On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [92]
He looked up at her with an easy smile. “He asleep?”
The chardonnay was pale gold and pretty in the fragile wine glass. “Before his head hit the pillow. Poor boy, we kept him out late tonight.”
They’d stayed until service was over so Devon could talk to the cooks and servers about his amazing new plan, and now it felt good to be home.
Her heart was so full right now, Lilah was sure everything she felt must be spilling out of her eyes, her pores, the ends of her fingers and toes.
She was awash in love. And it was dangerously tempting to let the whole world know it.
Lilah took a sip of wine to keep her mouth occupied. She was afraid she’d start babbling her feelings any second.
“Hey, you didn’t wait for the toast,” Devon said, smiling.
Lilah swallowed quickly. “Sorry! Oh, hey, that stuff’s really good. But sorry! What do you want to toast to?”
Looking amused, Devon held out his glass and said, “How about to the future?”
“To good food, good friends, and good weather,” Lilah said. “That’s my Uncle Roy’s favorite.”
“Then it’s good enough for me,” Devon replied, touching his glass to hers. The melodic chime that rang out made Lilah think their glasses, thin and delicate as they were, were actually crystal. She immediately shifted her fingers to hold the stem more gingerly.
The wine tasted even better now, probably because she wasn’t gulping it down. It had a citrusy bite that shocked Lilah’s tongue before it mellowed into a soft, peachy after-taste.
Shoot. She might end up gulping the rest of it yet.
“I don’t think the weather will be an issue,” Devon mused. “At least, I don’t think there’s a chance it’ll be anything other than muggy and scorching hot. August isn’t New York’s best month. But the other two parts of the toast—they could give me some trouble.”
“Good food and good friends? I hope not.”
There was a wry twist to Devon’s mouth. “I haven’t exactly been Mr. Popular with the Market staff.”
“You’ve got me,” she said, and her heart started pounding. “As a friend, I mean. Well, as more than a friend, but . . . well . . . you know what I mean.”
Slow, lazy cat smile from Devon.
“And the food,” Lilah babbled. “That’s no problem, I mean, I’m sure you’ve got tons of dishes you’re famous for at those restaurants of yours. Cherry-pick a few of those and you’ll be ready before you know it!”
Devon sank down onto one of the bench seats in his breakfast nook. “No. I don’t want to do something I’ve done a million times before. I want to prove—to myself,” he emphasized, “that my palate’s not gone. I can still come up with a great menu.”
Best to be delicate about this. “How, exactly, do you mean to go about it?” she asked.
Devon gave her a look that said he knew she was trying to handle him.
“I think we’ll start with a blind taste test.” He set his glass on the table and cracked his knuckles like a man about to embark on a difficult task. His eyes, though, were shining with the challenge, which was such a beautiful change from the agonized loss that had filled his whole body earlier. Lilah was so caught up in enjoying the difference that she almost missed what he’d said.
“Wait. A blind taste test?”
“Oh, yeah. My brigade and I, back when I was first starting out in the restaurant business, we used to play this game all the time after service.”
Devon hopped up from the table and started rooting around in one of the drawers until he pulled out a black linen napkin with a triumphant grin.
“We tie this on, like so.” He mimed covering his eyes with the cloth. “And you put out a variety of different foods for me to taste. You time me, see how many I get right in one minute. I used to be able to do fifteen.”
“That’s it?”
“I valued accuracy over speed; it was always fifteen out of fifteen correct. And it’s harder than you think. You don’t realize how much you rely on your sight to give you information about what you’re tasting until it’s taken away. Then it’s all about your palate. Nothing else.”
Lilah licked her lips. It was probably stupid, but she was nervous for him. Devon was nothing