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‘You’re strong, Naomi. You remind me of your father when I first met him. He was such a strong-willed man with high morals and, oh, was he talented. He could cook anything I wanted with ease.’ She smiled at the thought and looked as though she was lost in her memories. ‘You just need to believe in yourself.’ She placed both her hands neatly on her lap.
My heart melted at her words. I felt so proud to be the daughter of such a talented chef and was glad his legacy could live on through my cooking. ‘Thanks, Mum. Thanks for everything, honestly. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.’
‘I’m just so glad you decided to come back home. It’s not the same when you’re gone. You’re a breath of fresh air.’ She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead.
‘Thanks, Mum. I’m glad to be home. I missed this cosy cottage.’ I smiled.
‘I love you, Naomi. Now, go take a shower, you smelly thing,’ she said, laughing as she opened the door and left the room.
‘Haha. That’s the plan. Love you too, Mum.’
Despite an awful day, it was ending pretty wonderfully, I thought. A hot shower followed by Patrick’s beef ragu sounded perfect.
24
Crepes And History
My cat-eyed sunglasses tried their best to shield me from the Monday morning sun as I drove to Patrick’s house. We both had the day off, and I couldn’t say no when he’d offered to cook breakfast for me; the memory of his delicious beef ragu still made my mouth water. People were obsessed with quality in life, and Patrick’s restaurant was the definition of quality. Every day, he received compliments on the food, décor, drinks, and service, and I couldn’t be more honoured to work there.
As I pulled up out the front, the electric gate slid open, revealing a smiling Patrick standing on his cobblestone driveway. He must have been waiting for me, a realisation that made me happier than I cared to admit. His outfit consisted of a white linen shirt, navy blue shorts, and black, tasselled loafers.Mmm, very him. As I got closer to him, the gentle breeze wafted his cologne my way, and,my heavens,I thought,this man never disappoints.
‘Good morning.Luce del sole,’ he said as I pushed my sunglasses onto my head, smoothing my wild curls from my face.
‘Luce del sole?That’s a new one. What’s that mean?’ I eyed him curiously with a small smile.
‘Sunshine.’
‘Cute.’ I smiled and held out a coffee I’d stopped to buy for him on the way. I already knew what he liked – double-shot espresso, of course.
‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that.’ He grabbed the coffee and shook his head, then took a sip while staring at me over the top of the cup. ‘Butgrazie. Nice dress. Sunflowers suit you.’ His ridiculously green eyes creased as he smiled.
‘Oh, thanks. I found it in my closet at Mum’s. I haven’t worn this in so long. It’s been probably a year or so, and I was surprised it still fit actually.’ I cringed a little at the over-share.What was it about him that made me gush so much?
He let out a hearty laugh and gestured for me to come inside.
We walked inside, and instantly the panoramic view of the alluring blue water greeted me. That was certainly a view I’d never be bored of. I’d never been to his house in broad daylight before and was mesmerised by the sunlight sparkling on the river. It looked like fairy dust, the way it glimmered. Two speedboats whizzed past, creating little waves, which rattled his jetty, and a flock of seagulls flew about squawking and carrying on while they searched for food.
‘So, what’s for breakfast?’ I asked, looking around the kitchen and noticing a silver bowl filled with a creamy batter.
‘Well.’ He grinned. ‘I’m having a cheat day, so crepes with lemon and sugar.’ He began whisking the mixture lightly as his eyes looked down at the swirling whisk.
‘Sounds delicious. Surprisingly, I haven’t had that combination before.’
‘It’s one of my favourite treats of all time.’ He kissed his fingers in that traditional Italian chef way. It was dorky and cute, and I giggled watching him do it.
‘I must say, I’m rather traditional with maple syrup and bacon on pancakes.’ I lifted my brows and spoke in a serious tone sprinkled with playfulness.
‘How very Canadian of you.’ He laughed.
He walked over to the induction cooktop and brushed melted butter in a crepe pan –much like a normal frypan but with lower edges. Once the temperature was perfect, he poured a quarter cup of batter into the pan, and I listened as the butter sizzled. He tilted the pan with meticulousness, creating a thin, even layer and watched it cook. I’d seen people use a wooden crepe tool before on cooking shows, but Patrick didn’t need one – he was that precise.
‘Bit of a crepe expert, are we?’ I asked with a grin as I leant my elbow on the cold marble and rested my chin on my palm.
‘I do get passionate about my crepes, I must admit.’ He flipped the crepe over after about fifty seconds, then waited for the other side to become golden. Once the crepe was cooked, he put it on a large plate and then continued cooking until all twenty crepes were ready.
My eyes widened at the height of the stack. ‘Uh. I hope we aren’t eating ten each. I usually can only fit in three.’
He laughed. ‘Eat as much as you want. I’m feeling quite crepeish today.’
