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When Sarah got home from the restaurant that night, the house was dark except for the small lamp on the hallway table, and Hershey stumbled down the steps from upstairs to greet her with sleepy eyes.
“Good boy,” she murmured, scratching his neck underneath the leather collar, making him groan and thump his leg. He panted, grinned, and wagged his tail, gathering himself for a big sloppy shake. His ears flapped noisily, his toenails scraping on the tile floor. Dog hairs flew in all directions, and Sarah stepped back, laughing. “Easy, mister! You’d better go outside.” She led him over to the kitchen door and opened it, flipping on the floodlights in the backyard.
The dog ran over to his favorite squirrel tree and lifted his leg then stopped and looked toward the house, sniffing the breeze. His hackles rose, and a low growl rumbled in his throat as he stared into the shadows beyond where Sarah stood in the doorway.
She took two steps down the path toward the dark bushes on the side of the house and stopped to listen. Aside from Hershey, she heard nothing. Then there was a snap-crack sound like a stick breaking, not far away, and she turned and ran.
“Hershey! Come!” she called, leaping back into the doorway and clapping her hands for the dog. Dragging her eyes back and forth between the dog and the bushes, she tried to whistle, but her lips were too dry. He trotted over to her with a malevolent glance at the driveway, coming reluctantly, inch by inch. She finally grabbed his collar and hauled him inside then slammed the door shut and bolted it.
She plunged the kitchen into darkness and looked out the windows. Nothing stirred except her heart, still pounding in her chest.
“What the heck was that, boy?” She swallowed and decided to leave the outside lights on all night. “If it’s raccoons, maybe they’ll be scared away.”
Hershey panted and smiled then turned to go upstairs. He stopped to look back at her over his shoulder as if to say, “Coming?”
“Right behind you,” she answered, and they climbed up the stairs to bed.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH awoke to a frantic rush, getting Devon up, dressed, fed, and ready for school and onto the bus on time. On Fridays, he had to hand in a whole week’s worth of writing assignments, his “portfolio,” and he had a terrible time keeping track of all the papers for five days. But now they were all safely ensconced in a big manila envelope, labeled with his name and the teacher’s name, zipped inside his backpack. Sarah pulled herself up onto a barstool at the kitchen island and quickly drank a cup of coffee, trying to replace the energy she’d just burned through.
Miki came downstairs and dumped her lacrosse stick and messenger bag near the door. Still wearing yellow streaks in her hair out of loyalty to Devon’s team, she went behind the counter and poured coffee into her hot-pink travel mug, which featured a Hello Kitty motif. “Do I need a jacket today?” she wondered aloud, going over and checking the thermometer mounted outside the window. “Holy cow, Sarah, did you see this?” She stared down as Sarah came over to see what she was looking at.
The bushes under the window were trashed, much worse than before. Something big, like maybe a bear, had almost completely flattened them. The empty trash cans had tipped over and rolled against the side of the garage, a good six feet away from where they usually were.
Sarah and Miki stared in silence.
“Well, looks like whoever emptied the garbage cans made a big mess,” Sarah finally said. She frowned. “I’m going to call the trash collectors and complain. This is unacceptable.”
Miki nodded. “Those guys didn’t have to ruin your landscaping. What a bunch of jerks.” She grabbed her things, waved goodbye, and set off down the sidewalk toward campus, just a few blocks away.
“Unacceptable,” Sarah echoed, looking at the damage again. She got her lopping shears out of the garden shed, trimmed off the bent branches, and threw them onto the compost heap. Then she went back inside and got dressed.
When she was about to leave, the phone rang. She dropped everything to rush over and answer it, just in time to hear a click as the call was disconnected. The caller ID said Private Caller. Probably just another telemarketing call. Amazing how many times recently she’d answered to find nobody there.
* * *
WHEN SHE GOT TO THE restaurant, the atmosphere in the kitchen was unusually somber. Jerome had lowered the radio volume to what most people would consider normal, and Raoul chopped vegetables silently, his back turned to the room. Neither one of them greeted her. The smell of burnt chocolate hung in the air. Sarah sensed trouble.
She walked through the kitchen toward the office, where Paisley sat at the big table, surrounded by paperwork. She wore a soiled white apron over blue jeans and a T-shirt, and her short hair stood up in the front as though she’d been tugging at it in frustration. After punching numbers into a calculator with the eraser end of a pencil, she entered the result into the accounting ledger. The expression on her face was dire.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” Sarah approached warily.
Her cousin looked up with a scowl. “I’m just no good at this multitasking, Sarah. I did the whole page wrong and had to start over. Then I forgot what was in the oven and ruined the cakes. Had to start them over too. Hopefully the smell will be gone before tonight, or our customers will think we’re incompetent. Which”—she twisted her mouth—”we are. Without Grandpa, it all tends to fall apart.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re brilliant!” Sarah went around the table to comfort Paisley. “You just have too much to do.”
