Gage returned to the kitchen with two large paper bags filled with loaves of French bread. “The driver said he had a flat tire and didn’t have a spare.”
That’s another reason for baking your own bread, Tonya mused. Chez Toussaints could not compare to the restaurants where she had worked that were staffed with personnel ranging from executive, sous, and pastry chefs, along with a broiler cook, baker, fry/sauté cook, servers, and bus person, but it could be run just as efficiently. Once she opened her restaurants, she would bake enough bread to supply her place and Chez Toussaints.
Tonya sliced tomatoes, washed and dried lettuce leaves for the po’boys, placing them in plastic containers before they were stored on shelves in the walk-in refrigerator. She shelled and deveined countless pounds of shrimp that would be battered and fried for the sandwich.
“Are you certain you’ll sell out all of these today?” she asked Gage when he moved over to stand next to her.
He nodded. “We usually sell out of shrimp po’boys before noon. It’s one of the most requested items on the menu. We call them firecracker shrimp because we add cayenne to the dry seasonings. That and a spicy garlic mayonnaise made it an instant hit the first time we put it on the menu.”
“Do you make your own mayonnaise?” She had noticed a large glass jar in the fridge labeled mayo.
“Yes. But that’s another family secret.”
“Garlic mayonnaise by another name is aioli.”
“That is it,” he confirmed with a wide grin, “but we add chilies in addition to Tabasco sauce to give it an extra kick. There’s nothing better than our shrimp po’boy with an ice cold bottle of beer.”
“That sounds good.”
He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to her ear. “It is.”
Suddenly Tonya felt as if he was too close, that his body’s heat had seeped into hers and made her feel warm. He smelled of soap and clean linen. She wanted to tell him that he had invaded her personal space, which made her more than aware that something about Gage, other than his looks, excited her. He was a reminder that she was a woman who was still capable of passion.
Unfortunately, her ex had made it difficult for her to form a relationship with a man; she did not want to become so involved that she would lose her independence, and for Tonya independence was the single most important factor in her life. Gage had suggested they hang out together, and she would, because she knew their relationship would never progress beyond friendship and a mutual respect for their shared profession.
“What is your favorite sauce?” she asked. She felt the need to say something to make herself ignore the fact that she found his nearness slightly overwhelming.
Gage blinked as if coming out of a trance. Standing inches from Tonya and inhaling her perfume conjured up the moments when she had sat next to him in his vehicle. Every time he opened the door and sat behind the wheel, her scent lingered until after a while it faded completely. He had tried recalling the timbre of her voice, the stunning flawlessness of her bare face, and the mature, lush curves of her body that threatened to send his libido into overdrive. He did not know what there was about the woman that intrigued him so much, but he intended to discover what it was, and that was why he had asked her to go out with him.
“I’m partial to béarnaise. It goes well with chicken pontalba.”
“Is that a Creole dish?” she asked.
“Yes. It was name for the Baroness Micaela Pontalba, who earned fame for supervising the construction of the Pontalba buildings on the uptown and downtown sides of Jackson Square. One of these days I’ll make it for you, and you have to let me know if you want to put it on the menu when you open your restaurant.”
She flashed a dimpled smile. “I’d like that.”
Gage glanced above her at the clock and took off his apron. “I have to head out now, so we’ll talk later.”
Tonya nodded. “Later.” She pretended interest in chopping the red bell pepper, green onions, and sprigs of fresh tarragon for crab cakes rather than watch Gage walk out. She reminded herself she had relocated to New Orleans to go into business—not fall under the spell of a man whose very presence seemed to suck the air of out of the room.
* * *
Gage walked into the general office to sign in for the day. He nodded to the two women who were the eyes and ears for the principal who ran his school like a four-star general. The high school had undergone several changes over the years, and the result was higher test scores and lower dropout rates. The school board called an emergency meeting and conducted a search for an administrator with strong leadership qualities. They eventually hired the former headmaster of a military school who within two years had turned Lafitte High School into a model for success.
The principal’s secretary handed Gage a large craft envelope. “Mr. Toussaint, Dr. Carter wanted me to give this to you. He’s assigning you to Mr. Murdock’s class as a permanent teacher for the remainder of the school year. You’ll now be paid out of the regular school budgetandthe grant. Any after-school activities will have to be reported on the hourly professional personnel time report. Those forms are also in the envelope. If you have any questions, then please see me. I also made up a timecard for you, so beginning tomorrow you’ll be required to punch in at eight and out at three. We’ve temporarily deactivated Mr. Murdock’s email and added your name to the school’s email list, so you’ll be able to log on to his computer using your own password.”
She had spoken so quickly that Gage had to listen intently to catch every word. “Thank you.” He was taken aback that the district had hired him as a permanent teacher. Louis Murdock was a department head, which meant he would not only cover the man’s classes, but suspected he would have the responsibility for running the music department. And having to come in at eight would conflict with his covering for Eustace at the restaurant on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
He left the office, nearly colliding with Dr. Carter. Although he had recently celebrated his sixty-third birthday, the West Point graduate and former career officer appeared years younger with his slender, ramrod-straight posture, lightly graying hair, and smooth nut-brown face.
“I see Miss Gibbons gave you the envelope. The school board and the superintendent have agreed to appoint you as a permanent teacher rather than a sub. With you in Murdock’s position, you’ll be responsible for organizing the spring concert. A group email was sent to the faculty and staff that your office has been changed from the band room to Murdock’s office.”
Gage’s impassive expression did not reveal what he was thinking at that time, and he doubted the principal would want to know. He didn’t mind stepping in and picking up the slack because of a colleague’s medical emergency, but becoming a permanent faculty member was something he hadn’t planned. If he had wanted to teach full-time, then he would have applied for a position as a full-time teacher. Eustace had asked him whether he wanted to be a chef or a musician and he had been unable to give him an answer, because at this time in his life he was willing to devote only a portion of his free time to teaching students who were seriously considering a career in music.
He had earned a graduate degree in education as a backup in case he ever tired of being a session player for various bands; however, in less than twenty-four hours, his well-ordered life had changed. Now he would spend the next five months teaching, running a department, playing at Jazzes on the weekend,andassisting his brother whenever he had to cater for any party for more than twenty-five.
Gage smiled, but the gesture did not reach his eyes. “Murdock is a hard act to follow.”
