Page 2 of Sawyer
He and his friends had been tense, waiting to see what the verdict would be on the labor of their heart. Last night’s first patrons had posted effusively online, but he hadn’t expectedthis. He didn’t think anyone had.
Everyone was either standing or sitting in Nanine’s salon, absorbed by the review. All of his friends were here—Madison, the head chef; Kyle, the CEO of the hospitality group they’d opened together; Thea, the baker whose breads the article had raved over; Dean, their tech guru who’d brought Nanine’s into the modern age; Brooke, their up-and-coming interior designer who’d added a new panache to Paris’ beloved restaurant; and Thea’s fiancé and Nanine’s lawyer, Jean Luc Mercier. Their soon-to-be brother-in-law of sorts was the only non-roommate who’d been allowed upstairs for the review reading.
They all had their own copies ofLe Monde, which he and Kyle had rushed back with as soon as the newspaper had hit the stands midafternoon.
Brooke was sitting on a settee next to Nanine like usual, worried about her heart after the heart attack that had changed her life and brought them back to Paris. Thea, who had been nervous about the review, was cushioned between him and Kyle on the sofa with Jean Luc resting on the edge, as if he were too nervous to choose between sitting and standing. Dean sat slouched down in a chair beside them with his feet kicked out. Only Madison perched a little outside their cozy circle, her walls a veritable fortress since the review was the first critical commentary on her menu concept and execution.
Sawyer had been ready to quote some deliberately vague Rousseau line about the vagaries of public opinion to help calm everyone down if the review wasn’t as positive as they’d hoped.
Thiswas beyond anything he’d considered.Thishad hishead feeling like he’d been clobbered by his cherished expanded edition hardback Oxford dictionary.
Hold. The. Phone.
“Oh my God!” Thea suddenly let out an ear-piercing squeal. “He mentioned my bread and talked about my bakery opening this February. I can’t believe it!”
Since Sawyer was a speed reader, he knew the others hadn’t gotten to the end of Gustave’s article where his art was mentioned.
“Wonderful doesn’t cut it,” Dean shot out, punching the air. “This is game-changing?—”
“Magnifique!”Nanine cried, pressing her fist to her red-painted mouth.
He stared at the woman who had founded this restaurant and given him a home away from home ten years ago, and again when she’d needed help bringing the restaurant back from near destruction. Nanine was more of a mother to him than his own had ever been.
All he’d wanted was to help her get her restaurant back on its feet, contributing two paintings, one she’d asked for, along with a couple other smaller items.
Now there wasthis.
He slumped back in his chair, gripping his newspaper, and raked a hand through his wild black hair. His mental state might as well be swirls of paint, but he glanced around at the others.
Nanine had tears running down her face, and rightfully so. The restaurant had been closed for months after her career-ending heart attack, caused by the attempted theft of her restaurant by her own daughter and son-in-law. The roommates had restored it lovingly, and Madison had waded in as the newchef de cuisineand kicked ass.
His gaze swung to Madison, whose mouth was hanging open like an overstuffed cabinet that couldn’t be closed.
They’d known the new menu was unique. Maybe evenrisky, although they’d hoped foravant-garde.No one else was doing the course-by-course bread pairings they were offering, courtesy of Thea, and the review stated again and again in flowery French how they’d knocked it out of the park.
But the art he’d painted for the restaurant? He’d agreed to brave his fears and help decorate the new Nanine’s because Nanine had asked him. But he’d felt inspired to dig deeper into his tortured soul and painted a portrait of her, agonizing over every touch of paint. She’dneededto be there. People had to remember this incredible woman.
Hanging it on Nanine’s cherished walls had tested his courage as much as his ability to keep food down. He’d been terrified it wasn’t good enough even after Brooke’s new beau, a famed interior designer, had assured him it was a work of art. That compliment alone had made him hope his dream of being a successful painter could still come to pass, even though it hadn’t when he’d tried ten years ago.
That agony seemed ages ago now.
If he were back in the seventeenth century, he’d be pulling out his smelling salts. He was glad he was sitting down. Was this shock? He couldn’t feel his body. His heart pounding in his ears told him he was alive, so that was a relief. He wasn’t ready to leave this life when he’d finally gotten a taste of validation.
Artistic recognition by a well-known authority…and it had happened in Paris, the city he loved more than his own life sometimes, a city that loved art beyond compare.
“Madison! This is so freaking awesome.” Dean lifted his wide-eyed gaze to look at their stunned friend, who was clutching the newspaper like a life preserver. “You killed it. Pierre too! I love that Gustave mentioned the little guy again as another bonus to coming to Nanine’s.”
Sawyer had been in the pet store when Dean had found their cuisine-loving parrot, whose previous home had been another famous Parisian restaurant. Dean had insisted thestars had aligned in their favor by bringing them to Pierre. At the time Sawyer had doubted him, but maybe he’d been right.
“We knew Madison and everyone else nailed it last night after all of the posts online from our first patrons,” Kyle followed up, coming out of his chair to cross to her.
He reached for her hand and touched it briefly, making her jerk as if jolted by lightning. Oddly perfect, Sawyer’s mind spit out, since the French word for lightning wasfoudreand acoup de foudremeant a sudden unforeseen event like the one they were having right this minute.
He was glad his synapses were still able to fire.
“Way to go, little sister.” Kyle wisely returned to his seat and touched Thea’s now blushing cheek before ruffling his newspaper. “But hang on, I’m not finished with the article yet.”
“You’ll want to keep reading until the end.” Brooke was sitting with perfect posture next to Nanine, who still had her hand pressed against her mouth, her expressive brown eyes gleaming. “I know this from fashion reviews.”
