The Saturday Night Supper Club Page 19

  “Not as interesting as what you do,” he said. “But it pays the bills.”

  Handsomely if that ring on his fiancée’s finger was any indication. She couldn’t help wondering if he was one of the people Alex intended as a potential investor. “I’m going to send out the first course now. Do you want to grab the bread baskets and ask Alex to call everyone to the table?”

  “Sure.” Margot grabbed one of the baskets on the island, glad to be of help—another thing Rachel had learned from her demo experiences. It didn’t matter what the guests did as long as they felt like part of the production.

  Roger went upstairs to retrieve the guests who had gone to the roof deck with their drinks, while Rachel pulled the glass dish from the oven and began portioning the baked tomatoes onto pristine porcelain dishes Alex had on the shelf. For someone who didn’t cook, he certainly had all the right equipment for it. The kitchen was set up as she would have done it herself, all things within easy reach, sensibly organized for maximum efficiency. She let herself think about cooking for him in this space for a bare minute before she ditched it and put her mind back on the work.

  Guests began converging at the table, and Dina materialized gracefully to explain the amuse-bouche that had already been set at their places.

  Alex caught Rachel’s eye and gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. Even though she had printed out menus and placed them on each plate, she still needed to talk. She moved to the head of the table, reminding herself she’d done this sort of thing every day with her staff, and waited until the chatter died down. “For the first course tonight, we’ve got heirloom tomato tian with truffle-thyme breadcrumbs. With the exception of the seafood, everything we’re eating tonight has been grown or raised on family farms in Colorado.”

  Murmurs of appreciation went around, and people picked up forks as their plates were set before them. Rachel returned to the kitchen and cleared the remnants of that first course, wiped down the countertops and cutting boards, reset her mise en place. Course number two. The whole time, she darted looks at the faces of the diners, noting whether their expressions were pleased, disgusted, or neutral. Some of the guests were difficult to read, but mostly she registered positive responses. The conversation picked back up again, laughter beginning, the tone noticeably brighter than it had been several minutes ago. That was the best indication that the food was good—the lightening of moods, the breaking down of inhibitions.

  A cold dish was next, smoked trout with horseradish and apples; it plated up quickly and gave Rachel time to prepare for number three. The scallops, served over artichoke puree with sautéed wild oyster mushrooms, were a tricky proposition because they required a quick sear while she was getting down the puree so everything went out hot. She put down pans on two burners, cranked them up, then took hot plates from the warming drawer. The scallops went on in stages, giving her enough time to plate each pan and have Dina whisk them away to the table as they were finished. Total time to serve the entire table? Four minutes.

  She’d found her groove at last, Dina’s expert assistance letting her work like she would in her own restaurant, quietly calling her for pickup of the plates as she finished them. Meanwhile Alex presided over the table, opening the properly matched bottles of wine and passing them around, steering the conversation when it lulled. She was beginning to get used to the sound of his voice tickling at the edge of her awareness, a pleasant tenor that made her smile whenever it deepened in laughter. Now that she’d listened to him all night without being a participant in the conversation, she thought she could hear the bare edge of a Russian accent, so slight that no one who wasn’t looking for it would ever pick it up.

  “Rachel.” Alex waved her over. Her heart jumped into her throat as she moved to the table.

  Craig—a wine distributor, if she recalled correctly—looked up at her. “This ricotta cheesecake is magnificent. What is it that I taste? I pick up the raspberry in the compote, but I can’t place the other flavor.”

  Rachel smiled conspiratorially and leaned down to reply, “It’s fresh fig.”

  He brightened like she’d given him the secret to some unsolvable puzzle. “That’s exactly what it is. Truly a surprise, young lady. Lovely food.”

  “Thank you.” She looked around the rest of the table, unable to keep from beaming as the rest of them added their compliments.

