by Karey White
“Don’t worry. Nothing like jumping out of a plane.”
“Is it a secret, or do I get to know the plan?”
“It’s not a secret. I’ll tell you while we’re eating.”
When they were sitting at a table in the breakfast room, waffles and fruit in front of them, Blake told her his plans. “I booked us a Segway Lunch tour. It sounds fun. It’s a two hour tour around the city and it finishes up with stops at three restaurants—one for an appetizer, another for an entrée and dessert at the last one. Have you ever ridden a Segway before?”
“I ride one to school every day.” Her face was serious.
Blake looked surprised. “Really?”
“No, I’m not serious and no, I’ve never ridden one before. Have you?”
“We went to Washington, D.C. after I graduated, and my family took a Segway tour around the monuments. It’s fun. I think you’ll like it.”
“Are they hard to ride?”
“No. It takes a few minutes to get comfortable on them, but they’re easy.”
“Thanks, Blake. This sounds like the perfect way to finish out our last day,” Lydia said.
“Our last day in Charlotte, anyway,” Blake said. The color that rose in Lydia’s cheeks and the little smile she tried to hide gave Blake a good feeling about the return to Denver.
After breakfast, Lydia changed shoes, and they checked out of the hotel.
Lydia couldn’t believe this was the same Charlotte she’d lived in for the last three months. She’d seen so little of the city during her time here. “I feel like a prisoner who’s finally been set free,” she said to Blake. “Look at all these things I’ve missed out on.”
“You’re not missing out today,” he said. “Keep track of what you really like. Maybe you’ll come back here someday, and you’ll have a head start.”
Lydia smiled at his encouraging words, but she was even more upset with herself now. No wonder Cambri had loved it here. It was a beautiful city.
Jamal, their guide, led them down tree-lined streets, pointing out historic homes and buildings. They rode through Fourth Ward Park, past the Settler’s Cemetery and through the business district.
The tour was made up of Blake and Lydia and a family of four from Memphis. The teenage children were precocious and had elaborate questions for the guide. Lydia wondered if they were really curious or if they just enjoyed trying to stump the guide and see their parents nod admiringly.
Blake and Lydia didn’t mind the questions. Sometimes they pulled their Segways up close and listened to the conversations and sometimes they lagged back and had their own.
Lydia loved riding the Segway. When they’d arrived for the tour, their guide had given each of them a helmet and a quick rundown of how they worked. Then they’d followed him to a flat, grassy area where Lydia had practiced until she felt comfortable. The subtle body movements it took to move forward and maneuver the machine felt like something out of a science fiction movie. Lydia got the hang of it pretty quickly. Blake already knew what he was doing, so he’d stepped out of the practice area and returned calls to Brynn and Mary Challis. They hadn’t been easy phone calls and it had taken the first half of the tour for the worry lines to leave his forehead.
“Now we’re to the good part,” Jamal said. “The food. This is Charlie’s. He came to the United States twenty-four years ago from Hong Kong. When he got here, he worked at a clothing factory, and every day he’d bring a lunchbox of homemade potstickers. They musta smelled amazing ‘cause his co-workers started paying him to bring them potstickers for their lunch. Before long, Charlie was bringing a giant kettle of potstickers and selling them for a dollar each. He was making more during lunch than he was the rest of the day working on the line. That’s when his wife, who was helping him make potstickers every night, suggested they’d make more money if they opened a little restaurant. Charlie’s makes a whole lot more than potstickers now, but they’re still what he’s most famous for. People come from all over North Carolina for his potstickers. So that’s what we’re having for our appetizer course—Charlie’s potstickers.”
They lined up the Segways outside of Charlie’s and sat at a long table inside. Charlie came from the kitchen, bowing. His smile seemed larger than his face. “Welcome, welcome,” he said, his hands clasped in front of him as he bowed. “So glad you come to Charlie’s. Where you from?”
“Memphis,” the father of the family said, waving his hand in a circle to distinguish the four of them.
“Veyee good, veyee good.” Charlie turned to Blake and Lydia. “And you from?”
