but before we even began to move things, there had to be a place to move them to.
Nico and I had already had a discussion about renting a storage unit for the furniture and equipment at Two Blue Doors while the repairs were underway, so within a short period of time I located a storage facility with two units large enough to hold the items from Two Blue Doors and the D’Alisa & Elle banquet rooms.
The second step involved Post-it notes. Sophie and I went through the tables, chairs, screens, and other decorative items that we wanted to keep, and marked them with notes.
She left to pick up Chloé from Grace’s house, and I called Nico, who called the rest of the restaurant staff.
I gave Mario, the chef that night, a heads-up, and ordered a platter of crostini, polenta rounds with tomatoes, and a bottle of wine, charging it to the family account. By the time everyone arrived, I had a picnic set up in the center of the room.
There were hugs all around, even between Adrian and myself. He held my hands in his for a moment. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. It was good to see him. There was still affection between us, I could feel it.
But it was different than what Neil and I had. With Adrian, it was a spark, a connection. With Neil?
A full-on tractor beam.
The moment with Adrian didn’t last long, not with the full staff and a selection of appetizers. Soon enough we were all seated on the floor, talking with our mouths full—and I was the worst offender.
“The segment about the restaurant will air on the news tonight,” I explained. “Who knows what they’ll cut, but all of you need to know that Nico and I are committed to keeping the restaurant open and making sure you all have work.”
The air was already relaxed, but I swear I heard several exhalations of relief.
“The holidays are hard enough without looking for temporary work. Yes, we will be closed for a few days, but the plan is to open back up in these rooms for the Christmas Eve dinner seating.”
“What about lunch?” Mallory asked.
“We’ll do lunch for a week or two and monitor the numbers. What we don’t want to do is hurt the D’Alisa daily takes. What the D’Alisa doesn’t do is brunch, and we’ll give it a try on the weekends. The menu,” I continued, “will be a little bit different. We’ll have a limited number of the D’Alisa’s most popular menu items available.”
“And desserts?” Clementine asked.
“Desserts are going to synergize the other way. Clementine, you’ll make larger batches and we’ll make your desserts available downstairs as well. In the end, both restaurants benefit.”
Clementine nodded. “I can do that.”
“You’ll have access to the pastry station of the downstairs kitchen,” I told her. “The rest of the kitchen crew will use the upstairs catering kitchen.”
Nico clasped his hands together. “The food storage is smaller but we should be fine.”
“The biggest task,” I said, “is putting half of this stuff in storage and setting up the rest.”
“It’s a challenge,” Adrian said with a grin. “Whadya say we get started?”
~ POLENTA ROUNDS WITH CHERRY TOMATOES AND ROASTED GARLIC ~
Grapeseed or olive oil
2 18-ounce logs of polenta
Coarse salt and pepper to taste
1 dry pint cherry tomatoes
1½ tablespoons jarred roasted, chopped garlic
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped fine
1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
4 ounces shredded parmesan cheese
Preheat your oven broiler to high. Line a baking sheet with foil, and spray lightly with oil. Slice the polenta logs into ¼-inch-thick rounds. Place the rounds onto the baking sheet, spray the tops lightly with the oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Place under the broiler, about 5 minutes, flip gently, and broil another 5 minutes. Allow rounds to drain on paper towels and cool. If not using immediately, refrigerate and reheat later in a 375°F oven for about 5 minutes, or until the rounds are just sizzling.
In a food processor, lightly pulse the tomatoes. Move tomatoes to a mixing bowl, and stir together with the garlic, basil, and vinegar. Salt and pepper to taste. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
To assemble, use a slotted spoon to place a small amount of the tomato mixture onto each polenta round (you may want to drain some of the liquid ahead of time). Top with parmesan cheese and serve.
Makes about 26 rounds.
It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others.
—M. F. K. FISHER
In the end, we pushed the tables around the outside and sprinkled a couple in the middle. We found a room divider shoved into a corner and unfolded it to create a narrower entryway. It felt more intimate that way, walking in, as if you were walking into a cozy room rather than a space at the top of some stairs.
Having everyone together made quick work of it. After the loss we’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours, being able to have a plan kept everyone in high spirits.
Still, it was far from a full workday, and everyone but me and Nico headed out by nine.
Once again, the work reverted to Nico and me. Nico would be drawing up the hybrid menu, keeping the ingredients streamlined. He and the kitchen staff would do a practice run Tuesday, making sure that everyone had the flow worked out. The last thing we needed was to have a successful reopening thwarted by a slow, clumsy kitchen. They’d need to be able to execute each dish as quickly as if they were in their home kitchen, and be able to throw in the new-to-them D’Alisa & Elle dishes as well.
