The Dating Series

by L. P. Dover

  “Yes,” I agree. “And I’ll glaze them with my balsamic vinegar, brown sugar, and Dijon mustard sauce.”

  Noah smiles. “Perfect. I’ll do my mashed potatoes and caramelized Brussel sprouts too.”

  Camryn holds her stomach. “You’re already making me hungry.” She pulls out her notepad and shows me the sketches of her dessert plans. I love how visual she is. “I want to do a chocolate raspberry torte, an orange creamsicle cake, and a chocolate peanut butter cheesecake.”

  “That sounds absolutely amazing. I’m on board with that.”

  Her blue eyes twinkle. “Great. I’ll get started.”

  She heads to the kitchen along with Noah. Katy shakes her head and laughs. “I never get tired of them.”

  “Me either. I love them.” I stretch my arms above my head. “All right, I should probably head back as well. Got lots of work to do.”

  Katy grabs my wrist. “Not yet. Have you read this morning’s paper?” Her eyes light up with excitement.

  “No, why?” My curiosity peaks.

  She flattens out the paper and points at one of the articles. “Check this out. Guess who’s coming to the Taste of Chicago?”

  Heart racing, I grab the paper and slide it my way. The second I see August Cahill’s name, I freeze. Every restaurant owner in the country fears him, but yet, also wants him in their restaurants. He’s a food critic who can make or break you. I’ve seen restaurants go under after a scathing review from him. That’s how terrifying he is. But then, the restaurants he’s praised are appearing on TV shows and making bank. Those owners will be set for life.

  “What if he comes to our restaurant while he’s here?” Katy asks. “He never uses his real name.”

  The thought of him coming into my tavern is exciting and terrifying, but there’s no way he’ll choose to come here over the hundreds of restaurants in Chicago. “I doubt we’ll have to worry about that, Katy. He’s not going to come here. I’m a nobody.”

  Katy scoffs. “Seriously, Maddy. You’re not a nobody. We’ve been open for a year and we’re booked every single night. That’s not being a nobody.”

  Shrugging, I close the newspaper. “Still, I don’t think he’ll come here. Would it be nice? Of course. But if he hates our food, I can kiss this place goodbye.”

  She shakes her head. “Our reviews are phenomenal, and we have over five hundred of them. That’s pretty damn good after just one year.”

  “True. If he’s going to be at the Taste of Chicago in a couple of days, we have to believe he’ll be tasting our barbecue. I need to make it epic.”

  Katy takes me by the shoulders. “You always do. We’re going to kick everyone’s ass at that event. Just you wait and see.”

  We’re going to be up against the best barbecue makers in the city. I know my pulled pork is amazing, but is it the best? We will see.

  The night went by without a hitch and it’s because I have the best staff in the world. Everything flowed and we got everyone in by their reservation times. “The special was our number one dish tonight,” I say, taking off my apron. We’re about to close and all the people in the restaurant are either eating their desserts or drinking cups of coffee or wine.

  Noah smiles over at me. “Yes, it was.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how many people raved about it,” Abbey cuts in. Abbey is a senior in high school and one of my hostesses. I look over at her in the corner, wrapping up the silverware. She looks up at me and grins. “Like, every table I walked past there was at least someone talking about it.”

  This makes me happy. “Good. I might add it to the main menu if we keep getting this response.” The kitchen door opens and Katy walks in. “How’s it looking out there?” I ask her.

  She grabs a carrot and smiles as she takes a bite. “Almost empty. You have a table you haven’t visited yet though. He got seated after your last round.”

  Usually, I like to walk through the restaurant and talk to the people. I like being able to interact with them. I hang my apron up and make sure my shirt doesn’t look wrinkled. “I’ll go out there now.”

  Before I can get out the door, Katy steps in front of me with a mischievous smile on her face. She takes another bite of her carrot. “Just to warn you, he’s really good looking and by himself. I didn’t see a ring on his finger.”

