“It’s tomato confit. Simply cherry tomatoes with a little salt and pepper and a pinch of saffron.”
“Nice. You know, we ate at Paisley right after it opened and thought it was fantastic. It’s a real treat to get an invite, especially after everything we’ve seen on social media.”
“Oh?” Rachel belatedly realized that she’d forgotten to check her Twitter account for the past week. That could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what Nadine was about to say.
“Yeah, everyone was raving about the food at the last supper club, and then it got out you weren’t the chef at Paisley anymore. John and I were there ourselves a week or two ago, and the food was okay, but the service was so slow.”
That should make Rachel happy, but it was painful to hear her menu called okay. She’d left a well-trained staff, so there was no excuse, unless Dan’s mismanagement had left everyone so demoralized they were no longer executing at the same level of precision.
“I hope you enjoy tonight’s menu,” Rachel said finally. “And service can’t be too slow since it’s only seven of you.”
Nadine laughed. “I’m sure it will be amazing.”
The next to arrive was Bryan with a pretty blonde in tow. He introduced her as his “friend” Lydia, which left her looking disgruntled and him completely oblivious to her annoyance. Rachel turned away. Maybe it was good he hadn’t pursued Ana. Bryan seemed to shy away from serious relationships, and Lord knew Ana didn’t need any more men wasting her time.
“Just waiting for Mitchell and Kathy,” Alex murmured as he passed by.
Then came the knock she had been waiting for, and it sent her jitters into high gear. She practically held her breath while Alex opened the door to an older couple, giving each of them a warm hug. He immediately led them in Rachel’s direction.
“Rachel, this is Mitchell and Kathy Shaw. I spent so much time in their house, they thought they’d accidentally adopted me. Mitchell, Rachel is the chef I’ve been telling you about.”
Rachel shook hands with the Shaws, taken aback. They were not at all what she’d expected of a wealthy real estate developer and his wife. Had she not known better, she would have pegged them as someone’s middle-class parents, he in khakis and a plaid button-down, she in slacks and a simple white blouse. Even Kathy’s jewelry was understated and modest.
“I’ve looked you up, Ms. Bishop,” Mitchell said. “You have quite an impressive résumé.”
Every intelligent comment she might have offered flew from her head. “Thank you.”
“Do you know that I knew Aaron Collins when he took over that little French restaurant in Washington Park? Here in Denver, way before he went to New York. He was green but he had so much talent, and he knew how to pick his staff. That alone commends your ability.”
“He’s tough, but I probably learned more about running a kitchen in two months with him than I had in my entire career to that point. He’s not stingy with his knowledge.”
“Not with people who will put it to good use. I’m looking forward to the meal tonight.”
Mitchell headed for his son across the room, but Kathy lingered, her expression openly curious. “How did you and Alex meet?”
So Alex hadn’t confessed to his part in this. Interesting. Surely it wasn’t to keep them from knowing about her image problems, because he had to expect that Mitchell would thoroughly vet her. Or maybe she just wanted to know what Rachel would say. This had the distinct feel of a personal interrogation.
She decided on a diplomatic answer. “He wrote something about the restaurant, and the rest kind of happened.”
“As these things do.”
Rachel had a feeling they weren’t talking about the supper club anymore. Kathy might be quiet, but Rachel would bet not much slipped past her.
“I’ve known Alex since he was a boy,” Kathy said. “He always does the right thing, even when it doesn’t benefit him personally. I’ve always thought it was his best quality, but I worry sometimes that he’s too trusting.”
Kathy’s words felt like a warning, but Rachel wasn’t entirely sure what she was being warned against. Did she think Rachel was taking advantage of Alex? “You might be right. But Alex has an uncanny way of reading people, even the secrets they don’t want to admit.”
Kathy smiled. “That he does.”
With his typical perceptiveness, Alex arrived to rescue her. “Kathy, are you going to join us on the roof deck? I’ve opened a bottle of 2010 Brancaia that Bryan brought over. I seem to remember that was one of your favorites.”
