Page 21 of Finding Yesterday
“Perfect,” he says, taking it. He stands in front of me when he asks, “So, tell me about the ideas you have for my Fine Bone.”
I blink.
He groans. “I meanTheFine Bone.Myrestaurant,TheFine Bone.”
“Sure, of course.” I see what he meant, but I gulp anyway, smiling when I focus in on his warm brown eyes. In this lighting, they look striking. Possibly even a little sexy.
Oh no.
I can’t be thinking Jack is sexy. I just got out of a relationship, and I need this time to clear my mind. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?” I flutter out a breath.
He busts up laughing, and I join in. His laughter is so contagious.
He seems to be stumbling when he answers, “Sure. What ideas do you have for my restaurant?”
I can’t focus with him standing in front of me. He looks so good in his fitted light-blue dress shirt and steel-gray pants, which both hang perfectly on his thin, muscular frame.
I let out a silent sigh of relief when he walks around his desk and sits. Once he’s seated and his distracting body is mostly out of view, I proceed to tell him my ideas about some new dishes and how to help run a smooth kitchen, things I learned in trying to make Tangz a success.
“That all sounds great,” he responds, meeting my eyes. “We need help making sure our vegetarian and side dishes are the best. Right now, they aren’t. I’d love to see you cook…after everything you did at Tangz.”
“Oh.” I was so busy assuming I wasn’t a good fit for a steakhouse, it never occurred to me that Jack might be interviewing me because he legitimately needs my skills.
And, for some reason, he’s fascinated by the fact that my mother cooked, and I’m dying to ask him why. Except now is definitely not the right time for that. I point to the door and say, “I’ve got something you might like. Why don’t we go to the kitchen where I can show you?”
“Sure.”
We leave his office, and he walks me over to one of the kitchen stoves. I ask him for a pot, some garlic, butter, russet potatoes, sour cream, and a piper. This is one of the few dishes of Mama’s that Daddy knows how to make, so he passed it down to me.
I always prepare this for Nate, Emma, Dylan, and Daddy, and they love it. “I’m going to make you duchess potatoes, which is the perfect side for filet mignon with Bordelaise sauce.”
“I can’t wait,” he says before showing me to the gas stovetop. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I boil the potatoes, add the ingredients, then mash them. The trick is to pipe them out with a large star tip then broil them in the oven for a flash to give it a golden-brown top.
In about twenty minutes, my potatoes are ready, looking and smelling just as they should. It’s an easy but tasty dish, and it also makes for a great presentation. The only thing is that I forgot to ask Jack for the parsley garnish, but I’ll do that as soon as he comes back.
After Jack enters the kitchen, he approaches. “Those look and smell fantastic.” He flashes a thousand-watt smile, and I still can’t get over how nice it is.
“Thank you.” I meet his gaze, returning the smile.
Before I can say anything else, the kitchen doors burst open, and Max Brady tromps in.
“We gotta problem.” Max approaches Jack and points out the kitchen door. “You need to tell Kristy that those watermelons of hers are busting outta her shirt. Customers don’t wanna see that crap!”
“Pops,” Jack cuts in loudly. “Claire’s here for an interview.” He points to me.
“Who?”
“Claire!” Jack yells.
“Oh, Ms. Veggie Poppins?” He finally looks at me, squinting, probably because his glasses are on his head. “Why are you here?”
I blink, still trying to keep up with the whiplash that is apparently Pops. Did he just call me Veggie Poppins? How dare he! I swallow back the bitterness simmering in my gut and force a smile. “I’m here for an interview. I made some duchess potatoes.” I hold up the tray.
He snatches his glasses off his head and comes in to study them. After a beat, he says, “You forgot the parsley.”
“I didn’tforgetthe garnish. I just didn’t know where it was.” Blessed, if I have to live down another episode of forgetting garnish, I’m going to hit the ceiling.