As for me, I’d be running the marketing and PR, as well as having the new menus printed and training the servers. Since I’d fired Hannah, we were still down one. But my dad had a lunch server, Tory, who’d recently asked to switch to the dinner seating.
“Everything go well with the insurance guy?” I asked Nico at the end of the day, leaning against the wall and surveying the room.
“As well as it could, I guess. Dad was there. We’ll get the old girl back together, but it’ll take time. This”—he nodded toward the room—“this is a good idea.” He slung an arm around my shoulders. “And by ‘good idea,’ I mean ‘this will keep us in business, and thank you.’ ”
I put my head on his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
“What would I do without you?”
“You’d think of something. I did have another idea, about the repairs.”
“Yeah?”
“Since it’s all being repaired, it’s a good time to update. And I think you should consider converting the second floor.”
He turned to face me, eyes wide. “What?”
“The second floor. Loo
k, we’ve been squeezing diners in as full as good taste and the fire marshal will allow.”
“We’ve met him.”
“Yes, lovely man. It’s been tight, is what I’m saying. So if we’re doing the repairs, we might as well expand the seating.”
“Where will you live?”
“I…don’t know.”
“What about Clementine?”
“I haven’t talked to her about it yet. But she’s got steady work now, so she’ll be fine.”
“Does this have to do with you and Neil being back together?”
“He and I haven’t discussed it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not.”
“We’re back together, but we haven’t spent as much as two hours together. But you’re getting distracted,” I told him. “Think of the seating!”
“Where’s he living? After his gig at OHSU?”
“Atlanta.”
“Direct flight, at least.” He looked at me. “It’s a good idea.”
“I haven’t run it by Dad yet.”
“He’ll like it,” Nico conceded. “I’ll miss you.”
“There aren’t any plans, you big lug.”
“Not yet there aren’t. Are you going to go see him?”
“That was my plan,” I said.
“Then I won’t get in the way of true love.”
I gave him a cheeky smile. “You’re the best.”
A couple texts, and I got into my car to drive to Neil’s place. I parked on the street and walked to the front doors of his apartment building, my heart thudding hard. A man walked out just then. Coincidence? Providence? I didn’t ask but simply slipped through the open door, looking like I knew exactly where I was going.
An elevator ride later, I found myself on Neil’s doorstep.
Now or never. I rapped on the door before my courage failed altogether.
Footsteps, and the door swung open.
“Juliette!” Neil said, surprise and happiness coloring his voice. “How did you—”
“Tarissa,” I said, still breathless. He looked wonderful, standing there dressed in moss-colored corduroy pants and that ivory knit fisherman’s sweater with a high collar. He looked wonderful, and I stood there with a flushed face, sounding as though I’d climbed the stairs. “I asked Tarissa.”
“Come in,” he said, swinging the door wider. “Do you want to take your coat off?”
“I—I want to go with you.”
Neil closed the door behind me, his face intense. “What?”
“When you leave Portland. When you move to Atlanta—I want to go with you.”
He said nothing, just stared at me.
“I mean, if you want me to,” I said, panic rising. “But I love you, and I think you might love me, and if we want a chance, just a chance for this to work out—”
Neil pulled me into his arms and silenced me with a kiss.
“Yes,” he said some time later, sounding as breathless as I had. “I don’t want us to let go of each other again.”
“Never,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “Never ever.”
The tears fell, but Neil kissed them away. And then we were lost again, our kisses becoming assurances of love, relief, and joy.
“We should probably talk details,” I said, threading my hands into Neil’s thick, gingery hair.
His hands tightened on my waist. “That sounds like the adult thing to do.”
“I’m serious!” I said, though my eyes closed again as Neil pressed a kiss high on my cheekbone.
A brush of lips against mine, and he stepped back. “Hi.”
I looked up at him, my grin stretching stupidly across my face. “Hi.”
“I’ll have to thank Tarissa for sharing my address. Though I would have given it to you if I knew you’d wanted it.”
“I didn’t know if I’d lose my nerve on the way.”
I felt his smile against my cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I’ve just never told a guy that I wanted to, you know, move with him.”
Another kiss from Neil. I kissed him back before stepping away. “You’ll distract me again.”
He gave a rueful chuckle. “I’ll distract you? I find you extremely distracting.” He caressed my shoulders with care. “What if we take this to the patio?” he suggested. “Can I offer you some coffee? I just started a pot of decaf before you knocked.”
