Page 2 of From Paris, with Butter
To see everything turn out so well for them made me feel as jubilant as the newly-betrothed couple. It always did.
Pulling off a successful engagement gave me such a high that I’d become the restaurant’s de facto engagement coordinator, spending as much time working through details as the proposers wanted, and pulling out all the stops when they arrived at the restaurant.
My coworkers good-naturedly ribbed me for all the unpaid time I devoted to proposals, but each one was a guaranteed moment of happiness for me. The fact that Le Jules Verne was one of the most popular proposal spots on the planet had been a major reason I’d applied for a job here five years ago. Engagements always made me giddy. If I couldn’t experience one myself, at least I could work in a place full of happy couples.
“Your sixth course,” I said to a Canadian pair as I placed two slices of plum moelleux cake with blackberry sorbet and lightly sweetened cream in front of them. “How did you enjoy the cheese selection?”
The man threw his hands up in mock despair. “Why can I understand your French perfectly, but as soon as I ask anyone else in Paris for so much as the time, they lose me immediately?”
I smiled, not mentioning that I was speaking particularly clearly, the way I always did when diners spoke to me in careful, hopeful French.
“I read my phrasebook so many times, but every time I say even two words in French, the person either doesn’t understand, or they comment that I have an accent,” the man continued, exasperated. “I know I have an accent! I’m from Toronto!” He took a bite of blackberry sorbet and groaned with pleasure.
“That’s just the French being French,” I reassured him. “We love commenting on accents. What have you been trying to say?”
I pulled out my notebook and wrote out phonetically the phrases he and his partner had been struggling with. When they were able to repeat them back with a decent grasp of the pronunciation, I declared them ready to take on the country.
“You’re speaking wonderfully. Anyone who claims to not understand you now is being purposefully difficult. Which will probably happen! But at least you know it isn’t your fault.”
At my next table, the madrileños I was serving had already spent a week in France. The man wanted to see more art, but his wife had clearly had her fill of museums. She actually shuddered when he pulled out a guidebook for the Louvre. When I brought out their final course, they asked my advice on how to break their impasse.
“The Musée Rodin,” I said firmly. “Just the gardens. It’s full of some of the most famous sculptures in the world, but you’ll be outside in the sun with flowers and fountains around you.” When her husband, after a moment’s hesitation, accepted that suggestion, his wife heaved a sigh. She mouthed silent thanks to me before draining her wine glass.
“I haven’t spilled a single thing today,” Colette, our newest server, whispered to me as she bounced between her tables.
As I took a table’s empty plates, I noticed that Leïla, another server, was deep in conversation with a grand-looking couple from Moscow, the woman absolutely dripping with jewels. I couldn’t understand what they were saying,and I feared trouble was brewing, but then the man laughed, and Leïla—who generally spent her shifts terrified she’d ruin everything, despite diners loving her for her sweetness and brilliant language skills—let out a small laugh herself.
The kitchens were whipping up courses perfectly, the waitstaff flitted gracefully between tables, and no one asked for last-minute substitutions or turned their nose up at the wine pairings Paul, our sommelier, suggested. It was one of those perfect evenings where all the guests were happy.
Which, of course, meant something had to go off the rails.
At the front of the main dining room, I noticed Luc gesturing for me. Luc had been initially hired as a server, like the rest of us, but after spilling two trays in a week (including a deeply unfortunate incident involving the mayor of Brussels and a tureen of roasted garlic soup), he’d been moved to the front of house position. It suited him much better. Despite his joking demeanor (and poor balance), he was meticulously organized and kept all the reservations running smoothly.
“Your guests for table eight,” Luc told me when I reached him, indicating a couple standing at the restaurant’s entrance.
It was a youngish man and woman. She looked to be mid- twenties, he maybe half a decade older. She had a pale face framed by short, feathery hair. She was standing perfectly still, taking in the restaurant and giving off an unmistakable aura ofje ne sais quoi, that ability to appear interesting and confident without doing a single thing.
Her partner was harder to pin down. The man was partially backlit, but there was enough light to see that he was tall and thin, with muscular arms. He was wearing a dark suit, beautifully tailored. His face was in shadow, but he had a head of unruly blond curls.
“Bonsoir,” I said, going to them. “Welcome to Le Jules Verne. I’ll show you to your table.”
The man stepped forward so that I could see his face. It was thin with prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. In the light, he was even more attractive than his partner. Not just attractive; there was something about him that held the eye. Distinguished, my grandmother would have called him.
His eyes, a vibrant hazel, looked me up and down. For some reason, hisgaze made me feel off balance. Like I’d stepped on a floorboard that unexpectedly wobbled.
“Please follow me,” I said again, giving myself a little shake to regain my composure.
I led them to their table, held out the chair for the woman, and placed their menus before them.
“Our sommelier will be along in a moment, but let me describe the first course. It’s caviar and iced conso—”
“What kind of caviar?” the man asked, cutting across me.
“Osetra caviar,” I said, smiling.
“Where is it sourced from?”
If he had waited ten seconds I would have answered all his questions, but sometimes people were eager.“Lake Kardjali in Bulgaria. It was harvested just a few weeks ago,” I added with a flourish.