Kathy excused herself, and Alex winked at Rachel as he guided the woman away. Slowly, the small group moved upstairs, leaving Rachel alone. Not two minutes later, Dina appeared. “When do you want them seated? Right now Alex and Bryan are playing bartender.”
Rachel glanced at her watch. “Twenty minutes.”
“Done. Time to go impress.” Dina gave Rachel an encouraging smile and then climbed back up the stairs.
Rachel watched her go. Alex was lucky to have a sister like her. She’d always wished she’d had someone else around to talk to; now that she was older, she saw even more clearly what she was missing by not having a sibling. If things between her and Alex worked out . . .
Food. Tonight was about the food. There was a time when she wouldn’t have had to keep emphasizing that point so strenuously.
At twenty minutes on the dot, Dina returned for the crudo, which Rachel had arranged on ceramic spoons on a serving tray. Each one was a miniature piece of modern art, topped with shaved fennel and baby arugula. “How’s the mood up there?” Rachel asked.
“High anticipation, I’d say. Mr. Shaw has been talking about how he’s been looking for a restaurant to put on the ground floor of the new building. It’s pretty clear what he’s thinking.”
“No pressure or anything.” Rachel smiled despite the distinct twist in her stomach and helped load the tray that Dina would use to carry the seven small appetizer plates upstairs. “Give me a heads-up when you think they’re ready for the next one.”
“Sure thing.” Dina swept the tray off the counter. “I’ll let you know what they say.”
As soon as Dina pushed through the door to the roof deck, another not-so-distant rumble of thunder sounded. Rachel circled the kitchen island to the wall of windows and peered out. What had been a typical covering of gray—which in the tradition of Denver summers could be rain or not—now had turned into a threatening, roiling mass of charcoal thunderclouds. Maybe they should consider moving the party back inside. She’d have Dina suggest it to Alex when she brought up the next course.
That would be the roasted kale topped with caramelized sweet onions and the tomato confit. She quickly checked on the stuffed trout, which had gone into the oven a few minutes before. She’d have to speed up service a little to make sure it went out while it was still hot. Recalculating in her head, she began thin-slicing the beef for the carpaccio. She was waiting for Dina to return with a decision from Alex when a crack of lightning lit up the sky outside the windows, followed immediately by a bone-shaking boom of thunder. As if it had split open the clouds, a torrent of rain poured down with the roar of a raging waterfall.
Overhead, chairs scraped across the decking and footsteps thumped as the guests ran for cover. Immediately, the door flew open to reveal Dina leading the charge inside.
With a pop of bulbs and a winding hum of appliances, the power went out.
“No! Not now.” Rachel checked the fish. Ten minutes on the timer. Not even close to being done. She couldn’t count on it coming up to temperature as it rested, even with the residual heat in the oven. If she served it now, she’d potentially be serving raw fish and stuffing—not only unappetizing in this preparation but dangerous.
The guests thudded down the stairs in the near darkness, drawing her attention to the worst part of her situation: her investor and the rest of the guests were now nearly soaked to the skin.
Alex strode toward the bathr
oom. “I’ll get some towels.”
To her horror, Mitchell sidled up to the island, his wet hair plastered to his head, water droplets on his glasses. “At least I won’t need to take a shower when I get home.”
Rachel let out a relieved breath. “That’s looking on the bright side.”
He gestured toward the oven. “Was it finished?”
“Not even close.”
“Did you have a Plan B?”
Rachel surveyed the kitchen. “I do now. Or I will in about five minutes.” Alex returned with the towels and handed them to the guests. Somehow, being drenched only made him sexier. Yeah, she was a goner. “Do you have flashlights or lanterns and a lighter?”
Alex went to a cabinet and rummaged around, coming up with a battery-operated camping lantern and a butane lighter. “Will these do?”
