Hungry for More (2012) (18 page)

“Yea, c’mon Bridge!” he held out his arm, “We have to get the picture of all three!”

Bridget didn’t fight again- although she didn’t allow herself to read too much into the remark. She hurried over, reveling in the chance to pretend that Paul and Tad were really hers- while struggling to keep her thoughts from being visible on her face.

Still, she was very careful to make sure that they picked up the picture before they left- and kept a copy for herself!

They didn’t linger too long at the zoo. Tad only slept for half an hour, but then he wanted lunch. Paul wasn’t willing to subject himself to frozen burgers and soggy fries. He took them to a Pita and hummus shop in Alexandria and then they took a cab to his mom and dad’s.

“Mom and Dad are great,” Paul said at the car pulled to a stop. He gave her knee a reassuring squeeze, “You’ll love them.”

Bridget was about to point out that she
knew
they were great, and she
did
love them- she had probably seen Paul’s parents a
lot
more often than he had in the past four years- but she held her tongue. In the end, it didn’t matter. Tom Devoe did it for her.

“Bridget!” Tom Devoe exclaimed, stepping down off of the porch to scoop up his grandson. “So good to see you- and Paul! We couldn’t believe it! You’re still alive.”

“Still alive,” Paul answered sheepishly and then gave the man a hug. “Good to see you,
D
ad.”

The three of them went inside the house, where Paul’s mother was sitting in a chair.

“Look, Stephanie, it’s
Tad
, our grandson,” Tom said in a very slow, firm voice.

The silver-haired lady sitting on the sofa looked up from the magazine that she was leafing through. For a moment, she looked confused, but then she nodded and repeated, “Tad” in a warm but uncertain tone.

Tom nodded his head and carried the little boy over to her. Bridget watched the exchange with a small frown. She knew from talking to Dixie that Mrs. Devoe had been forgetting things a lot recently. Jack was worried that it might be beginning stage Alzheimer’s, although, thankfully, it hadn’t progressed far enough for a diagnosis. Still, it made Bridget sad. She turned her head to see if Paul had noticed- only to find that he was staring at her with a hungry grin.

“Paul?” she whispered. Tom and Stephanie were distracted, fussing over Tad.

“I think it’s time to go,” he whispered back, and then directed himself to his parents, “So-
M
om,
D
ad…you’re okay keeping Tad for the evening?”

“Of course,” Tom answered, “It will be a treat.”

“Thanks,” Paul answered, “We’ll see you in the morning then…Mom, I’ll fix your special lunch.”

“Thank you, darling,” Mrs. Devoe said and accepted a kiss on the cheek.

Bridget followed Paul outside, flushing furiously, “And what, exactly, do you think I’m up to tonight?”

Paul chuckled as he slid into the car that he was borrowing from his parents for the night. “Dad was in
I
ntelligence, Bridge,” Paul responded, “I think he probably knows.”

“I hardly think that the army has spies on us,” Bridget huffed- and earned another burst of laughter.

“They’ve got Dixie- that’s worse!”

Bridget decided that it wasn’t worth wondering what Paul’s family thought about his little indiscretion with “the nanny
.
” His opinion was the only one that mattered to her, after all. Besides, she was too caught up in the experience to give much thought to anything else.

They headed straight back to their hotel room- where they headed straight to bed. Then, after a restorative nap, they got ready for dinner.

“Wear something nice,” Paul instructed as he laid out his own tie and coat.

Bridget hadn’t known that they were even staying over, so she hadn’t packed a bag. Paul had done that for her, and she was
mortified
to discover that he’d packed her red dress. It was pretty: a simple sheath of crimson satin with a deeply scooped neck and cap sleeves- but it was also a size 14! Bridget hadn’t been able to wear it for more than a year.

She stared at the gown for a few moments, fighting back tears, trying to figure out what she was going to say to Paul, and then decided that she ought to at least
try
to get it on…she was
amazed
when it actually zipped!

It certainly could have looked better. The fabric was unforgiving, and it strained a tiny bit across her breasts- but it fit! She could sit down! Bridget was, frankly, amazed.

“Beautiful!” Paul pronounced, apparently not noticing the dress was still a smidge too small. He took Bridget’s arm and led her back downstairs and collected their keys from the valet.

“Where are we going?” Bridget asked.

“Someplace special,” Paul replied, “The first restaurant I worked at after I got out of school.”

The Inn at Little Washington was booked for months in advance- but Chef Patrick made special arrangements for his former protégé.

“Paul!” the chef said, beaming as he clapped the other man on the shoulder. “It’s been too long!”

“Thanks, Pat,” Paul responded. He awkwardly reciprocated the embrace. It might be nearly fifteen years since he’d been Chef O’Connell’s virtual slave- but it still felt like yesterday. “Sorry I can’t make it more often.”

“Well, you stay busy,” the older man admitted with a shrug, “Listen, I heard about what happened up in New York, and…”

Paul blanched. He wondered what Pat knew- or
thought
he knew- but didn’t want to go into it in front of Bridget.

“Rather not talk about that,” he said tightly.

Patrick gave him a funny look, but then nodded his head, “Of course.” He gestured toward the dining room, “Alonzo has your table- right by the window.”

The food was exquisite. Afterwards, Paul and Patrick took Bridget on a tour of the kitchen.

“It’s beautiful!” Bridget gasped, truly amazed at just how
pretty
the space was. She was expecting something much more industrial and Spartan. “Does your kitchen look like this, Paul?”

