to look in the pots to know what was there. Variations on the five master sauces that were the basis of French cooking, stocks that would be used in the sauces and reduced to glaze certain dishes.
She inhaled the scent of tarragon and basil, parsley and chervil being chopped as she headed to her office to check on the delivery and change into her chef whites. Tonight would be a good night in the kitchen. No specter hanging over her head, no worry that she was going to be bounced out of the kitchen and restaurant. Nothing but cooking.
“Did you see the delivery in your office?” Sasha called from the kitchen a few minutes later. “I put it on the chair by the door.”
Julia hadn’t noticed anything, but then, she hadn’t looked, either. She’d been thinking and swapping her business suit and heels for her comfy pants, T-shirt, chef jacket and Converse runners. “Anything important?” She received plenty of deliveries during the week. Invoices for food, bills for their linen service, samples from suppliers.
“I don’t know. A bottle of wine with a gold bow around the neck sound important?”
“What?” Julia’s head whipped up to look at Sasha, who was smirking in the doorway.
“I sense you haven’t told me everything about the meeting.” Sasha gestured to the chair with her head. “Well, go look at it and then come back to the kitchen and tell me everything.”
Julia almost didn’t. She didn’t even know whom the bottle was from. But the excitement bubbling inside her did. An instinct confirmed when she pulled the note from the envelope attached by the ribbon.
To a bright and satisfying future.
Donovan
She recognized the label. An expensive and uncommon bottle. She hadn’t needed to read the card to know it was all Donovan. All class. Attraction flared. Which showed just how long she’d been without a boyfriend, if a bottle of wine, even one that cost more than most people’s weekly paychecks, was enough to get her all heated up.
Well, that may be so, but she didn’t have to act on it. Couldn’t act on it. Her focus needed to be on the restaurant. She didn’t have time for anything else. Maybe in a few years when her name was on the deed, when La Petite Bouchée was spoken about in the same breath as other great Vancouver restaurants, she could ease off a little. But until then, she’d accept the gift at face value, a way of welcoming her and her team to the company. Nothing more. Then she went out to tell the staff they were going to have a treat with family meal tonight, the meal she cooked and served before the start of service to make sure everyone was fueled for the long night ahead.
Because what was the point of having such a fantastic bottle of wine if not to share it with the ones you loved?
* * *
DONOVAN LOOKED AROUND La Petite Bouchée with a discerning eye. In the glow of the lights, without the sharp, exposing brightness of the sun, the space looked better. Not good but better.
The walls were plain but clean, as were the tables and chairs. The bar was too small and should extend another couple of feet to make full use of the space. They could easily fit in three or four more stools at a longer bar, which would mean three or four more people eating and drinking and adding to their profits.
The parquet flooring was worn and scuffed, and even if it was salvageable, Donovan had no plans to keep it. It was just a dated look that added nothing to the space. He was bringing in the designer next week to look the place over and discuss some potential changes. Hopefully, it could be done quickly and cheaply.
“Stop working,” Mal said, shooting him a withering stare. “Enjoy your meal and the fine company of your siblings.”
Donovan hadn’t wanted to bring them along when he’d decided to pop in for dinner tonight. Well, not entirely true. He never minded Mal tagging along, not even when he’d been twelve and she an annoying seven-year-old, but he could have done without Owen, who had already hit on both the server and the hostess and was even now eyeing up the bartender.
But he supposed they provided a better cover story than the one he’d come up with on his own. That he just happened to be in the neighborhood when what he really wanted was to see Julia.
He’d debated sending the wine. It was a vintage bottle, one from his private collection. Not the sort of thing he generally sent to staff no matter their level in the company hierarchy. But there was something different about Julia. A fact he’d been forced to acknowledge that night at Elephants when, instead of going home and enjoying an athletic and gratifying bout of sex with Tatiana, he’d sent her off with the clear disclosure that while he’d enjoyed dating her, he didn’t see it going any further and saw no point in continuing.
“I’m not working,” he said and forked up another bite of his meal. He’d selected the steak frites despite Owen’s advice that if he was going to be stubborn and not get the coq au vin blanc, he should choose the boeuf bourguignon. And he was perfectly satisfied with his meal. “I’m just looking around.”
“You’re making mental notes. And, Owen,” Mal said, turning her attention to him, “stop flirting with the staff and pay attention. Maybe if you thought about business once in a while instead of your sex life, you’d be able to convince Donovan to give you that promotion you want.”
Donovan blinked at his brother. “You want a promotion?”
A flash of panic tightened Owen’s face before it smoothed out into his usual laissez-faire expression. “Of course not. I don’t know what Mal’s talking about.”
But Donovan wasn’t sure he believed him. Still, he didn’t chase his brother down. Owen had shown little interest in the business. While Donovan and Mal had worked summers in the office and gone to university to learn skills that would help them one day take over the business, Owen had preferred to spend his time lounging at the beach and had flunked out of university after two semesters.
Even now, while Donovan and Mal held management positions that helped shape the future of the company as a whole, Owen seemed content to manage Elephants. It was a mind-set that Donovan simply couldn’t understand, and he’d long since given up trying.
He understood that Owen might not be interested in the food-and-wine industry. He might not even be interested in business. But Owen didn’t seem to be interested in anything else, either. He flicked from hobby to hobby and woman to woman like a butterfly. Barely settling anywhere long enough to get a feel for the surface, let alone mine the depths. But that wasn’t Donovan’s problem. So long as Owen managed to keep Elephants running, he would leave him be.
They talked about other things. How their father was doing, the local sports teams, a ski vacation Owen was planning on taking next weekend. “And then maybe somewhere tropical.” Owen looked at Mal. “I thought I might go and visit Travis.” Owen and Travis had always gotten along well, far better than Owen and Donovan.
Donovan saw the way his sister seized up at the mention of Travis’s name, though she covered it well, smoothing her napkin and picking up her wineglass without the slightest shake. Yes, there was definitely something going on, but she didn’t seem inclined to talk about it, and Donovan wasn’t about to bring it up here. He changed the subject, noting the release of his sister’s shoulders.
The conversation meandered after that, and Donovan was grateful when their server came by to ask if they’d like anything else.
“Yes,”
