Page 32 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“Shall we eat?” She reached for the basket. “I say we leave this on the ground and take out what we’d like. Oh, bread! It smells especially delicious.”
“That’s because it’s from Thea, and she’s one of the best bakers in town, if you ask me.”
“High praise in a city of renowned bakers,” Jacqueline said, biting into the sliced bread she plucked out. “But one I must agree with. This has incredible flavor! And it brings out the notes in the wine.”
“Whew!” He took the opportunity to slyly wipe his brow again. “That’s a relief. I didn’t know what I’d do if the flavors clashed.”
Again, he’d made her smile, and each time she did made him feel like he’d ascended to the Base Camp at Everest. An opportunity he’d happily turned down when invited by one of his adrenaline-junky tech clients. Because hey, you could freeze to death, suffocate from altitude sickness, or fall off the mountain. He didn’t do hobbies, especially expensive ones that could lead to death. Where was the sense in that? He’d find no “It” idea on a mountain. Better to enjoy comfort, convenience, and luxury—like this wine.
He took another sip, his mind turning the idea over in his head. He’d agonized about choosing a wine for the picnic, and he’d been surprised there wasn’t an easier way. Finding online suggestions was tough because the liquor store might not stock whatever was recommended. He’d gotten lucky with his choice, a noted wine. But when he’d walked into the liquor store, he’d wondered: what did they really know about the intricacies of his picnic menu? They weren’t chefs who did food pairings. Or sommeliers, for that matter.
He’d asked Thea what bread she was thinking about making, sure, but cheese and charcuterie could clash with a wine, especially a really strong cheese. The conclusion he’d come to was simple: selecting wine in Paris was hard and easy at the same time. He wanted to make it simpler, a thought that gave him tingles—the same kind he’d had at the pet store and then the wine store he’d gone to afterward, when he’d discovered a cave for sale. He just didn’t know how it all fit together yet.
He was rather hoping Jacqueline would bring up the cave so they could discuss wine. She would have strong views on the topic, naturally, and he had some opinions and ideas he wanted to test out on her.
He turned to look at her. She was riffling through the picnic basket again, her wineglass hanging casually from her right hand. God, she was so freaking sexy he was going to drool again.
“What do we have here?” she asked, bringing out a small Sub-Zero container.
His shopping hadn’t procured that. “I have no idea actually.”
When she opened it, she cooed. Like one of those turtledoves in the park.
“Oh, it’s a poached lobster salad.” She gave a delicate sniff, making him think she had the cutest, pert little nose of any woman out there. “Lime, white wine, shaved apple, and a little honey, I think.”
“Correct,” Pierre suddenly broke in. “From Chef Madison.”
Dean blinked. “Wait! When did Madison make that for us?”
“This morning,” Pierre told him. “She visited the fish market.”
“I’m in shock,” Dean admitted. “Madison went to the market this morning? Like before noon? But she hates mornings. She never—”
“She must care about you very much, then,” Jacqueline added as she took a bite, “because this salad is a time-consuming effort and absolutely exquisite. I read in thatLe Mondearticle that she worked at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Miami, and it shows here. When you reopen Nanine’s, the Michelin gods will come, I expect.”
He nearly dropped his wine when he fell back in his slanted chair. “Seriously? That’s huge praise from a professional who’s just finished a stint in a two-star Michelin restaurant herself.”
She made a humming sound as she finished her bite. “You looked me up.”
“It’s the age we live in. I enjoyed what I saw, but I’m interested in learning more about what makes you tick—what’s shaped you, what makes you happy, what drives you crazy, what makes you— I’d better stop there.”
“Yes, you should while I savor this salad.” Her gaze wasn’t on him anymore, but she had that whole coquettish French woman thing going on with the way she’d angled her head to the side as if considering what he’d said. The slow game. He liked it. Nothing worth having came quickly. Oh, who was he kidding? Instantaneous gratification with women worked for him, sure, but it usually didn’t lead to anything more meaningful, and he wanted a whole lot more.
“I hope this salad is on the new menu,” Jacqueline commented as she finished another bite with a near moan, exciting him way too much. “Please give Madison my compliments when you return to the restaurant, and count me as one of the first to make a reservation for Nanine’s reopening. Once news gets out about the food, I have a feeling it will be impossible to get a reservation.”
He didn’t tell her that after the appearance of Pierre inLe Monde, they were already booked for three months solid. All he could think of was what she’d just said.
“You can tell all that from one dish?” he asked, his jaw slack now.
Her brow furrowed, and she turned into a serious food professional in the blink of an eye. “How could you not know how magnificent Madison—Chef Garcia—is? She’s your friend, your business partner—”
“Look, I know she’s good. Really good.”
Her look brought to mind Madison’s stare when she threatened to use her cleaver. Maybe he’d gotten spoiled with her cooking? He hated to think he was taking her hard work and talent for granted.
“I’m glad you like the salad.” He picked up a fork and speared a sliver of lobster into his mouth, then groaned himself at the taste. “Okay, that is freaking ridiculous.”
“It pairs beautifully with the bread,” she told him with another pointed look.
