Affairs of Steak (35 page)

“And now?”

“I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

We were silent then, listening to the birds chirp. A cheerful sound. I turned to look at Gav and my heart gave a little lurch when I did. Handsome, confident, with just enough life experience in those eyes to make for one alluring package. He was different than anyone I’d ever known and I’d fallen for him, hard. I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to give him up yet, nor sure I’d ever get over him if I did.

“Let me throw something at you,” Gav said. He stared away, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. I recognized that look. Whatever he was about to say would be hard for him. No doubt hard for me to hear, too.

“Go ahead.”

He twisted his body to face me, taking both my hands in his. They were warm, comforting, strong. The look in his eyes was warmer still. “Ollie, it’s simple. I want you in my life. When I saw you sitting there the other night, alone, I knew I wanted to be the one to see you through the hard times. To share the good times. I want to be the person you fully share your life with.”

I held my breath. This was not what I’d expected.

“I realized as I watched you,” he continued, “that you would never share your life with me until I learned to open up to you.”

I blinked. Yes. Exactly.

He winced. “I’ve been holding back from you. I know I have. I asked you to wait, to give me time and space, but I never really intended to let you in. Not fully.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Because if I did, I was afraid I’d lose you.”

He didn’t have to explain. I remembered what he’d told me months ago about the two women he’d been engaged to. “I’m pretty good at saving my own skin,” I said. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

“I noticed.”

I grinned. “Of course, this time I needed Sargeant’s help. He’ll probably never let me live that down.”

“So what? You’re here. You’re safe, and you’ve got another wild adventure to tell our grandkids someday.”

“Grandkids? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves here?”

“Maybe.” He brushed hair out of my eyes. “I’ve been a fool to not let you know how crazy I am about you.”

My heart was practically jumping out of my chest. “Am I daydreaming again?”

“Only if we both are.” He cleared his throat and sat back. “Speaking of daydreaming…”

I waited.

“When I checked your apartment out that first time, I saw the oddest notes on your kitchen table.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “You saw those?”

“My name, your name…a bunch of numbers.”

“And you want to know what they were?”

“No, I know exactly what they were. And since I’m feeling like a teenager myself right about now, I guess we should make the big leap.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ollie, will you go out with me? Be my girlfriend?” He snugged me close. “I’ll even put it as my Facebook status.”

I laughed. “You don’t have Facebook.”

“How do you know?”

“I do my detective work.”

Staring into my eyes with a look I’d never seen before, he tipped my chin up. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, and kissed me softly on the lips.

SARGEANT STOOD ALONE IN THE FUNERAL parlor, hands clasped behind him, staring at the maroon urn that had been placed atop a marble stand. The soft tones of a solitary harp filtered in through the sound system as I walked to the front of the chapel. Even though there was just one floral display, the scent of roses hit me the moment I’d entered. I suppose it was one of those smells that so permeated the place it never went away.

I touched his shoulder. “Peter,” I said, “I’m very sorry.”

His didn’t look at me. “This funeral home has a backlog on cremations,” he said. “They moved Milton up to the top of the list because of my White House connections.”

“That was nice of them.”

He still didn’t avert his gaze from the urn. “I don’t really know what to do with the ashes, but I think I’ll keep them until I figure it all out. I might like to scatter some in the Rose Garden. Just a handful. Do you think Doug would allow that?”

“I think,” I said, “this might be one of those times when it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

His mouth twitched. “Bad habits I’m learning from you.”

“They come in handy.”

“Yes,” he said.

I took a closer look at the sole floral arrangement. A traditional display of carnations, roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums. A wide ribbon crossed the front with gold letters spelling, BELOVED NEPHEW.

Sargeant seemed to want to talk. “Once my sister died, we only had each other. I should have done more for him.”

I had nothing to say to that.

“I never forgave him.”

I watched as Sargeant bit the insides of his lip. I think he wanted to tell me. If he didn’t now, he never would. “What did he do?” I asked softly.

“Seems so silly.”

I waited.

“He got me kicked off the wrestling team in college. Told them I’d gotten drunk.” He turned to face me. “I hadn’t. The club had a strict, zero-tolerance policy and I would never have broken it.”

My mind was trying to grasp the image of Sargeant as a wrestler. “I believe you.”

“My girlfriend didn’t. One thing about Milton, he was always an entertaining liar. Embellished like you wouldn’t believe. Made for great stories, but the truth was unrecognizable. He told the team I’d been out all night carousing. Womanizing. They believed him. And because everybody at school had a crush on Jenny, they made sure she heard,
too.”

I kept silent, listening.

“Just like that, she broke up with me.” He gave a soft, sad laugh. “Everybody at school wondered how I’d landed such a gorgeous girl. What on earth she saw in me. Maybe she’d been looking for an excuse to dump me all along. Maybe it was inevitable.” He sighed. “Never met anyone
quite like her since.” He turned to me and seemed about to say something further. Instead, he shook his head.

“What?”

