Page 36 of You Had Me at Chocolate

“My chefs can, of course, do basic stuff on the run but I’m looking for something spectacular. Something unique, with wow factor. Something that changes from day to day and will have tongues wagging. And when we clearly have a master in our presence then…” He shrugged. “Why not? Plus, it gets very busy in here with three food services a day so there’s not a lot of time for flourish, no?”

Having worked in busy kitchens all his chef life, Jude understood that only too well.

“To have something premade earlier that day that can be pulled from the fridge and added to the plate would make everything so simple. Or even something that was individually made for a specific customer for a special celebration. That would be—” Edwin kissed his fingertips and blew a dramatic chef’s kiss into the air. “Perfection.” He sipped his espresso again. “You could come in whenever you wanted in the morning. Fit it in with your schedule and you can have your own work area and fridge.”

Jude was tempted. He’d enjoyed the combination of creative and culinary outlet Tamsin’s wedding cake had provided. “I’m interested.” He nodded. “Keep talking.”

“Good.” Edwin grinned triumphantly. “Because there’s more.” He downed the rest of his coffee in a quick swallow. “Come with me.”

Jude quickly swigged his coffee down as Edwin vacated his stool and headed out of the restaurant. Catching up, they crossed the lobby to the gift store which had a glass front and was situated in a bit of a nook overlooking part of the lobby and the bar. It wasn’t open yet but Jude could see shelves and tables boasting artfully displayed merchandise.

“Miranda Telford runs the Graff gift shop. She carries all kinds of things from the practical stuff guests might need, to food and gift items produced by local artisans. A little bit of Montana for our guests to take home with them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was talking to her yesterday about the possibility of a display table to feature the amazing chocolate artistry of the Graff’s very own chocolatier. It would obviously be a much bigger canvas so you could be as elaborate as you’d like. Miranda themes the shop according to the season so you could possibly theme your displays, too?”

Jude nodded, already envisioning what he could do. He was no Madam Fontaine but he was no slouch, either. “That could work.”

“Last year there was a hot chocolate competition in Marietta that spilled over into all the towns in the area, Bozeman included. I was thinking maybe we could get a little friendly rivalry going again this year between the towns? An overall grand prize for the town with the best chocolate displays as well as one for an individual display? I know Sage from Copper Mountain Chocolates and Viv from Delish would both be interested. I could source a chef from outside the area to be the judge but locals could also vote for their favorite displays?”

“That sounds like fun.” Jude’s competitive spirit kicked to life.

“So… is that a yes? Are you in?”

Jude nodded. “Preliminarily, yeah.”

It was perfect, actually. It would give him something to do while he looked for a property. Jude was lucky enough to be in a very good financial position—in fact, if he was smart and managed his money well, he’d never have to work again—but he’d never been idle, and he didn’t want to start. Plus, it would help him get to know people around town.

“Let’s go back to the bar and you can talk to me about dining numbers and supply and the logistics of it all.”

“Yes, Chef,” Edwin said with a grin.

Jude rolled his eyes. Yeah, he’d not heard that one before….

*

The next three weeks alternated between days where things sped along and days that grinded slower than a wet month but, after four weeks in Bozeman, Clem was finally settling her mom in the Marietta hospital, where her intensive rehabilitation would commence.

Her mother had come a long way in a few short weeks. Her facial droop had all but disappeared and with it her speech had improved. It wasn’t perfect and there were still some swallowing issues necessitating a feeding tube, but she was largely comprehensible, which had lessened frustrations considerably. Her balance had also improved despite still dealing with significant weakness in her left arm and leg which hindered her ability to mobilize and required substantial assistance.

As much as her mom wanted to go home and her father wanted to bring her home, she had been assessed as requiring the kind of support better accessed in a health care setting. Once she was mobilizing more reliably, able to protect her airway better and attend to her personal care needs, she could be discharged home to attend rehab on a continuing outpatient basis.

The doctors hadn’t wanted to put any time frame on how long that might take but with the kind of intensive therapy she could get as an impatient they were hoping to see meaningful improvement over the next couple of months. They had been warned, though, that it would likely be much longer for a complete recovery and to prepare themselves for the possibility that there might always be some residual effects.

Cautiously suggesting Christmas as a discharge goal to work toward, her mom had not been impressed. She’d been adamant it would be Thanksgiving and when Trina Jones put her mind to something, she got it done.

Like mother, like daughter.

Clem was just pleased to see her mom was back to her fighting self. There had been days throughout the past weeks when she’d been so despondent Clem and her dad had despaired. It certainly had been hard to keep positive when Trina was either crying or angry. Her poor father, who had borne the brunt of his wife’s dissatisfactions, had been beside himself with worry. To see the woman he loved in a whiplash-inducing Jekyll and Hyde act had been gut-wrenching for him and Clem knew he’d felt utterly helpless.

He was so used to being the one who fixed things but he couldn’t fix this and it had taken an emotional toll.

“You head home now, darling,” her father said, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll stay with Mom until after dinner.”

Clem nodded, pleased that her mother’s transfer to Marietta meant that her father would be back home, surrounded by people who knew and loved him and who could help out. One of Clem’s first goals was to establish a roster of her mother’s friends who could come to the hospital and keep Trina company, both for her own mental health, and to provide some regular respite for her dad.

“Thanks, Dad. Sleep well back in your bed for the first time in a month.” He’d not been home overnight since the stroke and Clem knew he was looking forward to the comfort of his own mattress.

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