  Rolling my eyes, I look at her as if she’s lost her mind. “Hitting on my customers isn’t professional.”

  Katy snickers. “No, but in this case, I’d make an exception. He’s really hot.” Now she’s got me curious.

  I walk over to the door. “What table is he at?”

  “Table twenty. You’ll see him through the window. Just don’t let him see you.”

  When I get to the door, I have no clue why I’m even considering peeking out the window. I should just go out there and ask him how his dinner was like I do with everyone else. I haven’t been on a date in months. The last guy I went out with ended up being married and I had no clue. Needless to say, that ended pretty quickly. I’ve had horrible luck with men. When you’re thirty-five years old, most men are either married or divorced. Going with someone younger has crossed my mind, but I don’t think I’m ready for that either. Hence, why I don’t date anymore.

  Slowly, I lift up on my toes and focus on table twenty. The man’s back is to me so I can’t see his face. However, when he turns to the side, I know exactly who he is. It’s been sixteen years since I’ve seen him, but there’s no way I could forget his face.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, clutching my chest. I move away from the door.

  Katy’s eyes widen. “What? Do you know him?”

  A smile lights up my face. “Yeah, you can say that. His name is Adam. I haven’t seen him in so long.” What is he doing here? The last time we saw each other was right before he moved to New York.

  Katy throws up her hands. “Why do I not know who he is? I’m your best friend. Judging by the look on your face I’d say you know him. Like in more than just a friendship kind of way.”

  I can feel the heat flood to my cheeks. “I met him at Northwestern when I was a freshman. He was a senior and we had the same anthropology class.”

  Katy slaps a hand over her mouth. “Is he the guy you studied with and always came back to the apartment with your clothes all wrinkled and sometimes backwards?”

  Closing my eyes, I look away sheepishly. “Yes. It was college and we were just having a good time. That spring, he moved back to New York after he graduated.” It wasn’t serious between us, but I really enjoyed spending time with him. Over the years, I’ve thought back on him and wondered what he was up to. Now he’s back in Chicago.

  Taking a deep breath, I wink at Katy. “Here we go.” I walk out the door toward Adam. He glances over his shoulder and my heart skips a beat when he smiles at me.

  Two

  Adam

  Being back in Chicago really brings back fond memories from college. I loved it here and had hoped to stay but my passion was to be a news anchor in New York City. Still, I can’t help but think about all the good times I had in Chitown. One of the best memories was being with Madeline Metcalf. We dated—if you can call it that—when I was a senior and she was a freshman. I saw her across the quad early in the fall. She had dressed in a thick cream-colored cable knit sweater and the sleeves of her cranberry colored turtleneck stretched beyond the cuffs. She rolled the jeans she wore at her ankles and she had on duck boots, and I found myself wondering if they were real or just a knock off version. I don’t remember how long I stood there and watched her, but I was fascinated by her. My issue back then—I was leaving in May and had no intentions of returning.

  Until now.

  My return is strictly business, but that didn’t stop me from making a reservation at Madeline’s restaurant. I wasn’t surprised when I read the yearly alumni magazine and came across her name. She always had a passion for food and could turn the college staple of top ramen and peanut butter and jelly into a meal fit for a king.
Timing for us, was our enemy from the start. Madeline had just started college and I was on my way out. Still, we made the best of it, promised to keep in touch once I moved and figured we’d run into each other someday in the future.

  We never kept in touch and it’s now the future.

  My reservation for Maddy’s Tavern was for the latest possible time. I did this for a couple of reasons. One, I wanted the restaurant to be as empty or quiet as possible because I wanted to take in her accomplishments without the hustle and bustle of a packed place. Two, I wanted personal attention from Maddy because I wanted to see if she remembered me, and if she did, if she harbored any ill will toward me. It was, without a doubt, my fault that we didn’t keep in contact. Once I arrived in New York with my first job, I was on the go from three in the morning until at least eleven, if not later. I survived a full year on coffee and donuts. A caffeine sugar high to get through my days, first as an intern who became an assistant, who then became the low man on the totem pole, sent out in the hazardous conditions or to a slaughtering plant to cover animal cruelty. I took every assignment given and never said a peep. When I was offered a job as a junior producer, I accepted it, even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do. It was then, I realized, I was never going to sit at the early morning table and deliver national news. A life behind the scenes was what I was good at, even though it wasn’t my dream.

