“Me too. And coq au vin was the first thing he taught me. He told me every French person has their own version, passed down through families. That if I was going to live in France, I needed to know how to make it properly.”
“Did you make it for Margot? When she was little?”
Vance’s expression softened. “All the time. She’d sit in her high chair, and I’d let her taste the sauce on a piece of bread. She loved it.”
Margot looked up from where she was watching the chicken. “I don’t remember that.”
“You were very young, mon cœur. But you’d make this little humming sound when you ate it. Like you were singing to the food.”
A small smile tugged at Margot’s lips. “That sounds like something I’d do.”
“It was adorable,” Vance said. “And now we get to make it together. All of us.”
An hour later, the kitchen smelled of garlic, herbs, red wine, and bacon—rich and comforting. Vance had taught Margot and Mia how to deglaze the pan with wine, and I’d shown the girls how to tell when celery root was tender enough to purée.
“Can I taste it?” Margot asked, eyeing the sauce.
“Me too?” Mia asked.
“Absolutely.” Vance dipped a spoon in, blew on it to cool, and offered it to her, then did the same for Mia. “What do you think?”
Mia tasted carefully. “It’s really good. And the wine doesn’t taste like wine anymore.”
“Really yummy,” Margot said, smacking her lips with approval.
“The alcohol cooks off, but the flavor stays.” Vance looked so proud, showing them all his little tricks.
“Mom, you need to try this,” Mia said.
I came over, and Vance held out a spoon for me. “What’s the verdict, ma chérie?”
I tasted, letting the flavors settle on my tongue. “I say we did pretty great.”
I held out my fist for the girls to bump, which they did, both grinning as if they’d just created world peace in a single pan.
By the time we’d finished, the coq au vin sat on the stove, its sauce thick and glossy. The potato purée was smooth andbuttery in a serving bowl. The frisée salad was dressed and waiting in the fridge. A French baguette waited to be tossed into the oven at the last minute.
“It’s a lot of food,” Margot said, looking at everything.
“Your grandmother loves this dish,” Vance said.
“She does?” Margot asked.
“She’s going to love it even more knowing you helped make it,” Vance said.
Margot smiled—a real, genuine smile that made my heart squeeze.
“You two should wash up and change clothes,” I said. “Irene will be here any minute.”
Holding hands, the girls headed upstairs, leaving Vance and me alone in the kitchen.
“That was fun,” he said, pulling me close.
“I can’t imagine how it could have been better. A dream come true for me—all of us cooking together.”
“We’ll have many more.” He kissed me, his lips tasting faintly of wine.
“Margot’s warming up to all of us, don’t you think?” I asked.