“Perfect.” Rachel switched on the lantern and set it on the counter to light her workspace. Mitchell watched in interest as she cranked on the cooktop knob and lit it with the long-tipped lighter. “I can’t use the oven because the thermostat is electronic, but the cooktop is gas. Only the igniter is electric.”
“What can I do?” Mitchell asked over the heavy drum of rain.
Rachel was about to send him to sit down and relax, but he looked genuinely eager to help. “Can you grab that stack of plates there and set the dining table? Alex, we’ll need flatware too. I think it’s all upstairs on the deck.”
“This calls for rain gear.”
“Thanks.” She smiled up at him, then impulsively pulled him back for a quick kiss. Surprise lit his eyes, but she could tell he was pleased. Why not? The evening was already off the rails. There seemed to be no point in keeping up pretenses.
She grabbed the lantern and held it with one hand while she pulled out the pan of stuffed trout, then inserted a metal cake tester from her kit. It came out cold. Not even close to the required 130 degrees. What now?
Guests had begun to gather around the island, either from curiosity or because it was the only circle of light in the room. When Alex returned with a handful of flatware, dripping water off his rain slicker, she called, “Hey, Alex. I don’t suppose you have more pans?”
“No. But I know someone who probably does.” He set the flatware on the countertop and then disappeared out the front door.
“What are you going to do?” Nadine asked.
“Pan-fried trout followed by pan-fried quail.”
“It’s like being on Chopped,” Lydia said. “‘Make it work,’ you know?”
Rachel laughed. “That’s Project Runway, but close enough. We’ll have food one way or another.”
A few minutes later, Alex walked in the door, proudly carrying a stack of cast iron and stainless-steel pans. They were ancient, their outsides blackened and discolored from decades of use. “Mrs. Tajikian to the rescue. I thought she was going to make me sign over my firstborn as collateral before I took them.” He set them on the cooktop grates and stepped back. “What can I do?”
“You can scrape all the stuffing out of the fish into that pot.” She nodded toward a saucier already heating in the corner and put down five pans, one for each free burner.
“Is this the most impromptu change you’ve ever had to make?” Kathy asked.
Rachel lit the burners. “Not exactly. I was closing sous-chef at a restaurant in Manhattan during Restaurant Week. The opening sous had been responsible for ordering all the product, plus some extra, but someone had made a mistake estimating the number of covers, and by nine o’clock we had nothing left from the event menu. My chef and I ended up improvising a special ‘late-night menu’ based on what we still had in the walk-in. I was sure that everyone would balk at the idea of chicken liver crostini, but they were such a hit, they ended up being a permanent addition to our menu.”
Lydia wrinkled her nose, clearly not an adventurous eater. Rachel pushed a little bowl and a paper-towel-wrapped packet of fresh thyme across the island. “Can you do me a favor and stem the thyme? If you hold it by the end, you can slide your fingernails down it and the leaves will come right off.”
Lydia looked doubtful, but she did as Rachel asked, and before long she actually seemed to be enjoying it. Freed from formality, people began asking her questions about the jobs she’d held, why she liked to cook, what she cooked for herself at home. She answered them as she worked, heating the stuffing in a pot while she pan-fried the trout in butter. Alex set a nonalcoholic cocktail on the counter beside her, for which she threw him a grateful smile.
When the trout was done, she gave Alex and Dina quick plating instructions and then went to work getting the butterflied quail into the next set of pans. She half-expected the guests to take their plates to the table, but instead they remained around the island while she cooked, some seated, some leaning against the counter. They dug into their fish with enthusiasm, murmuring compliments before they returned to the conversation, which had shifted to Bryan’s climbing career.
When the quail were cooked to a perfect medium rare, she halved each bird and arranged the pieces on a platter with a bowl of quince preserves. She had Dina bring that to the table with the cheese course and another loaf of Melody’s wonderful crusty bread. The group followed the lantern’s light to the table, the conversation pausing only long enough for guests to serve themselves and take a bite or two with a satisfied sigh.
“Rachel, Dina.” Alex gestured them over to the table. Only then did Rachel notice that Mitchell had set the table with two extra places.
