Chapter 4
Gage knew by Tonya’s clipped tone that she did not like his response. Maybe he should have warned her that since there were so many restaurants in New Orleans, unless she offered dishes that were truly exceptional, her establishment might not survive.
“I’ll show you how to make the bread pudding.”
Tonya glanced over at Eustace, who nodded his acquiescence. “Okay.”
Eustace took off his apron. “If that’s the case, then I’m going home and put my feet up for a couple of hours. These big dogs are quick to remind me how long I’ve been standing.”
Gage stared at his brother under lowered lids. “That’s because you do too much. You were up all day yesterday cooking for St. John’s wedding, and now you’re back here this morning cooking for the book club. I told you before, it’s time you let go the reins and let your girls take over the day-to-day business, while you just concentrate on filling catering orders.”
“And who’s going to help me with the catering?”
“I will,” Gage volunteered.
Compressing his lips, dimples deepening in his rounded cheeks, Eustace appeared deep in thought. “Maybe I’ll start coming in four days a week instead of five so they can get used to running everything. Then after a couple of months it will be three days, and then two. After that I’ll relinquish all responsibility for Chez Toussaints to them.”
Gage nodded. “That sounds like a plan. Now, go home and make love with your wife for a change while Tonya and I finish up here. I’ll drop Tonya off at DuPont House, and then come back and deliver the food to the book club ladies.”
Eustace shot Tonya an uncomfortable look before he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Waiting until he out was out of earshot, she asked Gage, “Did you have to embarrass him like that?”
Opening the refrigerator, Gage removed a large plastic container filled with pieces of torn French bread and placed it on the prep table. “He isn’t as embarrassed as he is conscience-stricken. Just the other day my sister-in-law came to me in tears. She believes Eustace is having an affair because she cannot remember the last time they were intimate. I reassured Janine that if my brother is having an affair, then it’s with Chez Toussaints. He comes in at dawn Monday through Friday and doesn’t leave until late afternoon. And if he has to cater a party, then it’s much later. He’s probably so tired when he gets home that he just collapses. I can’t even get him to take a night off on the weekend to come to Jazzes to unwind.”
“How old is Eustace?”
“He’s fifty-seven.”
“Isn’t that a little young for him to retire?” Tonya asked Gage, as he reached for a jar of cinnamon and bottle of pure vanilla extract off an overhead shelf.
“It is. But, remember, he would only be semi-retired, because he still will be catering.”
“I’ll get the eggs, butter, and sugar,” she volunteered, opening the refrigerator and taking out the ingredients for a basic bread pudding recipe. “What’s the secret in making Chez Toussaints’ bread pudding?”
“We bake our own French bread for the bread pudding.”
Tonya blinked slowly. “Why bake it when you can buy it?”
Gage stood next to Tonya, realizing for the first time that she was much shorter than she appeared. He was six-three, and the top of her head came only to his shoulder. Maybe it was her slimness that made him think she was taller. She wasn’t skinny, far from it; although her body was slender, it was still curvy. In fact, he liked everything about her, because he preferred women who were comfortable with their bodies.
He had dated women who refused to let him touch their hair because they feared it would loosen their extensions. Then there were those who would not permit him to squeeze their breasts because of implants. The last woman he dated but refused to sleep with would only splash water on her face, for she feared losing the lashes glued to her lids, and she complained that her acrylic nails had become an obstacle when buttoning or unbuttoning her clothes. He wanted to be with a woman who did not have a laundry list of dos and don’ts. What happened to women who learned to love who they were without altering their appearances? It had gotten to a point that when a man went to bed, he woke up with a woman he barely recognized in the morning.
“New Orleans–style French bread is a uniquely light loaf made with yeasts you can only buy in specialty shops. The oven in the far corner is the one we use expressly for baking breads for this dessert. We do buy the rest.”
“How long have you been making your own bread?” Tonya asked.
Gage measured the equivalent of a loaf of torn bread into a large aluminum bowl. “My dad started making it when he married my mother. She continues the tradition handed down from the French who came to Louisiana from Acadia.”
“Your mother is Cajun.” The query was a statement.
“That she is.”
“Does she speak Cajun French?”
Gage smiled. “Yes. I speak traditional French, Cajun French, and Haitian Creole. It’s been a family tradition that goes back more than a century that everyone in the family speaks more than one language. I know it’s somewhat rude, but when we don’t want folks to know what we’re talking about, we immediately shift from English to a dialect.”
“I realized that when I helped Eustace at your family reunion. I understood most of the French, but not the Creole. I’m lucky to get by with whatever French I picked up in France.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “You lived in France?”