“We’re from Denver,” Blake said.
“Nice. I go Denver long time ago. What you say? High mile city?”
Blake grinned. “Mile high city.”
Charlie threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, yes, yes. Mile high city. No high mile city.” He shook his head. Everyone at the table laughed with him. Charlie was funny. “I bring you potstickers,” he said as he backed away from the table, still laughing.
The potstickers were delicious, crispy and loaded with flavor. He served them with a sweet and tangy sauce.
“Can we just order more of these and skip the next stop?” Lydia asked.
“I hear that a lot,” Jamal said. “But I think you’ll like our next two stops.”
They bowed to Charlie and thanked him as they left. “You come see Charlie next trip to Charlotte,” he said.
Two blocks away, Lydia recognized her surroundings. “Cambri’s condo is right there,” she said, inclining her head toward the tall, brown brick building.
“And there’s the roof where you read,” Blake said, his dimple making an appearance and a twinkle in his eye.
“I can’t believe I spent the entire summer that close to Charlie’s, and today’s the day I discover his potstickers. And they deliver,” she said, poking fun at herself. Blake laughed, and thousands of Elmos started tickling her insides. It felt a little thrilling to be the one who made him smile.
Jamal pulled his Segway to a stop outside a restaurant called Globe and took off his helmet as the others pulled in beside him. When they were all parked and unhelmeted, he spoke. “This is Globe. It was opened just over a year ago, and you’re only our second group to go here since they agreed to participate in our tour. Vito Cornelli is the executive chef.” Lydia gasped, and her eyes lit up. “You know who he is?” Jamal asked Lydia.
“He was on Chef Wars.”
“That’s right. He was the runner up on the reality show Chef Wars. He’s known for doing some crazy stuff with food. He’ll feed you things you never thought you could eat. Don’t worry.” He laughed at the teenagers’ expressions of concern. “For the tour, he keeps it pretty normal. We’re eating a scallop and pasta dish.” He laughed again at the teenage girl. “You’re a picky one, aren’t you? Is it the scallops?” She nodded. “He has chicken for anyone who’s not into seafood.”
Jamal led the way to the large table set up in the back of the room. Lydia recognized Vito Cornelli from the show. He looked more like a lineman for the Broncos than a chef. His head was completely hairless, except for his eyebrows and half inch strip of beard that started at his lower lip and ended at his chin. His chef’s coat was rolled up to his elbows, and his thick arms were folded over his broad chest, his feet shoulder width apart. All they needed was a platform, some creepy lighting, and some smoke, and he could have been on Iron Chef.
He inclined his head. “Welcome. Any questions about your lunch?” he asked when they were all seated.
The teenage boy held up a finger and started to talk. “Since you’re famous from your time on television, what would make you open a restaurant in Charlotte, instead of a larger market, say New York or Los Angeles?”
Vito glanced his direction then back at the entire table. “Any questions about your lunch?” he enunciated slowly. “As in the food.”
The teenage boy fell back in his seat, deflated. Lydia felt sorry for him, even though he’d been i
rritating the entire tour.
When no one dared ask a question, he turned to Jamal. “Scallops or chicken?”
“Scallops, baby!” Jamal said, trying to ease the tension.
Vito looked at the next person at the table with raised eyebrows. “Chicken,” the teenage girl said timidly. Vito continued his eye-piercing trip around the table, and each person announced their preference. Then Vito left.
“I promise it’ll be worth putting up with his ego,” Jamal whispered. “He’s won all kinds of awards and you’ll see. His food is amazing.”
Jamal was right. The scallop and pasta dish was buttery and garlicky and rich. The seasoned vegetables were almost as good as the pasta.
“I wonder if Globe delivers,” Blake said and bumped Lydia’s arm with his elbow.
“If Vito was the one to deliver it, I’d have been too scared to order. He’s pretty intimidating.”
“Was he that intense on the show?”
“He had a few debates with the judges. Especially the episode when he was eliminated.”
“He’d have probably won if he’d served this,” Blake said, soaking up the sauce on his plate with his last bite of bread.”
