I handed him a knife and a pile of herbs for garnish, and he got to work, his movements surprisingly deft. As we worked side by side, he glanced at me.
“You know, Elle, I wanted to go to culinary school once.”
I blinked. “Really?”
He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “But my father had other plans. The family business came first.”
He looked over at Charles, his expression softening. “You’re doing a good thing here, son. You always put people first. That’s what will make you an excellentCEO.”
Charles paused, clearly moved by his father’s words. “Thanks, Dad.”
Mr. Hawthorne turned back to me. “Maybe it’s not too late, you know. Culinary school. I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately. Maybe it’s time, after I retire.”
I grinned. “Escoffier would be lucky to have you.”
Once we had things under control again, I kicked the Hawthorne men out of the kitchen so we could start serving the dinner courses. And once dessert had been served, I took a walk to the ballroom to finally peer in on the meal.
The way through the house was lined with rustic lanterns lit with electric votives. Autumn leaves created a festive red-carpet effect to the ballroom’s entrance, where guests were met with the fragrance of cinnamon and apple spice. There was a photographer taking photos in front of a vintage sled, adorned with faux-fur blankets against a backdrop of real coniferous trees. Inside the ballroom, waiters in white tuxedos passed silver trays beneath hundreds of hanging tea lights in crystal ornaments. More autumn leaves and boughs of pine dripped from the ceiling, creating the illusion of walking beneath a forest canopy on a starry night.
A jazz band played while the diners sat at numerous tables set with gold-trimmed china. Decorative gourds and flowers in every hue of red and orange made up the centerpieces, with tiny flickering candles that made the entire room shimmer and shine with the reflection on the crystal glassware.
I stood back and watched Charles as he chatted animatedly with his father and several older gentlemen who could’ve been family friends or business associates. He commanded the attention of the table with his easy confidence. Much as he was reluctant to become his father too quickly, he really was born for it. It just came naturally to him. I knew, fight it as he might, he’d be good at it.CEO. Man of industry. This was his world. In the same way that mine was the kitchen.
As I watched the guests savoring the food, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Nothing made me happier than people enjoying my food. Guests made appreciative faces as they tried each element on their plates, nodding and smiling at every bite. Somehow, I’d pulled it off. And although Mrs. Hawthorne’s approval still eluded me, I didn’t care. In that moment, I knew I was on the right path. Maybe it wouldn’t be in Maplewood Creek. Or in the state of Colorado, once Amelia told the family about my posts. But across the pond, I could start over. Reinvent myself. It was something to look forward to. Far away from Charles and the chalet. Far enough to forget him, I hoped.
Chapter 31
It was well after midnight before we finished washing and putting away all of the dishes. The sous and I scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom, then shared a toast with a little brandy I’d purchased for the occasion.
“You all did excellent work,” I told them, passing out the paper cups of amber liquor. “Thank you for all your efforts. It really meant the world to me. I know it got a little bumpy there for a bit, but we pulled it out the bag. Well done.”
We raised a toast and knocked back our shots before saying our goodbyes. The snow had stopped a couple of hours earlier and the Hawthornes had already arranged for plows to clear the road down the mountain and back through town, to help their guests and crews make it home.
I was considering a final stress-cry in the walk-in when I heard the tell-tale click of Mrs. Hawthorne’s heels approaching.
This was it, I told myself. Time for my firing. And with the roads clear, I didn’t have an excuse to wait ’til morning to clear out. With any luck, Megan was still awake, and I could crash with her and Hannah at The Snowdrift tonight.
As Mrs. Hawthorne entered, I saw that she had someone else with her. My heart leaped into my throat.
“Eleanor Evans,” she said, gesturing to me, then her guest. “This is Chef Marcus Lee. We were fortunate enough to have him as a guest tonight, and he asked to meet you.”
“Chef,” I said, absolutely starstruck as I held out my hand to shake his.
“Call me Marcus.” The Japanese-American man in the impeccable purple velvet suit took my hand with a beaming smile. “Your squab was perfection. The sweetness and heat were perfectly balanced, while not overpowering the umami. Where did you pick up that recipe?”
A blush bloomed across my cheeks. I wasn’t even sure I was still standing upright, totally bowled over by the compliment.
“It’s a play on a few different recipes. But with my own twist on it. I sort of improvised.”
“If you don’t mind, you must write it down for me. I’m definitely stealing it for my next dinner party.”
“Of course,” I stuttered. “I’d be honored.”
“I understand you live in Denver. I’ll be there for a friend’s pop-up in July. You must join us.”
“I’ll actually be in London.” If I found thirty grand lying on the street somewhere. “I’m set to attend culinary school at your alma mater.”
“Really?” His eyes lit up. “That’s excellent news. They’re lucky to have you. You must keep in touch.”