  The cucumber-mint sorbet came out next, more an intermezzo than a full course. Then dessert: Melody’s elegant pistachio financiers. Rachel had topped the tiny French almond cakes with homemade orange blossom ice cream and garnished it with candied citrus peel and chopped pistachios. She could swear she heard a couple gasps of delight when Dina put the plates down in front of them.

  And then, like that, it was over. Three hours of focused work, being in the spotlight along with her food, and everyone was moving up to the roof deck for after-dinner drinks. She began to clean up, but Dina pushed her out of the way. “I’ll do these. You go up and mingle. There were a lot of whispers about you between courses, so I think you should go be social.”

  “Thank you, Dina. You were absolutely perfect. I’d hire you in a second if you were available. And if I could actually offer you a job.”

  “I would take it. I think you made my brother even more popular than he was before.”

  Rachel removed her apron and folded it on the counter, then checked herself over to make sure her clothes were clean and her makeup intact. She climbed the stairs to the roof deck, where the party was still in full swing, people laughing with glasses in their hands and the lights glowing like stars overhead.

  “Come meet your adoring public.” Alex’s voice in her ear was close enough to make her heart jump all over again. He pressed a glass in her hand with the whisper, “Lemonade,” and then steered her toward a group with one hand on her lower back.

  “Chef Rachel, the woman of the hour!” one man said. His name sailed straight out of Rachel’s head in the face of his ebullient greeting. “Alex was just telling us about the difficulty with Paisley. What exactly happened there?”

  “Just a nasty bit of politics and an unfortunate interview with a tabloid. We decided it was better that they buy me out of the restaurant while I worked on some new concepts.” An abbreviated and whitewashed version of the truth if she’d ever given one.

  “So what’s the new concept, if I might ask?” Mystery Man’s wife, Sophia, asked.

  “I’m still working on the details while I look for the right partner. But I’d most likely continue along the lines of modern Continental with a farm-to-table ethic.”

  Alex whisked her away to another group, who simply wanted to compliment her food and take a selfie with her, to which she of course agreed. A few guests wanted to know her culinary background and were surprised she hadn’t gone to school, then were impressed by the list of restaurants in which she’d worked in New York. It seemed that Manhattan’s fine dining cred extended all the way to Denver, at least within certain circles. And then she and Alex were bidding the guests good-bye as joint hosts, giving her the weird sensation that they were a couple sending them away from their shared home.

  As soon as the door closed on the last guest, Rachel swept the remaining dishes into the sink. She waved off Dina while she rinsed plates and transferred them to the dishwasher. “I’d say that was successful.”

  “More than successful. Look.” Dina showed her phone screen. “You’re trending.”

  “What? Who started the hashtag?”

  Dina grinned. “Alex and I might have tweeted and Instagrammed each dish as it went down.”

  Rachel grabbed the phone. “Wait. You’re kidding. You two have more than thirty thousand followers combined.”

  “The power of social used for good and not evil.” Alex beamed, clearly delighted with himself. “Look at all the people who are asking how they get an invite to the next one.”

  Rachel leaned back against the counter, overwhelmed and overcome. “You guys . . .”

&n
bsp; “No, we didn’t do anything. You did this. Rachel, it was probably the best meal I’ve ever had. You really outdid yourself. Roger was asking what kind of investment you were looking for, even though I don’t think he has the kind of money you’ll need. But he knows people who do.”

  Rachel’s attention fixed on Alex. Her vision was getting surprisingly blurry. “Thank you.”

  Dina pushed away from the island. “I think there are still some glasses upstairs. I’m going to go check.”

  Alex didn’t seem to notice his sister’s departure. “Hey, no tears allowed. This should be a celebration. Your food was amazing and you were magnetic. Everyone knew they got a glimpse of something special tonight.”

  “I have to admit, the meal was pretty impressive.”

  “The meal was nothing short of spectacular.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, her mood swinging back hard enough to give her whiplash. She impulsively threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you. I could practically kiss you right now.”

  “And I’d be perfectly okay with that.” His voice turned husky as he pressed her a little closer.

