On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [103]
“More?” he said hopefully.
Jess, who’d been smart enough not to move away yet, laughed and held the tray where Tucker could get to it. “I thought you might want seconds, and these are going fast. People are snarfing ’em up faster than I can hustle back to the kitchen for more.”
“That’s a good sign, right?” Oh, please, Lilah prayed. Let this evening go well.
Jess winked. “The best.”
God must’ve been in the mood to heed the prayers of shameless hussies, because people sat down and were poured wine, and the first course, a variation on Billy Perez’s cold corn salad served on crisp, bitter endive leaves, was sampled. Lilah took in the big smiles and transported expressions on the diners’ faces. The night seemed to be going about as perfectly as possible.
The only fly in the soup was that no matter how she scrutinized her fellow guests, none of them looked the way she’d imagined Phil and Angela Sparks would look. Not that there were any pictures to go by in Devon’s apartment, but surely she’d be able to see a family resemblance.
She looked at Tucker, kicking the table leg and drawing on the back of his menu, already improving on his design. He couldn’t be more obviously related to Devon if he were a clone.
Genes that strong had to come from somewhere. Lilah was betting either Phil or Angela had those trademark ice-blue eyes, but no one in the dining room seemed to. She was about to get up and find Grant at the host stand, quiz him about any empty tables, but someone pinged a fork against a wine glass, and the whole room quieted.
Devon emerged from the kitchen, resplendent in his pristine white chef’s jacket with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Clearly at ease in front of a crowd, he gave a charming smile and launched into a short introduction followed by a rundown of the Center for Arts Education’s mission.
He concluded with an impassioned call for support of a well-rounded education in New York City schools that had Lilah reaching for her napkin to dab surreptitiously at her eyes.
She was such a sentimental fool.
Lilah distracted herself by leaning down to explain to Tucker that his dad was trying to get people to chip in enough to keep art classes going at schools like his. He rolled his eyes, said, “Duh,” and went back to his drawing.
All righty, then.
A swell of applause signaled the end of Devon’s speech. A representative from the Center for Arts Education stood up and took over, thanking Devon for hosting the event, while Devon smiled graciously and hoped that everyone enjoyed the meal.
He stopped by Lilah and Tucker’s table on his way back to the kitchen.
“How do you think it’s going?”
“Excellently,” Lilah said, forcing a brightness she couldn’t quite feel with the disappointment in Devon’s no-show father weighing her down. “The food is wonderful. You’re all outdoing yourselves back there.”
“Jess said he almost ran out of pecan pies,” Tucker informed him. “Are you going to run out of the date rolls? Because I want three. No, four. I want four!”
“Tucker! Don’t be a pig,” Lilah said.
Devon just laughed, a big, happy sound that made the four tables closest to them look around and smile.
“Don’t worry, Tuck,” he said easily. “I’ll save a couple extras for you. As payment for doing such an awesome job with the menus.”
“I’m going to be famous,” Tucker replied in all seriousness. “I’ma have my own TV show and everything.”
“Trust me, kiddo, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Tucker shrugged and went back to his drawing and diligent kicking of the table leg.
Lilah shared an amused look with Devon, who twisted his mouth up and said, “I’ve got to get back. It seems to be going smoothly, which of course means any second it’s all going to fall apart like a soufflé collapsing in a hot oven.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
But through the next six courses, nothing went wrong that Lilah could see. The kitchen banged out fried chicken livers with a chipotle maple dipping sauce, crunchy on the outside and smooth and rich on