Vito never reappeared, so when the food was gone, the tour slid out of their chairs and left.
The last stop was Liaison Amoureuse , a dessert café and bakery less than two blocks away. “Liaison Amoureuse is owned by a French pastry chef named Corinne Blanchet. You won’t believe she’s old enough to be a chef, let alone own her own business.”
The inside of Liaison Amoureuse was beautiful. The décor was mostly creams and ivories. The wooden chairs at the tables were a deep plum, and plum pendant lights hung in uneven clusters above the tables. The walls were covered with love letters.
“Yay! You are here,” said a tiny woman who nearly bounced out of the kitchen. Her almost-black hair was styled in a short, pixie cut. From a distance, she looked about twelve years old, but as she approached the group, she aged to somewhere in her thirties. “How has your tour been?”
They nodded and said things like, “Great,” “so much fun,” and “perfect.”
“You’re lucky to have Jamal. He’s the best,” she said with a gentle punch to Jamal’s arm.
“She says that to all the guides.”
“No, she doesn’t,” said the petite woman.
“This is Corinne Blanchet,” Jamal said, and Corinne curtsied.
“And this is Liaison Amoureuse,” said Corinne, opening her arms to take in the restaurant. Her accent made everything sound romantic. “In French, liaison amoureuse means love affair, and I want everyone who comes in here to have a love affair with dessert.”
“Tell them about the love letters,” Jamal said.
“My parents were moving to the south of France and they were tossing most of their souvenirs and I saw a trunk of their letters to each other. They were going to throw them away.” She sounded incredulous. “I rescued them, and when I read them they were lovely. Some were a little hmm hmm,” she said putting her hands on her cheeks and shaking her head. “They’re up high so you can’t read them. Scandalous!”
Lydia looked at the letters on the wall. There had to be over a hundred. “These are all from your parents?” she asked.
“No, no, no. Anyone who wants to bring me a nice copy of a love letter, I’ll put it on the wall. I read them all before I put them up. They’re so romantic, I fall in love with them. Please, come sit down.” When they were all seated, Corinne continued, “I believe dessert is the most important meal of the day.” Her enthusiasm was catching and everyone at the table smiled. “In honor of our beautiful city, dessert will be Charlotte à la Framboise. In English, that’s a Charlotte cake with a raspberry filling. It will be served with two sauces, a raspberry and pear reduction, which is a more traditional sauce with a Charlotte, and a ganache, because some people, like me, just need chocolate with their dessert. Enjoy.” She kissed her fingers and threw them into the air.
The Charlotte was incredible—buttery and crisp cake and moist, sweet filling. Blake preferred the raspberry and pear sauce, but Lydia couldn’t get enough of the chocolate.
“Are Elliott’s letters too sad to share?” Blake asked when his dessert was finished. Lydia still had several bites. She was eating it slowly, making it last as long as possible.
“Not the first ones,” she said. “They were very romantic.”
“We should make a copy and bring one in. Leave a piece of history here.”
“That’s a great idea. Francie said they were part of history,” Lydia said. “Oh my. I’ve never tasted anything like this.” She licked her fork after her last bite.
Blake was deep in thought as they rode their Segways back to the City Tours office. Lydia stifled her curiosity and left him to his thoughts. After they’d parked the Segways, returned the helmets, and said their thank yous and goodbyes to Jamal, they walked to their car. Blake unlocked Lydia’s door but didn’t open it.
“I was thinking I’d like to take the box back to Francie.”
“Really?”
“I’m pretty sure I broke her heart yesterday. If we left now, do you think we’d have time to make copies for me and take the box back to Boone before our flight?”
“As long as our car doesn’t break down,” Lydia said.
“Let’s do it.”
Blake stepped back into City Tours and asked Jamal for directions, and twenty minutes later, they were in a copy and print store with the shoe box. Lydia took a letter out of the envelope and handed it to Blake, who made a copy and handed the original back to Lydia, who had the next letter ready to copy. They made a copy of each letter for Blake and an extra copy of the first one to send to Corinne at Liaison Amoureuse. It didn’t take long. Blake tucked a folder with all the copies in his briefcase, and they took the Interstate north to Boone.