  She immediately pulled back. “Alex . . .”

  He sighed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he reached up and began to remove the pins from her knot with agonizing slowness, until her braid unwound down her back. “We’ve been dancing around this since we met.”

  “But we work together—”

  “I don’t see either of us getting paid for this.” He unraveled her braid, his fingers combing through the still-damp strands and sending shivers down her back. “I’m convinced that you can’t think like a woman while you have chef hair.”

  She laughed, but the sound came out breathy and not at all with the derisive tone she had intended. “That’s not a thing.”

  “It is most definitely a thing. Now. What does Rachel Bishop—not Chef Rachel—want to do?”

  Rachel stared up into his face for a long moment. There was desire there, no mistake, but there was also amusement and endless patience. He was not at all what she had thought he was, not when she had first read his byline and not when he made his initial offer to help her. Even now, when the lightest touch in her hair had her trembling, he wasn’t going to push his advantage.

  She should do the sensible thing and walk away, keep this relationship strictly friendship, preserve her autonomy. And yet she was edging closer to him as if drawn by an irresistible magnetic force. “Things are just starting to go my way. What if we get involved and then the supper club suffers . . . ?”

  “Don’t overthink it, Rachel.” His breath came warm on her cheek, so close his lips would be on her skin if she moved a millimeter toward him. The knowledge struck her with a wave of longing so strong it nearly took her off her feet, too strong to resist. She let it sweep her into him until their lips met. And then their arms were around each other, fingertips caressing, mouths exploring with delicious, torturous patience. All of her earlier objections melted away beneath his touch. She’d wanted this for longer than she cared to admit, and now that she was in his arms, she couldn’t remember why she’d resisted it.

  “Hmm,” a teasing voice said behind them. “So much for the rules.”

  Rachel pulled away, already-heated cheeks flushing deeper, but Alex kept his arm around her waist.

  “You have rotten timing, Dina.” Alex’s teasing tone held a hint of annoyance. “You couldn’t have pretended to pick up glasses for a few more minutes?”

  “I should be going anyway.” Rachel stepped back, and this time, he did let her go. She found her plating kit and knife bag, glad they were already packed—her trembling hands didn’t lend themselves to handling sharp objects. She piled the cases on top of the clean dishes in the crate and hefted them. “Could you two grab the rest and help me out to the car?”

  Keep it professional. It’s bad enough that you initiated it, even worse that Dina walked in on you. You can at least act like it didn’t matter.

  But it did matter. She would be lying to herself to think otherwise. She had crossed a line with him from which there was no coming back.

  “Dina needs to shut off all the lights upstairs.” Alex gave his sister a pointed look and lifted the other crate and the ice chest. “Come on, Rachel. I’ll walk you out.”

  They rode the elevator down in silence, Alex seeming perfectly comfortable with it even while she suffocated beneath its weight. “Alex—”

  “No overthinking, remember?” He bent down to drop a quick, not-quite-chaste kiss on her lips, right before the elevator arrived at the ground floor and the doors slid open. “We’ll need to set a second date, you know.”

  “A—a what?”

  “For the supper club. Now that your food blew up the Internet, I expect every last person I know to beg an invite. Do you think you could come up with another menu for two weeks from now?”

  The change in topic stunned her. She shook off her post-kiss daze. “I expect I could. That puts us into late July, so I’ll have different produce to work with. Let me see what I can do.”

  “And I’ll start filtering the requests. You may want to think about what you’d charge for a prix fixe menu like this in your restaurant and I’ll put it out.”

  “Wait, I thought—”

  Alex grinned at her. “One more like this and I expect the Saturday Night Supper Club will be the hottest ticket in town. The more you charge for it, the more everyone will be dying to be a part of it. Trust me on this one. Now you’re in business.”

  “Then that makes us partners.”

  “I’m hoping it makes us more than that.” He bent down, but this time, his lips only grazed her cheek. “Good night, Rachel. Congratulations again.”

