Chef Despelteau pronounced. “Your spices, they do not dance, they plod. I expect my students to produce magic in the kitchen, not...” He dropped his fork back onto the plate with an expression that was usually reserved for walking around landfills. Shaking his head, he moved on, his silence letting everyone know Piper wasn’t worth more of his time.
“...so pathetic. Why is she even here?”
The whispered comment drifted from the stovetop across the aisle. Apparently whoever said it didn’t care if anyone heard him. Why should he, when the whole class was thinking the same thing?
Keeping her shoulders square, Piper stared straight ahead and pretended she didn’t hear a thing. That was the number one rule. Never let them think they were getting to you. Never lose control. Never let them see you cry. Crying only gave the bullies power. Let them whisper behind her back all they wanted; she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing so much as a twitch.
She succeeded, too. All through Chef Despelteau’s final remarks, through the Métro ride home, and even into the house. She managed to last until she saw the living room carpet and the faint brown ring reminding her she’d failed that task, too. Letting out the coarsest obscenity she knew, she broke down.
Screw cooking school. Tossing her bag in the chair, she stomped into the kitchen. Screw monsieur, too. Him and his impossible-to-clean carpeting. Screw Paris with its beautiful buildings and sidewalk cafés and shops she couldn’t afford. She hated them all.
Carbs. She needed carbs. Yanking open the refrigerator door, she grabbed a wedge of cheddar cheese and an onion. Creamy, gooey macaroni and cheese, that’s what this pity party needed. How’s that for peasant food, Chef Despelteau?
Now if she would only stop crying. Sniffing back a fresh batch of tears, she grabbed the cheese grater and took to demolishing the cheddar to a shredded pulp.
“There you—”
“What now?” she snarled. What else could she add to her list of mistakes today?
Frederic blinked in shock. Great. Yelling at her boss. That’s what she could add. Because, of course.
Horrified, she turned back to the cheese. “I mean, about this mor—morn...” The tears were back. She scrunched her face trying to stop them.
A paper towel floated in front of her face.
“Is everything all right?”
Why’d he have to sound nice, too? It made things worse. “Fine.” Taking the paper towel, she wiped her cheeks and blew her nose.
“You don’t look fine.”
“The cheese is making my eyes water.”
“I see. It must be quite pungent.”
Piper ignored the comment, choosing to wipe her nose again instead. “Did you need something, monsieur?”
A tentative smile worked its way across his features. Afraid to set her off again, probably. “I wanted to apologize for losing my temper this morning. The coffee, it was not your fault.”
No, it wasn’t, she wanted to say. She didn’t. Since he apologized, the least she could do was be gracious in return. “I should have known better than to put a cup where you couldn’t see it.”
“And I should know better than to behave like a brat,” he countered, one-upping her. “It’s rude to blame others for my shortcomings.”
Piper wasn’t sure she’d call partial blindness a shortcoming, but she accepted the apology anyway. If she didn’t, the two of them might spend all night exchanging regrets. “Thank you,” she said with a sniff. The man would never know that his “I’m sorry” had just beat out the coffee stain as the day’s bright spot.
“Do you need another paper towel? I would offer you something nicer, but I’m not a handkerchief person. A napkin perhaps?”
That made her smile, picturing him retrieving a napkin from the linen closet. “Thanks, but I’m okay now.” There remained a slight pressure behind her eyes trying to push out tears, but she could keep that under control. A quick splash of water and she’d be fine.
“Are—” She took one last swipe at her nose. “Are you in for the evening?” As if she didn’t already know the answer. Frederic was seldom “in.” His evenings were one big social engagement. How one person could squeeze so much activity into a week, she didn’t know.
Just as she expected, Frederic shook his head. “I have tickets for the symphony. I came home to change my shirt is all.”
Meaning he would be home late, as usual. “I’ll make sure to leave the foyer light on before I turn in.”
“Thank you.” He turned to leave only to pause. “Why don’t you take the evening off as well? Some time with friends might make you feel better.”
Sure it would, if she had friends to go out with. “I...” Thankfully, the beep of an incoming message on her cell phone saved her from having to make up some embarrassing lie.
“Sounds like your friends have the same idea,” Frederic said.
She reached into her pocket, smiling when she read the message on her screen. “It’s my sister,” she told him. Why she felt she needed to tell him that, she didn’t know.
“You have a sister.”
A question as much as a statement. Surely he knew. Then again, he might not. This was the longest conversation they’d ever had.
“She works as a housekeeper back in Boston.”
“Ah, so cleaning is a family business.”
“More like a family situation we both fell into.” From his expression, she could tell he didn’t get the joke. No surprise. It wasn’t very clear, or funny. “She wants to video chat.”
“Sounds like you’ve got something to look forward to.”
“Yeah.” Piper smiled. Talking to Patience would definitely make her feel better.
“I’m glad.” And for the first time she could remember, he gave her a warm, genuine smile. “I’ll leave you alone so you can talk. Good night.”
“Good night.” To her horror, she almost said “Don’t go” instead. Her loneliness was out of control if a smile could make her slip up like that.
Piper waited until she heard the front door shut before going to get her computer. Her apartment sat at the back of the house. Technically, it was more like a suite of rooms—bedroom, bathroom and sitting room—but they were still nicer than anything she could afford on her own. They also came with kitchen privileges and monsieur’s kitchen was a dream come true even for an uninspired cook like her.
It was into the kitchen that Piper carried her laptop. Patience specifically said video chat, which meant she was planning on a nice long conversation. By putting the laptop on the counter, Piper could cook while they talked. It would be almost like home.
Almost.