“You’ve never let her into your kitchen?” Patrick interrupted, with a laugh. “Or are you saving yourself for marriage?”

“Ha, ha,” Paul said, rolling his eyes.

They didn’t stay too late, begging off of sharing a bottle of wine with the chef after service. Paul claimed that they had to pick up his son- and Bridget didn’t try to correct the lie. She was anxious to get back to the hotel and try out the sumptuous sheets uninterrupted by Tad!

They slept in late the next morning, then ate Belgian waffles in bed before heading back to Centreville to collect their child and drop off the car. Bridget felt a little guilty for not arriving earlier. She knew that Stephanie needed more and more help these days- and Tom (an old man by anyone’s standards!) looked exhausted from trying to take care of his wife and his grandson both.

Paul was anxious to set off immediately, but Bridget coaxed him to stay until two hours before his flight. She was worried about his mother-and certain that he’d regret it later if he didn’t stay. After all, he hadn’t made it home in two years
;
who knew when he’d manage to get back again? Finally, around four o’clock, they left for the
a
irport and touched down in New York a bit after seven.

Paul took out his cell
phone to check the traffic report downtown (he didn’t trust the cabbies not to take the longest way!)- and that was when Bridget noticed something odd.

She hadn’t seen Paul on his cell
phone all weekend- not to check with his sous, not to call a supplier, not to yell at the partners, not at all!

She started to ask him about it, but some sixth sense warned her to hold her tongue. She contented herself with snuggling next to him in the cab, while Tad curled up in her lap.

They were all nodding and yawning by the time that the cab dropped them off at Central Park West. Paul carried his son upstairs, where Bridget changed the sleeping child into his pajamas and tucked him into bed.

“Hungry?” Paul asked.

Bridget surprised herself by shaking her head. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. Amazingly, she hadn’t thought of food all afternoon. She wondered about it for a moment, and then realized something shocking. Being around Tad and Paul, playing happy family
,
had been like a dream. She didn’t want to stop reveling in it long enough to snack. Her stomach might be empty- but her heart was full.

Chapter 15

Back to the salt mines…

Paul slammed his hand down on the button to silence his alarm before it could wake up Bridget and then he slowly peeled himself out of bed.

He didn’t want to go to work. He’d been dreading this moment for days now, but there was only so long that he could let himself slack off.

While he might be sick to death with the restaurant itself, he was itching to run a service. He could always lose himself in the frantic bustle of the kitchen- even if he had to deal with the sous chef.

He figured that he ought to check on the seafood orders first. It was a Monday. Most fishmongers wouldn’t deliver until Tuesday, but his assistant was crap at ordering. He wouldn’t have enough left
over to plate tonight. Besides, since Anthony Bourdain and his
Kitchen Confidential
the townies were suspicious of fish on Monday. He had to be able to say it had been b
r
ought in fresh.

Paul was annoyed when the other man didn’t answer. He let the phone ring fourteen times!

“
Lazy jerk…”
Paul muttered as he tugged on his clothes. He grabbed an apple and granola bar from the kitchen and then set off for his day, punching another number into the phone.

“Mitch?” he barked, when he finally got in touch with his saucier.

The tone of the other man’s voice was odd when he answered, “Chef?”

“Yeah…sorry to bother you at this time of day…listen, I can’t get through to Perry. Do you know if he’s been to Fulton today?”

“Uhm…yeah,” the other man answered, “I’m sure he has- the butcher too.”

“Really?” Paul was impressed. Maybe he should have gone away sooner. The other man was finally doing his job.

“Pretty sure,” Mitch answered, “Er…where were you last week?”

“Getting laid,” Paul answered bluntly- surprised when Mitch didn’t laugh.

“Was
it
worth it?”

“Er…yes?” Paul responded, getting nervous- and wondering what the hell was up.

Mitch obviously didn’t want to be on the phone, so Paul finally let him go. He was
halfway
across the park. It was only another five minutes before he made it to the restaurant. He frowned at the front door. The glass hadn’t been cleaned, and the slats of the blinds in the window were turned opposite ways. He liked them slanting
down
- but the second set over was pointing up.

“
…if you want something done right…”
he muttered his breath as he fished out his key.

He slotted it into the lock and turned.

At least- he
tried
to turn the key, but it wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell?” Paul growled. He pulled it out again, checking to see that he had the right one, and more confused than ever to learn that he did.

The locks had been changed. Why? Why hadn’t anyone informed him about the alteration? 

Paul winced, feeling a slight, very slight, pang of guilt.  The answer to the latter question was pretty obvious.  He had made it nigh impossible for anyone to get hold of him for the past week, but that didn’t explain what was going on with the lock.  God, he really hoped that there hadn’t been a break in.  That was all he needed to start off his first day back!

He banged on the door, hoping, rather than trusting, that some of kitchen staff would already be in prepping for service.  It took a little while and a bit more hammering on the door, but one of the young kitchen hands appeared eventually to let Paul inside the restaurant.

Before he could get around to demanding answers about the locks (or even complain about how long he had been made to wait outside), the young cook blurted:

“Chef Devoe!  What are you doing here?”

Paul frowned.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

“What do you mean, Hopkins?” he demanded.  He had only been gone a week.  All right, so it was the first week he had ever taken off, but people were acting as though they had never expected to see him again.

“I- ugh- I think you’d better go through to the kitchen, chef,” Hopkins stammered nervously.

Paul glared at the kid one last time, and then he did take himself off to the kitchen, to find out just what the hell was going on in his restaurant!