  “Good night, Alex.” She climbed in her car, put it into gear, and pulled away from his building, slipping into the dark night. She tried to sort through the successes of the evening, think about the next steps, but every time her mind drifted back to Alex and that prematurely interrupted kiss.

  Chapter Twenty

  ALEX RODE THE ELEVATOR back to his condo, unsure whether he should first thank Dina for her excellent work or give her a hard time for interrupting his moment with Rachel. Little by little, Rachel had begun to drop her guard around him, maybe even begun to trust him a little, but his sister’s terrible timing had only succeeded in making her more skittish than before.

  When he reentered the unit, Dina had cleaned up the remainder of the mess in the kitchen and was busy sweeping the crumbs from beneath his dining table. So thanks would have to come first. She’d done an amazing job tonight, far better than even he had expected. Apparently the last two years in LA had matured her and given her the work ethic their parents had accused her of not having when she dropped out of college. They might not see her skill at waiting tables as a positive, but she’d really come through for him tonight.

  “You did a great job, Dina,” Alex said, locking up behind him. “Thank you. This wouldn’t have gone nearly as smoothly if you hadn’t been here.”

  “You’re welcome.” She swept the debris into a dustpan and carried it to his trash can. “Are we going to pretend what I saw didn’t happen?”

  “If we were going to pretend, why couldn’t you have pretended you didn’t see us and gone back upstairs?”

  “Just protecting your reputation, Brother. Or hers.” Dina gave him a mischievous grin. “You were looking pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Not the conversation I want to be having right now.”

  “You started it. Not interested in each other, huh?”

  “Knowing Rachel, that’s her story and she’ll still stick to it.” But try as she might to argue otherwise, she’d been all-in with that kiss. Had they had more time, he might have attempted to define what that meant for their relationship. But after they’d gotten interrupted, he knew full well that she was going to try to explain it away, tell him why it shouldn’t happen again. That was the last thing h
e wanted. He suspected that was the last thing she wanted, whether she admitted it or not. Rachel did nothing that wasn’t calculated, so that meant in some part of her mind, she’d already anticipated this possibility and considered her response.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go take a shower and get ready for bed,” Dina said. “Despite how easy I made that seem, this evening was hard work.”

  Alex grinned. She might have matured some, but his sister hadn’t lost her sass one bit. If anything, it had only intensified. “Don’t run out all the hot water.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dina’s voice drifted away as she shut the bathroom door behind her.

  His sister would be a while, so Alex went to his bedroom and turned on his laptop, staring out onto the sparkling cityscape while it booted. This evening had been a success, not only because of the interest it had generated among their guests, but for the momentum Rachel seemed to be gaining online. The only advantage to the fickleness of the social media age was that it took very little time for disgrace to be forgotten if something newer and more interesting came along. The Saturday Night Supper Club was new and interesting.

  He started with Instagram, where he’d posted each course as Dina put it down, which of course she had shared as well. The comments below the photo said it all:

  Yum! How do I get in on this?

  Why have I never heard of this supper club before? I need this in my life.

  Recipe? Please?

  Fortunately, he’d anticipated this response, though it was further-reaching than he or Dina had ever expected. He took out his phone and snapped a photo of the menu, then posted it with a comment: Tonight’s menu. What will it be next time? #SatNightSupperClub #Foodie #NomNom #Foodstagram #Yummy #Dinner. He rather hated #NomNom, but hey, it was about getting the word out regardless of what it did to his personal pride and sense of masculinity.

  Then he responded to each of the tweets that were directed to him. Most of them weren’t serious about wanting to attend; the ones that held potential, he replied to with a direct message including his e-mail address. At some point they were going to need to add some regular paying guests, even though he was slightly weirded out by the idea of having complete strangers in his home. While influencers would fund Rachel’s restaurant, members of the regular dining public were the ones who would help with her reputation issues.