  The hostess sits me at a table for two—if nothing screams single—I don’t know what does. From here, I have the perfect view of the Navy Pier—lit up in all its glory. The streets of Chicago are busy. It’s warm out, I can see some of the boats anchored in the lake with their lights on. Aside from the small chatter around me, I can hear some of what is going on outside. There’s music, laughter, and the general feeling of summer, which is something I’ve never experienced in Chicago until now.

  When the hostess hands me the menu, I ask if Madeline is available and chuckle a bit when she refers to her as Ms. Metcalf. I also notice the term Ms. over Mrs. and internally give myself a high-five.

  “I’ll see if Ms. Metcalf is still in the building, Mr. Paulson.” The hostess walks away, and I’m completely taken by the amount of professionalism Madeline’s staff has. From the moment I walked in to just now, I’ve been treated with more respect than I ever have from any other establishment.

  A young man dressed in black plants and white shirt and a black apron brings a glass of ice water to my table. I take note of his attire and appreciate the color of his apron, which hides any stains, but something tells me if he had one, Maddy would insist on making him change.

  “Good evening, my name is Robert. Have you ever dined with us before?”

  I shake my head and smile. “This is my first time.”

  He beams. “Great. Thank you for joining us tonight. Would you like to hear the specials?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Instead of looking down at his pad, he focuses right on me and goes through the whole spiel. Everything sounds amazing but I end up deciding on the balsamic glazed porkchops and the orange creamsicle cake for dessert. Usually, I’d wait until the end to order a treat, but he politely tells me there’s only one piece left, and he wouldn’t want me to miss out.

  As soon as he has my order written down, he nods and speed walks away. I glance around, noticing the well-polished floors, the antique looking bar, and rich dark colors that you wouldn’t normally find in a tavern. What strikes me as odd is that every chair is in place. There are no stranglers or haphazard chairs sticking out, even at the bar. The linens are soft, the utensils are sturdy, and the water glass is etched with the tavern’s name on them. I shouldn’t be surprised. When Maddy and I dated or hung out as the kids like to call it now, she was meticulous in everything she did. I asked her once, asking if she had obsessive-compulsive disorder because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t adding to any anxiety she might feel. She told me no, she just liked things to be uniform. As much as I wanted to adopt her way of thinking, it would’ve never worked for me back then.

  It doesn’t take long for Robert to set my dinner down in front of me. Balsamic glazed pork chops, mashed potatoes, and caramelized brussel sprouts. My mouth waters at the site. Every single bite is perfection. I savor every single second of my meal. That’s when you know you have a good dinner. You don’t want it to end.

  After I’m done, Robert comes back and sets down a tray with an assortment of drinks on it, along with my dessert. “You’re probably wondering what this is all about.”

  “I am,” I tell him.

  “You’re my last customer of the night and I’m training to get my bartenders license. I wanted to offer you an array of drinks that would pair well with our cake, as well as a cup of coffee, freshly brewed.”

  Normally, this would irritate me, but considering the young man is trying to advance his career, I smile and reach for the coffee. I need the pick me up after the long day of travel. Granted, New York to Chicago is a two-hour flight, but I’ve had numerous meetings today, both here and back home. I’m exhausted.

  “I taste something tangy.” I set my cup down and look at my waiter for confirmation.

  He smiles and nods excitedly. “Orange zest, just a dash. You’ll find it’ll blend well with the cake.”

  “And the rest of these?”

