Page 6 of It Had to be You

The man didn’t hesitate to shrug off the apology and offer a query of his own. "Is Miss Sexton unhappy with anything at all? We’re happy to fix anything she found disagreeable."

"No, no, nothing like that," Alexander tried to reassure him as best as he could, "she hasn’t really tasted much of it. There’s a business issue she had to fix."

"Oh," the sous chef was relieved to say the least, "I am sorry to hear about that. Would you like us to hold off on the last course?"

Looking down at his plate, Alexander set his fork down and shrugged. "If that won’t cause you any issues. I don’t know when she’s going to be back."

The sous chef looked over at the chef who gave him a nod, barely holding in his frustration.

"All right, sir. Dessert will take about five minutes to prepare, so just let us know when you’re ready."

"Thank you." Alex watched the man turn to walk away and let out a sigh. Lifting his fork from the plate, he used the tines to nudge the piece of langoustine that he’d just cut from the whole. He wasn’t much in the mood anymore to eat, but it would have been an insult to the staff that had bent over backwards trying to accommodate Blair’s ‘affirmative request.’ At least that’s what she’d told him when he’d asked her why she’d been so set on breaking the rules.

"It’s not about breaking the rules," she’d given him a look that was equal parts shock and incredulity, "it’s about knowing what I want and getting it."

The kitchen door swung open, and Alexander turned to look. While it was a door in the opposite direction that Blair had gone, he was hoping to get to finish their dinner.

And there she was.

No, not Blair.

The woman he’d seen stepping off the elevator and then again at the door to the restaurant.

She was flushed and smiling as if she’d just had a reason for laughing and hadn’t yet lost the rush of the feeling.

The chef waved her over and leaned closer until his pristine coat was reflected into the polished surface. "Miss Hansen, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your promise!"

Her wide-eyed shock spoke volumes. "Never, Graham. And even if I was brainwashed by a Bond villain, I would always remember you." She laid her palms flat on the counter and shook her head in a solemn gesture. "You, and your passion fruit crème brûlée. One taste of that would bring me back from near death."

Shaking his head, the chef’s amused chuckle was vastly different from his earlier professional demeanor when he had greeted Blair at the kitchen door. "Well then, while I can say that you look too lovely to be at death’s door, we can all use a little revival from time to time." Turning around, he picked up a plate from a counter and then reached into a basket for a fork.

When he held both out to her it was with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal presentation. "Your refresher, my lady."

Her reply was a quick and inelegant snort, leaving both of them laughing at the sound.

A quick look about the brilliantly lit kitchen, she turned and leaned her hip on the counter. Alex couldn’t blame her. The only chairs were at the chef’s table and while Blair’s seat was empty, her food was on the table.

And while she was presumably coming back to finish, Alexander couldn’t help but offer. "Miss? If you’d like to have a seat…" He stood and managed to grasp his napkin before it fell to the ground,

"you can have my chair."

She lifted her chin to look over at the table. "That’s a table set for two," she crossed one ankle over the other

as she settled in against the counter, "and you’re supposed to be getting to know your match… Mister Wen, I believe?"

How unfortunate in a way that she remembered him from earlier. If this had been a first meeting it might have started off in a completely different direction.

Nodding, he smiled at her, but he doubted that she was even aware of the gesture as she was busy cutting a tiny little slice into the crisp pastry edge of the dessert on her plate. The amount of concentration evident in her features was akin to that of a surgeon or one of those people in the movies who disarm bombs. She gave the action infinite care.

It wasn’t until she brought her fork up to her lips, with a sliver of custard quivering between the hard shell of sugar and the pastry crust, that she appeared to remember that he was still standing there.

"You don’t," she seemed to struggle to find the words, "you don’t have to wait for me to sit, I’m hiding in here until every delectable bite of this is gone."

"I guess I don’t have to wait," he explained, "but I’m finding the whole production of dessert to be most interesting."

"Production?" She must have seen something in his expression that said he was joking, because the concentrated look on her features eased into a soft smile. "Well, don’t expect me to sing and dance with it. I can dance, but I have zero ability to hold a tune even if I used both hands and one of those huge IKEA shopping bags."

Lifting her fork again, she sliced off another sliver and as she lifted it to her mouth, she watched him over the fork. When her lips closed over the fork he had to swallow, hoping to force the lump in his throat to clear.

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