“But what’s the answer?” Paisley turned up her face, and Sarah saw tears in her eyes. “I can’t just clone myself or something. And neither can you.”
Sarah sat down next to her. “Well, we’ll have to hire someone to do the bookkeeping, I guess.”
Paisley shook her head with a mournful expression. “We can’t afford it. According to these numbers, anyhow. We’re carrying Grandpa’s salary, with none of his production. It just doesn’t compute.”
Sarah thought for a moment. “What if we each take a cut, you and me?”
“Can you afford that? I could probably pay my bills, but can you? What about your mortgage on the house?”
“No, not really.” Sarah’s shoulders slumped. She thought harder. “Is there any way to cut expenses? Get a better discount on supplies? Maybe buy some less expensive vegetables or meat? Cut the pricey wine off the menu?”
“Grandpa has always stuck to the rule of nothing but the best ingredients. It’s how he built our reputation. We might get away with a few substitutions, but if he finds out, he’ll have a fit. And don’t think he won’t know. I caught him down here first thing this morning, snooping around.”
Sarah nodded, picturing it. “Not surprised. It was inevitable.”
“My brother called this morning, by the way,” Paisley said. “Checking on Grandpa.”
“Well, that’s it. That’s the answer. One answer, anyhow.” Sarah grinned.
“You want Lucas to work here?” Paisley’s mouth hung open. “For free? Are you out of your mind? He already has a job, in case you forgot. And a wife and family in New York. Not to mention, he’s a terrible cook.”
“I know, I know, but he did say to ask if we needed any help with Grandpa, didn’t he? And it’s not that far away.” Sarah urged her to think more creatively.
“True, true. Actually, maybe you have a good idea there. He’s a whiz with math. What if we gather all the paperwork every week and FedEx it down to him? He could handle the books. Probably only take him a few hours, since he isn’t numerically challenged like I am.” Paisley had already started to brighten up.
“Yes! Exactly. And maybe I can come up with some promotions to help us generate more income. Like a special menu several nights a week. Fixed price, for a whole meal, with wine included.” Sarah began to wave her hands in the air. “Something super profitable, though the customers won’t know that. I can make it sound fabulous and special. They’ll be knocking down the doors to get in.”
“Okay, that could work.” Paisley was getting excited now. “I can come up with a unique dessert to go with it. Maybe something like tasting portions of several things, all on one plate, kind of like a dessert dim sum.” She grinned.
“Wait, wait.” Sarah jumped out of her chair and swept one hand across in front of her as though reading a banner. “What about a whole meal of luscious tidbits? We can unload the odds and ends from the freezer. Or a buffet-style evening, with all-you-can-eat chocolate chili and whatever else is cheap to make? You know we’d generate serious cash on that.”
“Okay, sounds great. Let me take a look in the basement and see what we have. I’ll talk to Wayne about getting some decent discontinued wines. And I’ll call Lucas today.” The worry lines between Paisley’s eyebrows were gone. “It’s time he pitched in, anyhow. But I really don’t expect he’ll mind. He’s been offering, whenever we talk on the phone.” She looked at Sarah. “But, honey? You know what this means, right?”
“What?”
“You really have to hit the ball out of the park with the chocolate wedding. We need the money, and the good publicity, more than ever.”
Both cousins nodded, their faces serious.
“Yep,” Sarah said. “You can count on me for that, P. I’ll get upstairs now for my next lesson with the master. We’ll talk more about this later. You’d better get to baking, and just leave the bookkeeping until Lucas comes this weekend.”
“Good idea. I’d just screw it up, anyhow.” Paisley stacked the papers and put them on Emile’s desk. “We’ll be fine, right?”
“All for one and one for all.” Sarah waggled her eyebrows.
Paisley shot her an evil grin. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way? It is what it is?”
“Okay, enough with the clichés, darling. No moping allowed, and no more burning things in the kitchen.” Sarah gave her a hug and went to gather some goodies for her grandfather.
* * *
SARAH GRABBED A PLATE of fresh-baked croissants and took them upstairs to Emile’s apartment. She planned to spend the day with him, preparing for her meeting with the Chocolate Bride next week. When she knocked on the door, he called “Come!” and she entered.
Emile sat in his chair by the window, surrounded with books and newspapers. He was still wearing his bathrobe and flannel sleep pants, and his hair looked as if it had been combed with a handheld mixer. But he looked at her with a bright, alert expression and smiled. “Bonjour, ma petite! A beautiful day for my beautiful granddaughter. Come and give an old man a kiss.” He held out his arms.
Sarah bent to kiss him on both cheeks, and he did the same. She felt a cinnamon-scented breeze touch her face. Good morning, Grandma, she thought. I love you too.
