Lucas laughed.
“Enough about me,” I said. “You were telling me about the restaurant.”
He angled toward me, matching my posture. “I need a professional plater to elevate the dining experience for patrons. I know you’re a baker, and an excellent one, but I also know you learn quickly, and you light up when a new skill clicks for you. You thrive in the restaurant’s kitchen, and you’re creative.”
I leaned forward as he spoke, drawn in by his delight.
“I think,” he continued, “that if you’re open to trying something new—and that’s up to you, of course, there’s no pressure ...” He ran his palms over the tops of his thighs and took a deep breath. “You could be magnificent at plating food, and if you’re interested in learning those skills, I would love it if you’d fulfill that role for my restaurant.”
I processed his request slowly, knocked utterly off-balance for the tenth time in a single day. “Tell me more,” I said, unwilling to squash his excitement. He deserved to be heard, even if my answer was going to be no. I baked pastries. I didn’t plate food, whatever that meant, and I didn’t have time to learn a new skill set. Nor did I have the desire.
Lucas bounced his palms against his knees. “Plating food is an art, and those skilled in the craft are in high demand. The new position at Chez Margot comes with a significant pay increase from pastry chef. Training is paid for and includes meals and travel. You’d receive your usual salary for the days we have classes, and I’ll be with you the wholetime, because I’m taking a few sessions in preparation for the evening changes as well.”
“You?” I asked. Was he inviting me on a business trip? With him?
“I’ve run the café successfully as it is for many years, but I’ve never managed a place like the one in my visions. I need to be prepared for new challenges.”
“I see.” I plucked a stray fiber from the cushion’s seam. “Are the classes given through the local community college? Or are they at the country club?” I teased.
His cheeks reddened, and for a moment, I wondered if we really were headed to a country club. “The classes will require travel and several days off work.”
Traveling alone with Lucas? That could be interesting. “Who will manage the restaurant and make the desserts?”
“John will shift to manager mode. He has previous experience in the role, and he understands the ins and outs of everything I do. I’ll cut the dessert offerings to a single option while we’re away and train the staff to make it, so anyone can fulfill the order, temporarily.”
My eyes narrowed. “How long are the classes?”
“Three weeks.”
My jaw dropped.
He raised both palms to protest. “Don’t answer yet. It’s a big decision. Lots of moving parts, and plenty for you to sleep on. Not to mention the timing is terrible. Your daughter is planning a wedding. You’re in the middle of a divorce. It’s especially difficult for you to get away right now.” He pursed his lips. “And the school is in France.”
My eyes bulged, and I had to lean back against the couch to avoid rolling off it. “France?” I repeated. “Like the country across the sea? How much will that cost?”
“It was included in my business loan proposal,” he said. “If I want to compete with other restaurants at the caliber I’m reaching for, I have to do things right. That means training from the best in the business.And that means a trip home.” His expression softened on the final word. “It’s beautiful this time of year. You’d love it, I’m sure.”
“No doubt.”
Lucas dusted his palms, then stood abruptly. “I’m going to go now. I apologize again for stopping by unannounced and dropping all of this in your lap like a bomb. I wanted you to have as much time as possible to consider the offer.” He lifted a hand in goodbye, then turned for the door.
I hustled after him, tangling my legs beneath me, then fumbling for my footing as I hurried to the porch.
He was in the yard before I reached the top step.
“Lucas! Wait!”
He stilled for a prolonged beat before turning to look up at me in the failing evening light.
“Where in France?” I asked.
“Oh.” Something in the small word sounded like disappointment, and I wondered briefly what that might mean. “Nice.”
Nice.In the French Riviera, the region where my mom met Sébastien Allard.
“When?”
“Right after your next court date,” he said. “You requested time off. It’s on the calendar.” He waved and climbed back into his car.