  He rattles off an orange vermouth, blood orange martini, and an orange dreamsicle floatini, all of which taste amazing. I’m a social drinker, but then it’s mostly a scotch or gin. Tonight, however, has really changed my tastes. I’m interested in what he’s brought to the table and let him know. His smile, wide and bright, shows me my acceptance has made his day.

  I’m three bites into my cake when an attractive woman approaches my table. She introduces herself as Katy, the manager of Maddy’s Tavern, and asks if I still need to see Ms. Metcalf.

  “I’d love too, if she’s available. I don’t want to take her away from her work or bother her at home.”

  The woman smiles and assures me it’s no trouble.

  Within minutes, the chef and namesake of this fine establishment is striding toward me. I quickly swallow the piece of cake I stuck in my mouth as soon as Katy turned her back and smile at Maddy.

  She smiles back but it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like it had when we were younger. I stand, hold my hand out and as soon as her hand is in mine, I pull her close and kiss her on her cheek. She turns rigid, and I fear I’ve made a mistake.

  We step back at the same time and apprise each other. I can easily say not much has changed about her. Her naturally dark auburn hair is pulled away from her face, mostly likely kept hidden under her chef’s hat. I expected a chef’s coat or an apron, but she’s dressed like her employees, black pants and a white shirt. But it’s her eyes that really grab my attention, just as green as I remember them being. And while I stand here, gawking at her, I fear as though she’s forgotten me.

  “Am I crazy or do you not remember me?” It’s a horrible question to ask, but I don’t want to look like a fool. Granted, there are very few patrons left at this time of night.

  “I’m sorry, but I see a lot of customers in a single night. Have we met before?”

  I take another step back, unsure how I should proceed. I’ve never been smooth with the women and aside from the time Maddy and I were whatever we were, I’ve had one other girlfriend who turned into my wife, who then became my ex because I’m cold, out of touch with reality, never home, and unable to express myself properly. Her words, not mine.

  “I know I have a couple gray hairs, but I didn’t think I had changed this much. Maybe if you have time, I can refresh your memory? I motion for her to sit across from me and she does. Maddy folds her hands on the table and keeps her eyes steady on me. Great, I love nothing more than being scrutinized.

  “Okay, where to start.” I clear my throat and push the cake away slightly.

  “Did you not enjoy the cake?”

  “What?” I follow her eyes down to my plate. It’s half eaten and
to a chef, a pushed away plate generally means something is wrong. “Oh, no, not at all. This cake was delicious. I plan to finish it once we’re done speaking.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Do you really not remember me?” There’s a hint of desperation in my voice. “Adam Paulson. We went out in college for about seven months.”

  She studies me hard, her eyes roaming over my face. Back and forth until a sly smile spreads across her lips. “Adam,” she finally says my name and my heart jumps in response. “Yes, I know who you are. I wanted you to think I didn’t. How many years has it been?”

  “Too many years to count. I owe you an apology.”

  She chuckles. “You came all the way to Chicago to apologize?”

  “Well, yes and no,” I tell her. “I’m here on business and I saw your name in our alumni magazine and wanted to come see your place for myself. I’ve read the reviews, everyone loves it here.”

  Maddy looks around and there’s no mistaking the pride she has when she sees her hard work pay off. She nods slightly and turns back toward me. “So, what’s new?”

  “I work in production.”

  “But not on television, huh?”

  “No, still media related so I guess that’s something.

  “Wow, I thought you’d be the next Dan Rather.”

  I scoff and then groan. “Believe me, I tried. I guess I just never had the face or magnetism to make on TV. I did some sideline reporting for a bit but never caught my big break. I think I was so eager to be on a nationally syndicated show that I missed my opportunity at the local level. I could’ve risen through the ranks.”

  I’m tempted to take a bite of the cake, but don’t want to be rude. But it would also be rude to let it sit there and not eat it, regardless of who is sitting across from me.

  “That’s crazy. I remember it being all you ever wanted. Do you remember making those tapes, late at night?”

  I nod slowly. “With the on the shoulder camcorder I picked up at the pawn shop.”