“How about a cup of decaf?” she asked. “I found some nice French roast for you at the food co-op. They’re making a lot of different blends now, decaffeinated by the Swiss water process. It’s quite good.” She put the plate of pastries on the coffee table and walked toward the kitchen.
He followed her with his eyes. “Okay, I’ll try it. Maybe I can get used to fake food. Can you use it to make espresso?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Bon! Every day, something new. Life is an adventure, chérie.”
If you only knew, Sarah thought, keeping it to herself.
She went into the kitchen to make two cups of espresso and, after grinding the beans to fine powder, packed them into the basket carefully and tamped it down. It dripped out of the machine like dark syrup, just the right consistency. When she carried the cups into the living room, Emile had straightened up the mess and cleared a place for her on the sofa.
“Ah,” he crooned when she handed him his small cup and saucer. He took a sip. “Not bad! The flavor, at least, is the same. Guess I can live without the kick.”
“That’s a good way to phrase it.” Sarah used her scolding voice. “Since ‘living’ is the whole point.”
He gave her a sheepish look from under his scraggly eyebrows. “Yes, yes, I know, ma petite.”
Sarah sat down across from him and pulled out her notepad. They worked for several hours, then she went back to his small kitchen at noon to make sandwiches and more coffee. After lunch, Emile gave her a quiz, and she answered all the questions correctly. At that point, she was beginning to think she might be able to fake expertise if a chocolate-cooking demonstration wasn’t required. Then her grandfather started on food safety regulations and all the intricacies of producing a big event at an off-site location. Soon, she realized how easily the whole precarious stack of cards could collapse in front of hundreds of people. She would need to be confident and a good negotiator to get along with the staff at the wedding venue. Emile warned her there was always a sense of competition in the air when he took his crew into a place with existing food service, like the country club booked by the Chocolate Bride.
“You have to see it from his point of view,” Emile said, speaking of the club’s chef. “The client loves the location but has rejected his cooking. It’s like spitting in the eye! He’s not going to like you, chérie, no matter how adorable you are.”
“What can I do, then? He could sabotage the whole event. I can’t watch everything that happens in the kitchen and on the floor, all at the same time!” Sarah’s stomach twisted, and her upper lip began to sweat.
Emile looked thoughtful, staring into space. “True, very true. I was planning to manage the kitchen while you ran the service, like we do at home. We’ll precook everything here to plate and finish on site, so we need someone to take my place behind the scenes. You can concentrate on making the clients and their guests happy.”
He picked up the phone and called Paisley, who was downstairs in the kitchen. A few minutes later, they heard the elevator approach and stop, the doors rumbling open. Sarah went to open the apartment door, and there stood her cousin, carrying a heavy tray.
Sarah’s mouth watered as she sniffed the Black Forest cake and saw the teapot covered with their grandmother’s favorite knitted cozy. “Yum,” she whispered, closing the door behind Paisley, who set down the tray after Emile moved his books off the table.
“Just a small slice, Grandpa,” Paisley cautioned. “There’s a whole lot of stimulation packed into this cake. We don’t want your heart racing.”
Emile frowned, but he nodded. “One small piece,” he agreed. “The doctor said that one modest transgression every day won’t hurt if I follow my program the rest of the time. I walked this morning, and I’m taking Hershey and Devon to the dog park later. So don’t worry, I’m being good. Probably the first time ever.”
Sarah got cups and saucers, and everyone helped themselves, followed by a few minutes of communal silence while they ate and drank. Then Emile brought up the subject of the wedding, and they presented their concerns to Paisley.
“Obviously, I need to be at the country club with Sarah. Can’t Raoul and Jerome handle the kitchen at the restaurant?” she asked. “They did it the night you went to the hospital. It’ll be fine if Raoul’s nephew comes in to help. Louis is a good prep chef. We’ve used him before, on Valentine’s Day.”
“Brilliant!” Emile clapped his hands. “The perfect solution. You see, my dear. Nothing to worry about.” He put his arm around Sarah and squeezed.
She nodded but wasn’t convinced.
“Girls,” Emile said, leaning back and looking dreamily out the window. “Did I ever tell you about the day I met your grandmother? You know, I owe all my happiness, and your very existence, to a soufflé au chocolat!”
Paisley smiled at her cousin with a wink, since they had both heard the story many times. “You were working as sous chef at a little restaurant in Paris called Chez Joseph, right?” she said, piling the dirty dishes onto the tray.
Sarah continued the tale. “One night, a beautiful young lady came into the restaurant with her extremely wealthy upper-class gentleman, and they ordered a dessert soufflé, but the chef was indisposed and had left early.”
