“For monsieur, an appetizer of a miniature Gruyère souffle with Dijon mustard.” The souffle looked very temptingly fluffy, with steam rising from it. It had obviously just come out of the oven.
A tiny clink came from above. Fen promptly knocked over a container of pens on the side table. “Oops!”
“Never mind, madame,” said the waiter who’d introduced the souffle. He jerked his head at the waiter who had pushed in the cart, who immediately started picking them up. “For madam’s entree, duck confit with fingerling potatoes and roast peach compote. For monsieur, filet mignon with sauteed mushrooms and a baked potato.”
“That looks amazing,” said Carter. “Yours too, Fen.”
Another clink. Also a furry squirming sensation against her side. She dropped a hopefully casual-looking hand down on the blanket, pinning the struggling Sugar to the mattress.
“And for dessert—”
She cut the waiter off. “Thank you very much! We, um, like to guess our desserts, don’t tell us what they are. The sides and drinks too. Thank you!”
The waiters both gave her odd looks, but took off. As the door was closing behind them, Precious swooped down from the chandelier and attempted to dive-bomb Carter’s steak. He flung out his hands, protecting it. Precious veered off, shrieking angrily.
“My God,” Carter muttered. “What a disaster that would have been.”
Precious screeched.
“All right, all right.” He hastily cut into his steak, chopping off a good third of it and slicing it into dragonette-sized bits, then scraping them off onto a bread plate. He placed it on the side table, where Precious pounced on it and began to devour her chopped filet.
“Thanks for getting rid of the waiters, Fen.”
“Good thing people mostly don’t look up.”
“And that it wasn’t on their mind to do a visual sweep of the suite for dragonettes,” said Carter. “I wonder what she ate when she was in the swamp.”
“Not pawpaws, that’s for sure,” said Fen.
Sugar wriggled out from under the blankets, sniffed at her plate, and chittered angrily.
“Don’t worry, I thought of you,” she said soothingly, and uncovered the side dishes. She’d ordered a salad, dressing on the side, just for him. Fen wasn’t a big salad fan. She put some of the salad on a plate, put the plate on the other side table, and watched him pounce.
Carter took a spoonful of his cheese souffle and closed his eyes in ecstasy. “You have got to try this… Here.”
He scooped up a spoonful and held it to her mouth. She closed her lips around it. The souffle was light as a cloud, saved from being too rich by the sharpness of the mustard. “Delicious.”
They ended up splitting all their dishes, eating Carter’s souffle first before it collapsed, then turning to Fen’s toast. The caviar popped in her mouth, the burrata was deliciously creamy, and the toast was perfectly golden. After that they turned to her duck and his steak, both of which were excellent. The duck was savory and crispy, with the tangy peach compote cutting the richness, and the steak was seared to perfection.
“I notice a distinct absence of fish,” he remarked. “I’m not surprised.”
“Well, the caviar comes from a fish. But I had to make an exception for caviar.”
“Of course.” He laughed. “Did you see that their signature dessert is pawpaw pudding?”
She shuddered. “I saw. Horrible.”
“To think I thought they were so delicious when I first ate one.”
“Me too,” said Fen. “I suppose if I lived on nothing but caviar I’d get to hate it eventually. But I think it would take more than a couple days.”
Carter had an Old Fashioned to accompany his meal, and Fen had Glenmorangie neat. They tried each other’s drinks, but only once. He said her whiskey would overpower his steak, and she thought his cocktail was good for what it was, but would have been better without the non-whiskey ingredients.
With a flourish, he uncovered the desserts. All things considered, they’d decided it was a three-dessert night. They had chocolate mousse with sea salt and whipped cream, a chocolate-pistachio tart, and a very pink confection of two big raspberry macarons sandwiching a filling of fresh lychees and rose cream. It looked like a lot, especially after all they’d eaten already, but they had no trouble tackling them.
“Which is your favorite?” Carter asked, when they were down to just one bite of each.
“The chocolate mousse, I think,” said Fen. “Which is yours?”