“I didn’t cook enough for all of us,” she whispered in Alex’s ear.
He shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s plenty. Sit. Enjoy.”
Reluctantly, she slid into the seat beside Alex, but she refused to take a portion until everyone else had been served. As they worked their way through the food—much more than it looked, when it was served family style— Mitchell and Kathy began talking about their early years of marriage, how they’d struggled to get by, how many times they’d lost it all and started over. It felt like it was meant to be a lesson for them, but especially for Rachel. That not every ending was actually an ending, but the chance for a new beginning.
Alex stretched his arm across the back of her chair, stroking her shoulder absently while he talked, but Rachel remained quiet, her mind spinning. If that was true, what was the new beginning for her? Was it Alex, who had begun to show her what she was missing with her singular focus on work? Or was she being given a second chance for a restaurant, to prove herself worthy of all the confidence Louise had shown in her so many years ago?
And what if she were forced to choose?
When the conversation passed Lydia’s way, it turned out the supermodel had a business degree and was going back to school for her master’s in social work. Rachel felt a pang of guilt over her unkind judgment of both Lydia and Bryan. Maybe neither of them was as shallow as she had assumed.
The group lingered over coffee—made in a big French press with water boiled in a pot on the cooktop—and peach gingerbread with balsamic syrup, savoring every last bite of the sweet and spicy cake. Dina and Rachel were clearing the plates from the table when the power clicked back on with a glare of light and the buzz of electronics. Outside, they watched the chain reaction of lights go on as power was restored to downtown Denver. The guests blinked and stretched as if they’d been released from a spell.
“Just in time,” Alex cracked. “I know none of you wanted to walk down fourteen flights of stairs.”
The group laughed and began gathering jackets and handbags. The Shaws were the last to leave. When Mitchell shook Rachel’s hand, he held it for a moment. “It was good getting to know you tonight, Rachel. Thanks for a very pleasant evening.”
“Thanks for coming.” Rachel smiled as Alex closed the door behind them.
“He liked you,” Alex said. “I can tell. He’s very particular about who he does business with.”
“That’s good, then.” She went into Alex’s arms like
it was the most natural thing in the world, feeling inexplicably satisfied with the evening. Sure, her intricately planned, expertly timed meal had gone far off course, but it hardly seemed to matter.
“You’re not disappointed?”
“Not at all.” Her eyes closed as his lips neared hers.
“Uh, Alex?” Dina’s voice rang from the stairwell. “You better come look.”
The kiss was aborted before it ever began. Alex dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. Rachel swatted him on the arm with a laugh. “Go on. I’ll start cleaning up down here.”
Reluctantly, he let her go and headed up the stairs to see what disaster had befallen his roof deck in the storm, while Rachel got to work on the kitchen. She had loaded all the dishes into the dishwasher when Alex came back with a trash bag in hand, its contents stretching and straining the plastic.
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“You’ve heard about upsetting the apple cart? This is what happens when you upset the bar cart.”
Rachel peeked into the bag and cringed at the broken bottles. “Did you lose much?”
“Quite a bit.” He set the bag on the kitchen floor and reached for her. “Listen—”
Once more, Dina was on his heels. Did the girl have a sixth sense for these things or what? Alex dropped his hand. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. Less than a week, I imagine. Could you come water the plants and feed the cat? Just until I get back?”
“You’re trusting me with a key to your place? What if I decide to throw a wild party while you’re gone?”
“I’m willing to risk it.” He pulled his key ring from his pocket and removed a key, then set it on the countertop. “I’ll feed him tomorrow before we go, so you don’t need to come until Monday.”
“Done. I’ll treat it like my own home.”
“I rather like the sound of that,” Alex said, his low tone raising goose bumps on her skin. He moved close enough to murmur in her ear. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“But you will. Because you’re a good brother, and it’s the right thing to do.” Rachel squeezed his arm and then went back to her cleaning.
The Saturday Night Supper Club Page 27
