Eileen was quiet for a moment. She looked at the notebook, then back at me. "A supper club."
"If you want to call it that."
She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "And who would cook?"
"We would," I said. "You and me. Nate could talk up the wine."
She picked up her pen and took her notebook back from me. She didn't speak for the longest time. I'd learned already that Eileen didn't rush to answers.
"How many guests?" she said finally.
"Twelve to start. See how it goes."
"Once a month?"
"Twice, maybe. We could switch to weekly gatherings once we find our feet."
Murmuring in what I took to be a sign of interest, Eileen began writing in the margin of the menu page. I leaned over to see what she was putting down. It was a list of dishes, different from the ones already there, more ambitious, better suited toa dining room full of people who'd come all the way out here specifically to eat well. I reached for the pen, and she handed it over without being asked.
For the autumn, we agreed on a chestnut soup to start, a braised short rib, a cheese course, and an apple tarte tatin to finish. Eileen wanted a fish course. I suggested cured salmon with crème fraiche and dill, and she wrote it down without a word, a sign of approval.
For the spring menu, I wanted lamb. The salsa verde would need anchovies. Eileen and I battled over that for a while, and I eventually won. We didn't notice the morning slipping away until Nate came in.
He stopped in the doorway, took in the two of us bent over the notebook, talking over each other, and folded his arms.
"Should I be worried?" he said.
"Probably," I replied.
"Definitely," Eileen said at the exact same moment.
Nate came to the table and picked up the notebook. He read through it without saying anything. Eileen and I watched him.
"A restaurant?" he asked.
"A dining club."
"Supper club," Eileen corrected.
Nate's eyebrows lifted. "How many diners?"
"Twelve to start," I said. "Maybe sixteen once we know what we're doing."
He set the notebook down. "And you'd run the kitchen?"
"With Eileen."
He looked at her. She returned his gaze steadily.
"Let me think about it," he said.
He picked up my cold coffee, took a sip, and set it back down with a grimace. "I'll need to see numbers."
My heart jumped. He was actually considering it. I'd have to work out costs for food, advertising, transportation maybe. Then I'd need to figure out what people would be willing to pay.
"I'll have them by Friday," I said with more confidence than I felt.
He looked at me for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he put the notebook back on the table.