“Would you call Francie and see if she can meet us?” Blake asked and handed Lydia his phone. “It’s the number that starts eight two eight.”
“Should I tell her why we’re coming?” Lydia asked.
“Sure.” Lydia found the number and dialed it. On the third ring, Francie answered. “Hi, Francie. This is Lydia. I came with Blake yesterday. We’re on our way to Boone right now and wanted to meet you. Will you be home in the next couple hours?”
“I can be. Was there something else you needed?”
“Blake made copies of the letters for himself, and he wants you to have the box. We’ll just swing by your house as soon as we get to town.”
Francie took a deep breath before she replied. “I’ll be here. Thank you.”
“I think she might have been crying,” Lydia said. Blake looked at her and smiled. “This is very thoughtful of you.”
“I got what Grandpa wanted me to get out of it. I think it means a lot to her. She should have it.”
Lydia was still holding Blake’s phone when it rang. She turned it over and looked at the screen. “It’s Brynn.” She handed it to Blake.
Blake didn’t want to answer the phone. His calls with Brynn and Mary Challis this morning hadn’t been entirely productive. Brynn was being unreasonable, and Mary was being high maintenance. Sure, it would have been better if he was there in the office holding her hand through the whole thing, but she was an adult. She’d survive until tomorrow morning. And Brynn. She’d taken a two-week vacation to Hawaii in April. Did she really think Blake didn’t deserve a few days away from the office to take care of a personal matter?
“Hi, Brynn.” It was work to keep his voice patient and upbeat.
“Blake, Mr. Van Wagoner wants to speak to you. I’m putting you through to him.”
Fantastic. He’d hoped to have everything resolved without any of the partners having to be involved.
“Blake, my man. Is it true you’re in North Carolina?” His tone was falsely chipper, and it grated on Blake.
“It’s true. I came out over the weekend for a family matter, and my flight was cancelled on Sunda
y.”
“And here it is Tuesday. They really need to schedule more flights between North Carolina and Denver.” He paused, waiting for a response from Blake, but he waited in vain. Blake didn’t feel like explaining anything else. He refused to kowtow any more than necessary in front of Lydia. “When can we expect you back?”
“I’m on a flight this evening. I’m meeting with Mary Challis in the morning.”
“About that meeting. I just got off the phone with David Austin’s attorney a few minutes ago. He received a call from a rather upset Mary Challis, demanding to know why he thought he deserved two percent of her share. He wants this wrapped up and her put on a leash.”
“I’ve spoken with her. She’s upset, but we’re going to work it out tomorrow morning.”
“This takeover—“
“Merger, sir,” Blake interrupted.
Pryce Van Wagoner sighed. “We all know it’s a merger, Blake, but the fact is, Mr. Austin’s side is bringing a lot more money to the table, and when it’s all finished, Mary will be involved only inasmuch as she’ll have a large stockholding. She won’t be involved in the day-to-day operations.” He was talking to Blake like he was a first-year law student. “And let’s not forget this deal stands to make the firm a tidy profit.”
Blake wanted to protest, to remind Mr. Van Wagoner that their firm represented Mary Challis and that it was Blake’s job to be sure she was treated fairly, even if it meant the deal fell through. But Blake knew if he wanted to be a partner, picking a fight with Pryce would probably be a costly error. “I understand. I think it’s a good deal for her, and once I meet with her, I think she’ll see the advantage of moving forward and not getting bogged down by a couple of percentage points.”
“Good. I’ll let Mr. Austin’s lawyer know you’re on the case.”
“Thank you, Mr. Van Wagoner.”
“I’ve told you to call me Pryce.”
“Thank you, Pryce.”
“And Blake, you be sure that airline knows we need you bright and early tomorrow morning. No more cancelled flights. And how about once you’re here, no more flights, period, for the next decade.” There was a long pause. “Just kidding, just kidding.” He sounded phony. “Have a nice trip home.”