“The lady was so ravishing, you couldn’t help spying on her through the swinging door,” Paisley added as she waved away Sarah’s move to help and carried the tray toward Emile’s kitchen. “She had long golden hair like a fairy-tale princess, and the bluest eyes you ever saw.”
The sunlight coming in the window behind him glowed through his thin white hair as Emile picked up the thread. “The patron tells me to make the soufflé. It is an important guest, and we must not disappoint. I have never done this before, but I am very careful, following the recipe, and it comes out of the oven absolutely perfect.”
Sarah smiled. “Grandma was so impressed, she came back into the kitchen to congratulate you, and it was love at first sight.”
“Yeah,” Paisley called from the kitchen, where it sounded as though she was loading the dishwasher. “Who needs a rich boyfriend when you can have Emile Dumas?”
“And all the chocolate soufflé you can eat,” Sarah said. “Don’t forget that part.”
“It’s a powerful dessert, truly.” Emile gestured with his hands, raising his voice. “It brought us together. The love of my life, thanks to a soufflé au chocolat. Remember this when it’s time for some magic in your lives. A little chocolate can make miracles happen.”
Any wonder I’m so addicted? Sarah thought as she tidied up the books and papers, smiling. It runs in the family.
The faint scent of cinnamon drifted past her nose again, like the ghost of Christmas cookies past. Then it was gone, and she looked up to see her grandfather enveloped by a bright radiance, draped around him like a blanket of light as he sat in front of the sunny window and closed his eyes, drifting off into the past.
Bye, Grandma! Sarah thought as she and Paisley tiptoed out of the room.
* * *
SARAH TAGGED ALONG as Paisley headed upstairs to her studio apartment to kick back for a while and change clothes before the dinner shift.
At the top of the stairs to the third floor was a door that led out onto the flat roof that covered most of the building. At the far end were a greenhouse and raised vegetable beds that supplied the restaurant with fresh organic greens year-round, and the chicken coop that provided their eggs. The circle of life was in full operation here, since the manure from the chickens fertilized the veggies, the scraps from the restaurant fed the chickens, and the chickens gave back eggs and, occasionally, one of their older sisters, who would discreetly disappear and turn up in Emile’s coq au vin pot a few hours later.
The rest of the third floor consisted of an itty-bitty one-room apartment, where Paisley lived. Sarah always said it was a good thing her cousin was short or she’d never fit. She wondered how it worked when Paisley’s boyfriend, Wayne, slept over. The guy was well over six feet, and if he lay down, his feet would probably be outside. Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but the place was definitely small. When the two women stepped in through the sliding glass doors, Sarah felt a twitch of claustrophobia and automatically ducked.
Paisley did keep her nest very tidy, a good thing considering there was nowhere for clutter to accumulate. Her Murphy bed folded up into a cupboard, leaving space for a small sitting area that could be pushed back against the wall when the bed was in use. The kitchenette was divided from the living space by a short counter with two barstools, and the bathroom had a slender stall shower, a compact sink, and a tiny toilet that reminded Sarah of those on a train. She was always afraid she would sit down and break something.
“Seltzer?” Paisley asked, flipping open the door of her compact refrigerator.
“Sure.” Sarah nodded and sat on the love seat. “So, what do you really think?”
“About the wedding job or about Grandpa?” Paisley handed her a cold Perrier and sat down in the little slipper chair.
“Both.”
“I think the wedding will be fine. I have utter confidence in you.” Paisley lifted her bottle for a toast, and they clinked.
“What about Grandpa, then? Do you think we’re doing everything we should? I’m kind of worried about his diet. I saw a pint of heavy cream in his refrigerator just now. How can we keep vigilant without pissing him off?”
Paisley frowned. “Where did that come from? Not downstairs, do you think?”
Sarah shrugged. “Who knows? His car is right out in the parking lot. He can go to the store whenever he wants. We can’t stop him.”
“And we can’t watch him all the time, even though I’m right here. He could have slipped out just now, and we’d never know it.”
“Yes, he has to police himself.”
Paisley sighed and held the cold bottle to her forehead. “Okay, I’ll talk to him about it. And you do it too.”
“We’ll double-team him.” Sarah smiled, remembering many times from their childhood when they’d used the same strategy with great success.
Paisley seemed to remember the same thing and grinned. “The power of Salt and Pepper?” She used the nicknames they used to call each other.
Sarah leaned forward to wrap her cousin in a hug. “Thanks for being you, P.” Her throat needed clearing, and her voice wobbled.
“Nothin’ to it, easy peasy. You okay, Sarah?”
“Mmmpf,” she replied, her face buried in Paisley’s shoulder. She wanted to talk about Blake and her experience with sexting, but it all seemed so lame. “I’m fine. Just a little emotional from the soufflé story. Gets me every time.”
“I know. Me too.”
They hugged for another minute then said goodbye, and Sarah went home to meet Devon’s bus.