Page 49 of Stick Side
Amy appeared to nod her approval at seeing that the chef was ready and waiting for them. “Melody. Ben. I will leave you in the very capable hands of Chef Henri so you can get tonight’s lesson underway. I’ll be back in just a moment.” And without further ado, she pushed the kitchen door open and withdrew into the dining room.
“Bonsoir, mes étudiants de cuisine! Welcome, my students! I am Chef Henri,maître de la cuisine, head chef,” the man enthused in a thick French accent. “Ce soir, we will be making my signature duckconfit avec pommes de terre à la Sarladaise.”
Ben winced involuntarily. He was suddenly wishing he’d thought to ask how strong Chef Henri’s English was before arranging tonight’s events. It was going to be a long night if they couldn’t understand his instructions due to his dual linguistics.
“Fantastique!” Melody exclaimed, joy radiating from her every feature. “J’adore le confit de canard.”
Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t realized she spoke French.
“La madame peut parler en français!” Chef Henri clapped his hands together excitedly. He beamed at Melody as though she’djust proven herself capable of a great feat. “Oh! For amadamewho can speak French, Chef Henri will pull out all the stops.” With that, he went to his pantry where he proceeded to riffle through what looked like spice jars.
“You speak French,” Ben observed as he angled his body to face hers.
“Oui,” she affirmed with a small, impish smile that hinted at a touch of self-satisfaction. “I grew up in Ottawa. Between it being Canada’s capital and so close to Quebec, most Ottawans learn at least a little French. Mine is fairly strong for an Anglophone since I was lucky enough to be in French immersion from kindergarten through high school.”
Ben felt surprise mingle with delight at Melody’s willingness to politely extol her own virtues. There was something very sexy about a woman who could be confident in herself and her abilities without being haughty. It added some unexpected zip to her generous allotment of sugar and spice and everything nice.
“Le voila!” Chef Henri exclaimed as he strode back toward them with a glass jar held aloft his head as if it was a prized possession worth viewing from on high.
“Here it is,” Melody translated.
“Les baies de genièvres,” Chef Henri pronounced with reverence as he placed the jar on the table.
“Juniper berries?” Melody questioned.
“Oui,” he confirmed. “I was going to teach you how to make a mostdelicieux confit de canard, but I wasn’t going to give away all my secrets.” He raised his eyebrows dramatically. “Now, you must promise Chef Henri that you won’t open up your own restaurant and steal his patrons away.”
“I promise,” Melody said. Her voice was a study in sincerity. “I love to cook, but I love my job too much to do anything else for a living.”
Chef Henri looked at her quizzically, as though he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do anything other than cook if given the opportunity.
“I work as a physical therapist,” Melody explained.
“Un quoi?” Chef Henri asked. Ben couldn’t blame the older man for his confusion. He himself was a native English speaker and even he’d had trouble understanding what her job entailed when first confronted with it.
“I help people who have lost motor function due to accidents, illness, or aging to reduce their pain, improve their flexibility, gain strength, and move more freely,” Melody explained. “It’s my goal to keep them healthy and mobile so they can enjoy their golden years to maximum advantage.”
Chef Henri’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head before he began muttering words Ben didn’t think he would have been able to understand even if he could speak French. It was as though Chef Henri lacked the words and adequate powers of speech to express how impressed he was by what Melody did for a living. His words still undiscernible, Chef Henri spun on his heels and turned back to the pantry.
“I think you’ve gained a new member of your fan club,” Ben teased.
“I have a fan club?” Her eyes danced in a way that suggested she was delighted by the very idea.
“You do,” he assured her. “I’m waiting on my official badge.” Unable to resist teasing her, he added, “I’m currently trying to wrestle the presidency away from Captain Thom, but he’s been putting up a mighty good fight for such an old guy.”
Melody laughed gaily, as he’d hoped she would. “Thom’s a tough old guy. He was a U.S. Navy Captain.”
“As opposed to a puny hockey player?” Ben volleyed back, a smile tugging at his lips.
She batted her eyelashes playfully. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
The gentle sass in her voice was positively enchanting, as was the way she blushed when he caught her admiring his none-too-puny biceps. He made a show of flexing for her. Her deepening blush suggested she enjoyed it.
“I’m sure I’ll reconcile myself to the reality before me,” he assured her. They shared a warm, charged connection before Chef Henri bustled back to them, a new spice jar in hand.
“These peppercorns are already in the pepper mill, so we would have used them, but these are no ordinary peppercorns.” Chef Henri cocked his head from left to right and then back again, presumably to ensure that no one else was around to witness his specialty peppercorn unveiling.
Certainty of privacy established, Chef Henri flipped the bottle so they could read the label. He was being so secretive one would think he was sharing covert plans detailing black ops instead of revealing the brand of peppercorns he preferred.
