Page 92 of Sawyer
“Doc, what are you doing in my kitchen?” Madison called, stalking between the stainless steel counters until she stood in front of him.
“I need to paint in your kitchen.” He pushed his glasses lower because she was a little blurry, the warmth in the kitchen making them foggy after being out in the cold. “I promise to stay out of the way.”
“I know you have dinner service soon,” Kyle added, “but he’s found his reason to paint again. He wants to do it here?—”
“Good!” she exclaimed, punching the air. “Then you and Phoebe are back together? Where is she? When I left her, I thought she was going to need a little more time to pull herself together.”
His bag slid from his hands to the floor. “What? When did you see Phoebe?”
“Yeah, when did you see Phoebe, Madison?” Kyle drawled with a lopsided smile.
Pierre landed on her arm with a squawk. She patted the top of his head and said, “When I broke into her apartment?—”
“You did what?” he and Kyle asked at the same time.
Crossing her arms, she gave an evil laugh. “You should see your faces. You’d think I’d run over and tore open her bed pillows with a knife or something.”
Sawyer gulped. “You didn’t take your cleaver, did you?”
“No, I brought her bread and soup, which got me into her apartment easy peasy.” She snapped her fingers. “Phoebe needed to know what was what. I told her. We talked. You should see her soon. She needed some time to clean up herred eyes and cut ties with her mother. That bitch is as bad as the woman who spawned you, Doc.”
His brain caught up, and suddenly he was processing what she was saying. Phoebe knew the truth and believed him. She was coming back to be with him. He didn’t need to— “I’m…suddenly feeling?—”
Madison lurched for a chair in the corner and shoved him into it. “Not again, Doc. You really need to stop making a habit of almost fainting in my kitchen.”
He stared at the blurry floor, all his emotions caught in his throat. “So she knows I didn’t?—”
“Yep.” She clapped her hands. “Everyone, please ignore our dear friend here. He’s going to paint us and test our mettle doing so. It’s good mental training for us as we cook, knowing the Michelin people could be out there.”
“Did you really just say that to the staff?” Kyle muttered.
“You bet I did.” She preened, chest out. “Toughens them up. Can someone bring me the vinegar?” she called.
The rapid shuffling of feet sounded, and before he knew it, a bottle of vinegar was thrust under his nose, the acrid scent clearing his head.
“Works every time,” Madison said, tucking the vinegar bottle into her front chef pocket. “Now, I need to get back to work. You paint your heart out, Doc.”
Maybe it was the vinegar that had given him the clarity of what to paint, but suddenly he knew. “I need to watch you plate your duck with cherries. Would that be possible?”
She huffed out a laugh. “Only if you eat the portion I make. Because I hate being like Brooke, but have you eaten today?”
He shook his head.
“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
“You’re really turning into a mama bear, Madison,” he tried to scold. How could he think of food when Phoebe wasgoing to forgive him, and he was about to paint the restaurant that had changed his life.
“Bite your tongue, Doc.”
“Fine, I can eat. I’m not sick to my stomach anymore. Especially knowing you talked to Phoebe. What else?—”
“Nope, that’s all you get from me.” She lifted her hand, palm out. “I’m not some love messenger. I’m going back to work. Tell me when you want the duck. Because I’m going to have to kill it.”
Her wicked laughter trailed off as she walked away. Turning to Kyle, he grinned. “She really is something, isn’t she?”
His eyes were following her, an almost dopey grin on his face.“Yeah.”
“I need to go find Nanine. I want her to be in this too.” He gripped Kyle’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.”
