CHAPTER
EIGHT
Four days of laughter, sex, and fun had led to this moment.
Madison was standing in the kitchen at Nanine’s, staring at the kumquats she’d picked up at the Friday outdoor market. Why? Because she’d dreamed of kumquats last night.
Now, she was so fixated on them that her kitchen staff could start an accidental oil fire. Those zombies she’d joked about with Kyle could charge into the restaurant, making Nanine’s famous chandelier sound the alarm, but she still wouldn’t be able to look away from those enticing little orange balls of tart goodness waiting to be turned into something exceptional.
Normally, she didn’t do the food shopping—they had it delivered—but the season was on, even in Paris, since most of the city’s fruit came from Corsica, and thepastelitoshad gotten her thinking about tropical flavors.
This spurt of creativity was what Thea had experienced after meeting Jean Luc! She knew it. Because God, every day since she and Kyle had begun their new whatever, she felt terrific. Super charged. Crystal clear. Excited for life.
Huge relief.
In fact, she’d caught herself singing today during prep. On a mere Thursday.
Hold. The. Phone.
Pierre gave a hearty squawk as he sniffed the air.“Ça sent bon.”
“Oui,”she answered with a hum.
The kumquats did smell good. Exotic. Citrusy. Tart. A little like Kyle’s skin, which had her mind popping out hot images of them. She reined them back in.
“Chef?”
She had to shake herself out of her reverie. Her sous chef stood a few feet away. The rest of the staff seemed to have slowed down their preparation. “Yes, Fabian, what is it?” she answered in French.
“Are you creating a special?”
Since the restaurant had barely been reopened for a month, they hadn’t created any specials yet—only a set holiday menu. “I’m considering it. Kumquats are in season.”
He crisply nodded, hands behind his back, standing at attention in his businesslike way. “The staff stands ready to assist.”
She and Fabian were doing well, along with Nanine’s other former chefs. She’d brought in a few people she’d hired on her own, of course, but they were gelling with the original staff. For the menu creation, she’d done nearly all of the planning herself. Thea, of course, had added her bread ideas after Madison came up with the bread-pairing concept.
Everyone loved their pairings. However, the practice had led to her current dilemma: she’d need a bread to accompany any special she created. One, Thea wasn’t there, and two, specials were inspirations of the day typically. She’d rather boxed herself in there.
Maybe the time had arrived to invite her staff into her creative process.
“Who’s had a dish with kumquats?” she asked.
When a few hands rose, she called them over and began her first collaborative brainstorming with Pierre nodding along. After hearing about the French dishes they’d tasted, she scanned their eager faces. “We need something else that’s seasonal for the dish to make sense.” She snapped her fingers. “Oysters.”
She remembered her French mentor in Miami, Chef Marcel Fournier, telling her that he and his family would buy two boxes and eat and shuck their way through the holidays during his childhood in Brittany.
“Can you find me top-quality oysters, Fabian?” she asked, rubbing her fingers together as she contemplated the flavor profile of the dish.
With a crisp nod, Fabian was off. The rest of the staff returned to their prep, and Madison started pickling the kumquats. Why use lemon when you could use something more spectacular?
Now all she needed was a bread accompaniment. Without Thea around, she went to the next best source—an actual French bakery. Walking inside, she called outBonjourand started clinically going down the glass case, scanning pastries. When she caught sight of thecanelé,the hairs on the back of her neck rose.
She ordered a few from the patient server, paid quickly, and took a bite of one before she was out the door. The rum and vanilla flavors were strong, as was the caramelized texture, but the custard crème center tempered it.
“We have a winner!” She nearly punched the air before she realized she was standing on the sidewalk in her own cooking Lalaland.
Rushing back inside Nanine’s, she made a beeline for her pastry chef and thrust out her half-eatencanelé.“Can you make this?”
