Bobbie hadn’t minded in the least. It had meant that the company was done with food, and she could escape back to her cottage to turn in early in order to set sail the following morning at the break of dawn.
That didn’t mean, however, that she wasn’t curious every now and then about the goings on in that part of the house, post dinner.
Questioning Allain once, he’d laughingly told her that after dessert was cleared, the polite sheen the guests adopted for the meal more often than not devolved into a ponderous amount of drinking when they retired to the salon, which led to uninhibited ribaldry, expensive cheroots, and even heated game or two of Faro.
Not poker.Faro. Who played that anymore?
Still… The spiciness of the gathering kind of appealed to Bobbie and made sense, what with the Gatsby-era kind of vibe that Monsieur Provard had going on. That he’d not only host aretro-themed get-together, but also encourage his guests to cut loose after with old games like Faro, seemed…fitting.
But enough time wasted.
Bobbie hustled back into to the kitchen, washed her hands, and put her apron on once again.
It was time to put the finishing touches on everything.
Three hourslater with the charcuterie board devoured, the meal served, and dessert being plated up and carried out, Bobbie once again knew her food had been a hit from the number of empty plates coming back into the kitchen. When people left food, you had a problem. When you could see the opulent motif on the returning settings?
Success.
Bobbie yawned widely after all the dessert China had arrived back to the kitchen.
“Things were a bit chaotic, ce soir. Oui?” Allain questioned her, chuckling over her open mouth. “If you’d like, I can take care of du nettoyage so you can get your repos beauté.”
Bobbie grinned and snorted. “I must be more tired than I thought. I caught your ce soir, which I know means ‘tonight’, but nettoyage? Repos beauté? I haven’t got a clue.” She tamped down a second yawn.
Allaine laughed. “Clean-up and beauty rest, in that order,” he clarified. “What I should have said is, go catch some sleep so you can leave with the birds in the morning. I’ve got this covered.”
“You know what?” Bobbie untied her apron and placed it on the counter, looking around at the tidying she’d already done. “I think I’m going to take you up on that. Thank you, Allain. I’ll see you next week.”
“You will, indeed,” he said, giving her a small bow from the waist.
The man was a charmer.
As she made her way out into the night, the windows in the huge salon were open, and she could already hear the ribald laughter heading for higher decibels.
She shook her head.
Bobbie supposed that fashionable society was good, but she was glad not to be a part of any of it.
Give her the simple life any day; alone time on the water, a new recipe to cook, a friend to hang with over coffee, and she was happy.
Or at least she had been.
Her face fell.
For the past few days, she wasn’t feeling quite so settled, and she knew why.
With Buck showing up in town again, Bobbie had begun to question herself about how he’d fit into her new reality if they had to run into each other in town.
When he’d been a huge part of her life; when he’d cheered her dreams on, when they’d been together, she’d always known exactly how they’d fit. She’d seen her heretofore unwritten biography following a predictable arc.
She’d get into college and sail under their flag. She’d win a few international cups. She’d ace all her culinary classes and become a famous chef. She’d marry Buck, settle down to own her own restaurant in town, and enter the OSTAR, which she’d win. Eventually they’d have kids.
They’d talked about it, in vague ways. She’d learned that he wanted five, and she wanted three, but there’s had never been a contentious debate about it, since it was all fairy-tales. In the same regard, they’d had giddy disagreements, arguing the minutia of their future together.
Then, in the blink of one night, it had all been gone.
Poof.
