Page 47 of From Paris, with Butter
Frantically, I thought back to the notes I’d seen on the couple. The chocolatemousses had been eliminated in favor of the dessert cheeses, but there hadn’t been any mention of it being because Señor Costa didn’t like chocolate. I thought he’d just wanted the cheese.
“My apologies,” I said, hoping my smile didn’t come off more like a grimace. “I’ll be right back with profiteroles without chocolate.”
Both of them remained unsmiling. “I expected more from a restaurant that charges these prices,” the Prime Minister said.
“I’ll return in just a moment with the correct dish,” I assured them again. I felt their eyes on me as I walked across the restaurant.
Another server must have heard what had happened and passed it along to the kitchen. I saw they were already hustling to plate new sets of profiteroles.
“I prefer not to eat chocolate,” Colette mimicked, her voice pouty. “Who is this manchild?”
“Keep your voice down,” Leïla pleaded. “And we still don’t have the tetilla.”
“Still nothing?” I asked. Leïla shook her head.
“What if we put every cheese we have on the plate and not even mention the tetilla? Maybe he won’t notice?” I suggested halfheartedly.
Colette shook her head. “A member of their team gave the kitchens the engagement ring. Apparently Señor Costa wants the final course brought out with the ring ontopof the tetilla.”
I sagged against the counter. Señor Costa wouldn’t be getting the meal or proposal experience he wanted. All this work, and the night was going to end in failure. I’d really thought that Laurent would come through.
I looked past Leïla into the kitchens. Chef La Croix was hanging his head, and he looked as tired as I felt. One of the sous chefs actually reached out to pat his shoulder.
In the hallway, there came a soft chime: the indication of an elevator arriving. As one, we turned toward the sound. It was too late for new diners to arrive.
In the moment before the elevator appeared, everything was completely still. The hum of the pulleys working was the only sound to pierce the silence. Dimly, I imagined Señor Costa watching the mechanisms move, his lips pursed with displeasure. I was holding my breath as the doors slid open.
The first thing I saw was the toe of a very shiny shoe.
My breath caught.
There was a moment when nothing moved, and I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. I took a ragged breath, the shoe lifted, and there suddenly was Laurent, looking tired and unsure and elated all at the same time. He stepped out of the elevator. In his hand was a small round of cheese.
I could have kissed him. More than that, I could have tackled him to the ground in a fit of passion previously unseen at Le Jules Verne. I restrained myself, slightly, but still ran to him and grabbed his hands in mine.
“You found it?” I breathed.
“I told you I would,” Laurent said, his eyes shining.
“How did you leave work?”
“Oh, don’t worry. There’s a provision in the company manual that allows time off for cheese-related emergencies.” Laurent grinned.
I looked down at the cheese, so hard won, and almost laughed.Tetillameant ‘nipple’ in Spanish, and the cheese’s shape made itquiteobvious how it got its name. It looked so sexual, sitting there in Laurent’s hand. My face flushed, and I was half-relieved when Chef La Croix came over and whisked the cheese away.
“You saved us tonight,” I told Laurent. His hair was mussed, and he smelled like rosemary and citrus. There was only a handspan between our faces. I leaned forward to kiss him and—
“Margot, the Prime Minister and Señor Costa are waiting for their profiteroles,” Leïla said apologetically.
Her voice knocked me out of the bubble I’d been in. Reluctantly, I took a step back.
“I have to go, but thank you,” I told Laurent again. Somehow, I was still holding onto his hands. I couldn’t seem to let them go.
Laurent wasn’t letting go of me, either. “Knock on my door when you get back. Whatever time it is, I’ll be up.”
“Of course. I have to go now,” I said again, finally wrenching myself away. “But thank you! Thank you so much!”
All smiles this time, I returned to the couple bearing profiteroles untainted by chocolate. I stood there, glowing with happiness as I agreed that, yes, they didlook much better now, and, yes, it was tiresome when restaurants didn’t listen to their customers. Señor Costa’s heart didn’t seem to be in the complaints, though. I suspected he was only thinking about the proposal now.
