On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [106]
“Right.” Devon sighed. “Well, tonight, I couldn’t have done any of it without you. Anything I accomplished with this meal, this fundraiser, it was only possible because of all of you. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I’m sure you’ll be happy to see the back of me. But honestly? I’m going to miss you—this—when Adam comes home tomorrow.”
There was a long silence, punctuated by a sniffle or two, until Frankie finally said, “Fuck that, Chef. You’ll come back and visit, and then when Miranda finally agrees to get hitched we’ll shove them off to a proper honeymoon and have you back at the helm!”
A shouted cheer swelled all up and down the line. Lilah was thrilled to hear it, almost as much as it thrilled her to be standing close enough to hear Devon’s quiet words to Frankie as he poured the sous chef a glass of wine.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Boyd. You could run this kitchen in a heartbeat. The next time Adam needs a day off, let him leave you in charge. I’m serious, man. Thanks for all your help.”
Lilah saw Frankie struggle with the seriousness of the man-to-man moment for a full five seconds before he finally blew out a breath and shook his head. “That kind of responsibility—it’s not for me, mate. So it’s a damn good thing you were here to step in.”
As if unable to take another instant of real emotion, Frankie rocked back on his heels and downed the champagne in a single, impressive gulp. “Whoo!” He shook his head like a horse bothered by flies and made his wild black hair stand up all over. “Let’s get this party started!”
He grabbed the open bottle of champagne and shoved it into Lilah’s hands. She started pouring it out for the cooks while Frankie worked on opening another bottle.
“You’re gonna go talk to the money guys, right?” Tucker asked Devon.
“I don’t want to,” Devon made a face, “but yeah, I guess I am.”
“Can I come? I want to show them my newest drawing. Maybe if they see it, they’ll want to pay for the art classes more.”
Lilah hid a smile as Devon blinked down at his son.
“Tucker. You . . . How did I spawn such a marketing wiz? That’s a great idea. Come on, let’s go talk some rich people out of their spare cash.”
Lilah watched them go, her heart full to the brim with something that felt every bit as sparkly and effervescent as the wine she was pouring.
Operation Fatherhood was a roaring success!
Everyone in the dining room wanted to talk to Devon. Or maybe they just wanted to coo over Tucker and his drawing.
Devon grinned as yet another bejeweled Upper East Side matron clasped her heavily ringed hands and called Tucker “a little Picasso.” Pablo Jr. didn’t seem to enjoy the attention as much as he’d expected, if the scrunched-up nose was any indication.
Knowing that a good father would rescue his son from such obvious torture, Devon started making their excuses to the fawning lady. “Oh, too bad, so nice to see you, thanks for coming, there’s someone over there I absolutely must go and speak to . . .”
He gestured across the dining room in a vague sort of way, hoping the lady wouldn’t ask who it was he had to talk to, and suddenly locked eyes with a blue stare identical to the one he saw in the mirror every morning.
Dad.
Devon stilled, the polite words freezing in his mouth like ice cubes. All the blood in his body rushed to his brain, which felt like it shifted immediately into hyper-drive.
What was he doing here? Was Mom with him? Did he come for dinner? What did he think? What the fuck was he doing here?
The woman he’d been speaking to gave a shrill, embarrassed laugh and pinched Tucker’s cheek. Tucker shied away from her, backing into Devon’s hip and stumbling.
Devon looked down at his son, and back up at his father, standing motionless by the exit like he was already thinking about making a break for it. Dad never liked fancy restaurants much, Devon remembered, always seemed ill at ease when the family went anywhere nicer than a diner or a pizza parlor.
“Sorry.” He ripped his attention away from Phil Sparks and back to the woman whose name he