Page 7 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“We meet again, my friend,” Gustave continued in French. “How have you been?”
“Sad,” the parrot replied. “My friend is gone.”
Brooke was glad she was sitting down because her knees might have given out.
“Oh, how awful for you, Pierre,” Gustave uttered gravely, his eyes looking suspiciously bright. “I heard Madame Beaumont had passed away, and I am sorry for your loss. But you have arrived at a good home with good people and a splendid kitchen. You will once again help make great cuisine. Everyone will be so happy to have you back where you belong.”
Brooke gazed around the table in shock. Nanine and her roommates looked back at her with the same disbelief. Dean had somehow pulled off a stroke of genius, saving the interview in his crazy Dean fashion.
“Merci, Gustave,” the parrot croaked out, his dark eyes animated and warm, shockingly human.
“You might say kismet in English,” Gustave stated, “but we sayla chancein French. Nanine, this is all very incredible. Pierre has been greatly missed from Paris’ food scene, as has Chef Beaumont. As I said, I had heard about his wife’s passing—and that the family is finally disposing of his estate.”
“Yes, the restaurant’s cave as well,” Dean said with a pointed look in their direction.
An entire cave? Brooke was going to hyperventilate. She watched as everyone around the table sat up straighter in their chairs. Such a find was next to impossible. She knew from her time in New York helping her father build up his wine collection. Truly great bottles came from rare finds on wine collector websites, auctions at Sotheby’s, or chance occurrences at old estates.
But not to Dean, it seemed, their own Don Quixote, who had told them he wouldn’t be satisfied with the status quo.
He seemed to preen like the parrot on his arm. “I’m on the list for the auction—or we are—as interested buyers. Another story of kismet, I must say.”
Nanine rose slowly, her clenched hand on the table supporting her. “You are full of great fortune today, it seems, Dean. Perhaps you can take your new friend upstairs and show him your accommodations. Gustave’s time here is limited. He needs to leave for Burgundy—”
“But it is no problem, Nanine.” Gustave held out his arm. “Pierre and I are old friends, aren’t we?”
The parrot flew over to the reporter, and for a moment, Brooke forgot to keep her mouth politely closed. The reporter was wearing a Louis Vuitton suit from the new collection! But the man didn’t seem to mind one bit. Indeed, the interview continued with Gustave talking mostly to the parrot after that.
Nanine resumed her seat, looking pale—which made Brooke start to worry about her blood pressure. A sour-faced Madison sat stiffly beside her. She must be losing her mind at the thought of cohabitating with that parrot. Kyle managed to shake off his shock, certifying his role as the president of the professionalism club, and pivoted to asking Gustave for more stories about the famous Pierre and Chef Beaumont with his Golden Boy smile firmly in place. Dean lapped it up while Sawyer sat beside him, shaking his head in disbelief. Yeah, she knew how he felt.
By the time Gustave looked ready to leave, he was grinning as if he’d just won the highest honor for journalism in France. He even playfully air-kissed Pierre on both cheeks before extending his arm to Dean, signaling Pierre to fly the short distance over to their very own kismet maker.
Kyle took command of the farewells, with Nanine standing to her full height and kissing Gustave Parisian style before he shook everyone else’s hands formally but with real warmth.
“I couldn’t be more excited about this article and the new direction of Nanine’s,” Gustave said, his renowned formality as absent as Manolo Blahnik’s newest shoes from the rack the day after release day. “Surely the Michelin gods are working with you and will see fit to bestow a star on Nanine’s, assuming your food is as good as always. Perhaps this will finally bring August Dassault’s interference to an end.”
Brooke bit the inside of her cheek. Nanine couldn’t be pleased to hear the name of her former instructor in culinary school—the devious man who’d lied to her about leaving his wife, denied fathering their child, and then tried to blackball her in restaurant circles. Was that what Gustave was talking about?
The chandelier clanged again, as if feeling the shock rolling over her and her roommates. Nanine only gave him a mysterious smile in response, after which Gustave took his leave, smiling at the parrot one last time.
Sawyer would probably say the kitchen was as quiet as a library, and Brooke could almost hear Nanine counting to make sure Gustave was well away from the restaurant before saying anything.
Sawyer swiftly rose from the table and said, “I’ll just shut the back door.”
Dean produced one of his winning smiles. “I know—”
“Not yet,” Nanine interrupted, holding up a finger.
Suddenly the full impact of what had occurred hit Brooke and likely the others. Unease filtered through the kitchen. Nanine’s chandelier gave a whisper of a dark accompaniment—crystal overture No. 6, Brooke thought as she pressed her thumb and forefinger together, waiting for the eruption to commence.
“It’s closed,” Sawyer called, returning with the defensive lift of his left shoulder.
“Dean,” Nanine began, laying her palms on the table, “I love you dearly. But you have brought a parrot into my kitchen—excuse me, Madison’s kitchen—with no discussion.”
He had the grace to wince before laying his hand over hers, holding her brown gaze. “If you’ll let me start at the beginning—”
“Tell us this incredible story then before Madison rises and grabs her cleaver,” Nanine said, although the usual joke didn’t produce laughter.
“Yeah, Dean, let’s hear it,” Madison finally said, crossing her arms over her chef’s uniform, “and make it good. I just sharpened my cleaver yesterday.”