“No wonder this place smells so good.” I turned to take in his apartment for the first time. “That view!” I walked toward his patio, pressing my hands to the glass. “The bridge, the river—it’s amazing!” Soft rain fell just past the covered patio. “Are you sure about sitting outside, though?”
“I have a system,” he said. He poured coffee for the two of us before tipping his head toward the patio.
I stepped outside, and he followed me out, blankets in hand. I watched in fascination as he took one and plugged it into the outdoor outlet.
“Electric blanket. You’re a genius.”
He winked at me. “You’re welcome.”
We sat together on the rattan settee. It felt cold at first, but the wiring of the electric blanket began to warm and stay trapped beneath the second fleece blanket. I wrapped my hands around the coffee and snuggled closer to Neil. “This is nice.”
He looked at me. “Better than nice, I’d say.” His arm stretched across my shoulders. “Fall term ends tomorrow,” he said. “The position at Biogen starts next month, on the nineteenth.”
I nodded, thinking. “Okay.”
“I’m not questioning you,” he said, fingering the ends of my hair, “but are you sure you can leave Two Blue Doors?”
“Two Blue Doors is going to be in the midst of repairs for a while,” I began, before explaining our plans at D’Alisa & Elle.
“Impressive,” Neil said, lifting his mug to clink with mine. He drained the rest in a few gulps and set it aside.
“I think it’ll work. And if not, we gave it our royal best.” I took a sip of my coffee. “I told Nico to convert the apartment to seating. It just seemed…time.” I set my cup down. “I’m not here because I’m homeless. I’m here because I finally figured out that you’re my home. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
“There’s just one of Two Blue Doors.”
I sighed. “I…I think they were the doors I needed to walk through to get here. It was a place to figure out that I really am good at what I do. I got my confidence back, and I’m grateful for that.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “But now that I’ve done that, I want to find you too.”
“I love you.”
I smiled into his sweater. “I love you back. There is one other thing: the post-Christmas trip to the chateau we were planning before the fire, before Grand-tante Cécile passed away.”
“Cécile? I didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry—Sandrine called during family dinner, the night of the fire.”
Neil rubbed his thumb against my head in a soothing gesture. “You’ve had a time of it.”
“That I have.”
“You’ve got to be exhausted.”
“Somewhere between exhausted and wired. Probably something you experienced in medical school.”
Neil gave a soft laugh. “Something I see in class most days.”
“The trip is from the fourth to the twelfth. After the holidays, the restaurant load lightens. I’ve trained Mallory to manage the front of the house, and she’s good. Adrian’s capable of running the kitchen, and Mario will probably enjoy having my dad away. With my mom gone, we need something happy. And now Sandrine needs it too.”
“I want to go with you,” Neil said.
“Are you sure? Can you spare the time?”
“It’s between classes and the start of my job. Absolutely. Especially if I’m packed before the trip.”
“We could go from Montagnac to Atlanta together. We wouldn’t have to part ways at the airport again.”
Words hung in the ai
r alongside the misty fractions of raindrops.
“What if…,” I began, but my mouth dried out too much to continue.
Neil reached for my hand, cradling it within his own. “Marry me, Juliette? Provence, Atlanta—let’s get married and face those adventures together. Always, together.”
I caught my breath. “You mean that?”
Neil rose from the settee, and I froze as I watched him kneel. “I love you, Juliette. I love you with everything I am.” His voice wavered, but I didn’t question that he meant every word, every letter. “We can get married here. We can get married in Provence. We can elope to Vegas.”
I suppressed a smile.
He chuckled. “We can elope to somewhere else.”
“It’s not that—it’s Sophie. She’s terrified Chloé will elope on her. Calls it the e word.”
I tossed the idea around in my mind. For the longest time, I’d envisioned my wedding a certain way. My father walking me down the aisle, my mother seated at the front. Months of planning, a giant dress.
But my mother was gone, and instinct told me that my father valued my happiness over sentimentality. I spent all my time planning events. What I wanted now was Neil and the promise of a life together.
I cleared my throat. “Are you teaching tomorrow?”
“Classes in the morning, then I’m all done for the term—with classes, at least. There will be grading after.”
“Want to drive to the coast? Get married?”
He reached for my face, cupping it in his hands. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to get married on a weekday.”
There’s a lot of cheer in a cake.
—MARY BERRY
Friday morning I woke up early and took Gigi for a brisk walk. I packed an overnight bag and drove to D’Alisa & Elle.
My dad sat in his office; I rapped gently on the door. He beamed when he saw me.
“Giulietta! Come in! Do you want to sit down?”
“For just a moment,” I answered, seating myself in the opposite chair and folding my hands in my lap. I looked down at my hands and then back at my father.
Together at the Table Page 19