“She was strong-minded, strong-willed. A real pistol.” He frowned, then gave me a wry smile. “Absurdly enough, the same could be said about you.”

I didn’t know how to take that, but he’d turned back to staring at the urn. “All these years later, it still hurts like it was yesterday.” He shook his head again. “Milton did that to me. And I’ve been trying to hurt him back ever since.”

“I understand.”

He turned to me again. “Do you?”

“For what it’s worth, I think he was sorry.”

Sargeant nodded. “Yes.”

“What now?” I gestured with my head. “Are you taking Milton home?”

“I have a better idea.”

After ensuring that Milton’s urn would be kept safe until he came back for it, Sargeant asked the funeral director for a resealable plastic bag. From the man’s smile and unquestioning cooperation, I had a feeling he got that request a lot.

We waited until he left the room for Sargeant to tilt the urn while I held the bag. Once we had it filled about half full with ashes, we zipped the bag shut, righted the urn, and were on our way.

An hour later, the two of us stood in the Rose Garden.

“It’s a gorgeous day,” I said, “finally starting to warm up.”

“Milton would appreciate this.”

“The clear sky? The weather?”

Sargeant reached into the bag. “No,” he said. As he scattered the ashes, he said, “Here you go, Milton. You’re finally part of the White House after all.”

When we were finished, I invited Sargeant to the kitchen to grab something to eat. “You must be starving,” I said.

He admitted he was.

I guess I should have been prepared for the looks of incredulity on Cyan’s and Bucky’s faces when we walked in together. They knew I’d taken the morning off, but they didn’t know why.

As I started to put together lunch for the two of us, Cyan hurried to my side. “Need any help?” Under her breath, she asked, “Since when are you and Sargeant so chummy?”

“Shared experience makes unusual bedfellows.”

Her eyebrows shot way up.

“I don’t mean that literally. Sargeant just needs a friend today—”

Virgil’s voice pierced the kitchen’s tranquility. “All I’m saying is that no matter what I do around here, no matter how much better a chef I am than she is,” pointing at me, “everybody just goes on and on about what an asset she is to the White House. Doesn’t anyone notice that she spends more time catching criminals than she does creating menus?”

“Hold your tongue!”

We all spun at Sargeant’s directive. He advanced on Virgil. “If you know what’s good for you, you will take that contemptible attitude of yours and hide it where no one can see it. Do you know what this young lady did? She saved our lives. Saved my job. And she doesn’t even
like
me. If I were you, I’d do my best to get on her good side. Or are you too dull-witted to comprehend such a thing?”

Cyan’s mouth had dropped open. As had Bucky’s. As had mine.

Sargeant turned to face us. “Yes, well,” he said. Recovering his composure and adopting the persnickety expression he usually wore around me, he stepped close and wagged a finger in my face. “Don’t let this go to your head, Ms. Paras.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m still watching you.”

NEEDLESS TO SAY, THE WHITE HOUSE HAS ITS share of formal events. Some come with multi-course dinners and rounds of dessert. Others are more free-form, with an array of hors d’oeuvres beautifully displayed in the various public rooms of the mansion. In either case, the stars of the show are frequently formed with that magical substance, puff pastry.

Puff pastry is both breathtakingly simple and amazingly difficult. It’s made of flour, butter, salt, and water. In theory, a four-ingredient recipe should be simple enough. But in practice, puff pastry is one of the most fiendishly difficult recipes to master. It involves taking a simple pastry dough, folding it over and over again and rolling it out again and again, sandwiching layers of chilled butter into the flaky pastry dough with each rolling until the pastry is microscopically thin and sandwiched by equally thin layers of cold butter. If the dough isn’t perfectly handled and
kept at just the right temperature, the layers disintegrate and the chef ends up with a gelatinous, fatty mess.

When finished, puff pastry looks like ordinary pastry—until you cook it. At that point, the ultra-thin layers of butter and pastry separate, and the pastry cooks up light as a cloud, gently browned, flaky, and delicious. It’s a very traditional preparation by classically trained chefs that separates expert pastry workers from mere poseurs.…

…Until it became possible to buy puff pastry in the freezer section of most grocery stores. Now anybody can have fun with puff pastry. Use it, and you can impress your friends and wow your enemies—who will still eat your treats. Puff pastry is deliciously irresistible. A warning for those of you who are having health issues: It’s also chock-full of butterfat—so be sure to limit consumption for those with cardiac issues.

As I’m sure you know, the White House pastry chef handles most of the following items, but as you also know, I’m curious and hate to think there’s anything I can’t do. The recipes that follow are adapted for home preparation, using the store-bought pastry I talked about above. They are all surprisingly easy to make, meltingly decadent, and delicious. They are a perfect addition to your next New Year’s party, bridge brunch, or family gathering. Puff pastry isn’t appropriate for everyday consumption, unless you want your waist to vanish and your life to be shortened. But for special occasions, nothing is tastier, more impressive, or easier to use.

You can see the “Classical French Chef” nature of puff pastry in the French lineage of several of the names of the recipes that follow.

A couple of important notes on working with puff pastry: