Breakfast in Bed by Rochelle Alers (3)

Gage Toussaint exhaled a groan at the same time he slowed the SUV to just under the city’s speed limit. He was past tired. In fact, he was exhausted and had stopped short of cursing out his brother after Eustace left a voice mail message asking him to pick up Tonya Martin at DuPont House Sunday morning at seven in the blasted a.m.

Not only had he been up early Saturday morning helping Eustace prepare dishes for his cousin’s wedding to Hannah DuPont, but he also played several sets later that night. He had left the restaurant and then rushed to Jazzes to rehearse several new numbers with the house band for a surprise birthday celebration that was to be held at the club. If the guest of honor had not been an old friend and an elected official, Gage would have looked for another horn player to take his place. After rehearsing, he had just enough time to return to his apartment, shower, and change before returning to the jazz club to set up for the party.

Gage felt old, completely drained, although at forty-six he would not have thought of himself as old. However, he knew for certain he had to decide whether he wanted to be a full-time chef, full-time musician, and/or high school music instructor, because he found it more and more difficult to combine two careers. If he joined Chez Toussaints full-time, then that meant he had to be at the restaurant at six in the morning to prepare for the lunchtime customers and fulfill ever increasing catering orders. That was nearly impossible when there were nights he did not leave Jazzes until just before dawn. Although he loved cooking, it still was not his passion. Music was.

He continued driving along a wide avenue lined on both sides with large, imposing homes with magnificent gardens that had given the neighborhood its name: the Garden District. DuPont House was a plantation-style house built in the late eighteenth century by free people of color when Louisiana was still a territory. Gage turned off through the open gates, maneuvered up the winding drive to the antebellum mansion, and stopped. He shut off the engine.

The figure of a woman rose from the shadows from where she sat on the porch. Gage had not realized he’d been holding his breath until she came closer. Galvanized into action, he got out. The first thing he noticed was her dimpled smile. Unconsciously a smile parted his lips as he mounted the stairs, his gaze fixed on her beautiful face. It was impossible for him to pinpoint her age because he did not see a single line or wrinkle in a face without a hint of makeup. The women who worked at Jazzes and some female patrons wore so much makeup he doubted whether he would recognize them without it. Everything about Tonya was refreshing, from her stylishly cut, short, lightly graying hair and bare face to her white camp blouse, navy-blue cropped slacks, and navy deck shoes.

He extended his hand. “I’m Gage Toussaint. My brother asked me to pick you up and take you to the restaurant.”

She stared at his hand for several seconds before offering her own. “Tonya Martin. I hope your coming here so early didn’t inconvenience you.”

“Of course not,” Gage said, much too quickly.

He had gotten home from the club at four, picked up the voice mail, and then set his smart phone to wake him at six. He lay sprawled on the recliner in the living room rather than go to bed because he did not want to oversleep. After a cold shower and a cup of strong, hot black coffee, he felt alert enough to drive.

Tonya reached for the leather tote on the rocker. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Cradling her elbow, Gage led her off the porch to the Audi, the subtle scent of her perfume wafting to his nostrils. He leaned in as she slid onto the passenger seat, wondering what it was about the woman his brother wanted to bring to Chez Toussaints that made him feel slightly off balance when he knew nothing about her other than her name.

He noticed she didn’t wear any rings, but that was not an indication whether she was married or single. One thing he knew for certain was she had not grown up in the South. Within seconds of introducing herself, he recognized a Northern inflection in her voice. Gage took his seat behind the wheel and then secured his seatbelt. He punched the start-engine button, shifted into gear, and headed for Tremé.

Tonya glanced at Gage’s profile in an attempt to see the resemblance between him and Eustace, but there was nothing in the younger man’s appearance to indicate they were even remotely related. When Eustace said he would have his brother pick her up and bring her to his restaurant, she never would have expected him to be the man she recalled playing trumpet with the band at the jazz club she had visited during her first trip to New Orleans.

Nydia and Jasmine had remarked on his good looks, while she had merely stared, finding him breathtakingly attractive. Seeing Gage on stage was very different from sitting a few feet away from him. Large gray-green eyes framed by long black lashes, a palomino-gold complexion, and delicate features, cleft chin, and cropped straight black hair with flecks of gray made him drop-dead gorgeous. And to add to the total package was a rich baritone voice with a distinctive Southern drawl.

“When Eustace told me he would have his brother pick me up, I never would’ve thought it would be you,” she said after a comfortable silence.

His right hand resting on the gearshift while he steered expertly with his left when he turned a corner, Gage smiled. “Why would you say that?”

“You don’t resemble each other.”

Gage smiled. “We’re brothers from different mothers. Eustace’s mother died when he was still an infant. Pop waited almost ten years before marrying again. And what do you mean you didn’t think it would be me?”

Tonya stared at his profile, then moved downward, her gaze lingering on the tiny musical notes tattooed on his right forearm. She was not overly fond of tattoos and men wearing earrings but found the ink and the tiny hoops in his pierced lobes fitting for a musician. “I saw you playing at Jazzes.”

Taking his eyes off the road, he gave her a quick glance. “When was that?”

“It was late June, when my friends and I came down to hang out with Hannah.”

“How long were you here?”

She paused, counting the days. “We’d planned to stay two weeks, but it got so hot that we just stayed a week. I met Eustace for the first time when I volunteered to help him at your family’s reunion.”

Gage’s eyebrows lifted. “So you’re the cook he talked about.”

Tonya’s mouth tightened in frustration. She lost track of the number of times people referred her as a cook when she had worked and sacrificed so much to become a professional chef. “I’m not a cook.”

Gage looked at her again. “What are you?”

“I’m a chef.”

“Are you kidding?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m a graduate of Johnson and Wales.”

A beat passed. “Aren’t you the chef who will be cooking for Hannah once she opens her inn?”

Tonya knew it was premature to openly acknowledge she would take over the cooking duties for the café and supper club. She and Hannah still had to go over the contractual agreement making her an investor in the DuPont Inn. Then she had to discuss the details with her attorney. Once he assured her that it would be a worthwhile business arrangement, she’d sign.

“You’ve heard about that?”

Gage nodded. “Everyone’s talking about the DuPont House becoming the DuPont Inn.”

“Is the talk positive or negative?”

“It’s mostly positive.”

“What have you heard that’s negative?”

“That the DuPonts are cash-poor. And they’ve decided to convert DuPont House from a private residence to a business to raise enough money so they won’t have to sell it.”

“Is that what you believe?” Tonya asked him. She knew for certain that Hannah was far from being cash-poor, because she admitted her late naval career-officer husband, although he’d cheated on her, had made provisions that resulted in her becoming a wealthy widow.

Gage shook his head. “I don’t have an opinion one way or the other, but I like the idea that folks will have another place to stay during Mardi Gras when many hotels and motels are filled to capacity with out-of-towners. During that time some locals rent out rooms in their homes to make a little extra money.”

“Is that what you do?”

Stopping for a red light, he gave her an incredulous stare. “No. I don’t like strangers sleeping in my place.”

“Is that your decision or your wife’s?”

Gage’s expression changed, becoming one of amusement. “You’re not very subtle in wanting to know if I’m married.”

Tonya recoiled as if someone had slapped her across the face; she found him incredibly arrogant. Did he actually believe because of his good looks she would be interested in him? That he was so used to women coming on to him that he grouped her with the others?

“I could care less about your marital status, because whether you’re married or single has no bearing on my life.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

A Cheshire cat smile spread over his features. “Well, that makes two of us. I was married briefly, but it didn’t work out. What about you, Tonya? Did you ever take the plunge?”

Her former annoyance vanished as Gage went up several points on her approval scale. One thing she admired in a person was directness. Apparently there was no beating around the bush for him. “Yes. But like you, it didn’t work out. The best thing to come out of my marriage is my daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-one. She’s now in her senior year at Spelman.”

“You don’t look old enough to have a twenty-one-year-old.”

“Is that a subtle way of asking my age?” Tonya teased.

The light changed, and the SUV shot forward when Gage stepped on the gas. “No. There are two things I’ve learned to never ask a woman, and that is her age or her weight, because one or two have brought holy hell down on me.”

Tonya smiled. “I had just turned twenty-nine when I had Samara. Now you do the math.”

“You’re fifty!”

Tonya managed not to laugh when his jaw dropped. “Yes.”

“Damn, woman! You look good.”

Pinpoints of heat flooded her face. “Thank you. What’s the expression? ‘Good black don’t crack.’ ”

“It’s more than good black. It’s good genes and healthy living.”

“You’re right about that,” she agreed. “I try to work out several times a week. If I move here I’m going to have to find a sports club, because the food down here is like crack. One bite and you’re instantly addicted.”

Throwing back his head, Gage laughed, the low, rich sound reverberating inside the vehicle. “I suppose it would be to someone not used to eating it. I’ve grown up eating Creole and Cajun dishes all my life, so there are times when I don’t want to see or eat it.”

Tonya wanted to tell Gage that it was obvious that he did not overeat because of his slim physique. “What do you eat instead?”

“I’ll prepare a coq au vin, or if I want something light it will be salmon salade niçoise.”

Slumping back against the leather seat, Tonya realized Gage had mentioned preparing a traditional Provençal salad from Nice, which is traditionally made with tuna. “You’re a chef.” The query was a statement.

“Guilty as charged.”

“You’re a chef and a musician?”

Gage nodded. “I’m part-time chef and part-time musician. I help Eustace whenever he has a catering event, and I’m committed to playing with Jazzes’ house band on the weekends. I wanted to make it to St. John’s wedding, but unfortunately I had a prior engagement at the club.”

“Are you going to assist Eustace today, because he told me he has to cater a party later this afternoon?”

“No. The party is too small. A book club alternates holding monthly Sunday afternoon meetings at a different member’s homes, and a few months ago they had Eustace cater the event for the first time. They started out with only ten members, and now they’re up to eighteen. Cooking for eighteen is like child’s play when compared to more than fifty. That’s why I don’t understand why my brother would ask you to assist him today unless he wants to give his kids a break after last night’s wedding reception.”

Tonya stared out the windshield at the passing landscape. They had left the Lower French Quarter and entered Tremé. “He’s offered to show me how to prepare some of Chez Toussaints’ more popular dishes.” Gage came to a complete stop in the middle of the street; the motion was so abrupt that if she had not been wearing a seat belt, there was no doubt she would have hit the dashboard. “What are you trying to do? Give me whiplash?”

Gage managed to appear contrite. “Sorry about that. Did I hear you correctly when you said Eustace is going to give you our family’s secret recipes?”

Tonya hid her annoyance behind a polite smile. “He didn’t say he was going to give me anything.”

“Show or give. It’s all the same,” he countered angrily.

There was one thing Tonya was not going to do with Gage—and that was argue with him. That he could do with his brother. “I suggest you talk it over with your brother,” she said.

“You can bet I will,” Gage said under his breath. Two minutes later he maneuvered into the parking lot behind the freestanding building housing Chez Toussaints.

Tonya did not know what she expected the restaurant to look like, but it was not the one-story, clapboard structure sorely in need of a new coat of paint. However, it did sport a new roof and windows, and that indicated some recent improvements to the building. Gage did not shut off the engine before he came around the Audi to help her out. There were two white vans in the parking lot with the name of the restaurant painted on the sides.

“Aren’t you coming in with me?” she asked when he unlocked the restaurant’s back door and held it open for her. They were standing in an area with floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with jars of canned fruits and vegetables and a number of tin containers labeled flour, rice, grits, and differing types of sugar. A walk-in refrigerator-freezer and a trio of freezer chests took up two walls in the artificially air-cooled space.

Gage massaged the back of his neck. “No. I’m going home to get some sleep. Eustace will call me when it’s time to take you back to DuPont House.”

Suddenly it dawned on Tonya that Gage had come to get her when he probably had not had much, or any, sleep after working at Jazzes. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll call DuPont House and either LeAnn or Paige can bring me back.” She had taken an instant liking to Hannah’s cousins, who had regaled them with stories about their involvement with the civil rights movement in the late sixties and early seventies. They told of marches and sit-ins where they risked being clubbed by police or bitten by their dogs. They also had lost count of the number of times they were hauled off to jail for unlawful assembly.

“Don’t bother them. All I need is a few hours, and I’ll be good as new.”

“But . . .” Her words trailed off when he turned on his heel and walked out.

Tonya recognized Eustace’s deep voice. She had noticed during the Toussaint-Baptiste family reunion that many of them spoke to one another either in French or Haitian Creole. “No, it’s not Gage,” she called out as she made her way into the restaurant’s kitchen.

Eustace stood at the preparation table chopping green onions, bobbing his head in time to the music flowing through speakers from the radio on a shelf. Again, she was taken aback by the lack of space in the kitchen, from which came some of the most delicious dishes she had ever eaten. The entire restaurant, with a wood-burning brick oven, was a little larger than the beachfront bungalow where she vacationed as a child with her parents and grandparents.

He smiled, dimples winking at her from rounded cheeks. “Good morning. You got here just in time for me to show you how to make boudin balls. There are some aprons on a table over in the corner.”

Tonya washed her hands in a deep stainless-steel sink, drying them on a towel stacked next to the aprons. She approached Eustace, watching intently as he removed a pot from an industrial stove and poured the mixture through a strainer, reserving the liquid and meat separately. “What’s on the menu?”

“Boudin balls with a rémoulade sauce. Fried chicken wings, red beans and rice, seafood pasta salad, jalapeño-cheese cornbread, and bourbon whiskey bread pudding.”

“Should I assume no one will be counting calories?”

Eustace chuckled, the sound rumbling in his deep, wide chest. “Not today. The book club ladies claim they’re allowed one cheat day each month, and today is that day. They eat, drink, and then they talk about books.” He turned a meat mixture onto a cutting board. “Please give this a fine chop.”

Tonya slipped on a pair of disposable gloves before selecting one of the knives in a knife block. “Do they order the same dishes every month?”

“It varies, but they have to have their wings and red beans and rice.”

She made quick work chopping the meat mixture. “This smells wonderful.”

Eustace nodded. “I prefer making my own mixture to buying ready-made boudin sausage. If you let pork shoulder, chicken liver, garlic, onion, poblano and jalapeño peppers, salt, celery, and chili powder marinate overnight before letting them simmer for a couple of hours, it’ll enhance all the flavors. After you chop the meat, add cooked white rice and freshly chopped parsley and green onion until the mixture has a pastelike consistency. After that cover the bowl with plastic wrap and chill it in the refrigerator for at least two hours or more. I’ll be right back. I have to get something from the other fridge.”

Tonya mixed the ingredients Eustace had set aside on the table. The aroma coming from the bowl was intoxicating, and she looked forward to sampling at least one boudin ball once they were fried to golden perfection.

“When frying the boudin balls, do you use regular bread crumbs or panko?” she asked after he returned from the storeroom carrying a large aluminum bowl filled with chicken wings.

“I make my own bread crumbs. I always add a little cayenne to give them an extra kick for the boudin balls. I cube stale French bread, put them in the oven to dry it out, and then grind them in the blender. You’ll find three labeled jars in the fridge: plain, cayenne, and the third with grated cheese.”

“Where do you buy your fresh herbs?”

“I order them from the vegetable market. You folks up North call them green grocers, but I refer to them as halle de légumes.” Eustace exhaled an audible groan. “I must be having a senior moment. I forgot to ask you about Gage.”

“What about him?”

“Did he growl at you because I asked him to pick you up?”

“Not at all. In fact, he was rather pleasant.”

Eustace grunted. “That’s a first,” he drawled. “Usually my brother is like a bad-tempered bear coming out of hibernation if I ask him to help me after he’s played a gig.”

“He said he was going home to get some sleep.”

“I keep telling him he has to decide what he wants. Either he’s going to be a chef or a musician. It can’t be both.”

Tonya pretended interest in stirring the mixture, adding the reserved cooking liquid a ladleful at a time until it had a pastelike consistency, rather than agree or disagree with Eustace. She knew catering parties and running a kitchen were not only time-consuming but often overwhelming, and afterward she usually fell asleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow. She removed a length of plastic wrap from an industrial-size box and covered the bowl.

“How many wings are you making?” Tonya asked.

“About five pounds. I always cut off the tips and save them for chicken stock.” Eustace picked up a meat cleaver. “I don’t mind frying chicken, but for some reason I hate frying wings.”

“Why don’t you cook them in the oven?” Tonya suggested. “To save time I usually season them, line a baking pan with foil and coat it with cooking spray. Arrange the wings skin side up in a single layer and bake them about forty minutes or until they’re no longer pink. After that I drain off the fat, put the wings in a bowl and toss them with sauce. Then I rearrange them back in the pan and bake about five minutes or more until glazed.”

Eustace appeared deep in thought. “You may have something there. Do they come out crispy?”

She nodded. “Yes. Do you have any sriracha sauce on hand?”

“I have every hot sauce known to man in the storeroom. Why?”

“Let me make a few with a creamy sriracha sauce and you can judge for yourself if you want to offer them to your clients.”

“Okay, chef, you’re on. You do your thing while I whip up some breakfast for us. I can’t see us making all this food while our bellies are growling.”

Tonya lost track of time as she prepped the wings while Eustace grilled fresh shrimp for one of her favorite dishes: shrimp and grits. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen and reminded her why breakfast was her favorite meal of the day. Coffee, crisp bacon, fried eggs over easy, and buttery biscuits was her one-day-a-week guilty pleasure.

She discovered, despite the proportions of the kitchen, it was as well stocked as the one at the bank. Eustace had a variety of pepper sauces ranging from mild to hot enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. There were also shelves with jars of seasonings labeled in French, and she assumed these were the ingredients that were family secrets. Tonya had just placed the pan with the wings in the oven when Eustace invited her to sit and eat.

“How often do you eat like this?” she asked him as they sat opposite each other at a table in the restaurant; the whole restaurant’s seating capacity was no more than thirty.

He peered at her over the rim of his coffee mug. “Much too often. I have a forty-year high school reunion next year, and I’ve promised my wife that I’m going on a diet. I know the only time that’s going to happen is if I get the hell out the kitchen.”

“Who will take over from you?”

Eustace dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I’d like for Gage to run the restaurant, but somehow I don’t see that happening. It’s going to be a lot of responsibility for my girls, because they have husbands and kids to look after. We used to open every day for lunch and dinner, but that’s before we started catering. Now we open Monday through Friday from eleven to two for lunch.”

“What about the weekends?” Tonya asked in between forkfuls of cheesy grits.

“That’s when we cater parties. And if we don’t have anything on the calendar, then we kick back and relax.”

“Once I move down here I’m willing to help out. It’s probably going to be a couple of months before the guesthouses are converted into eating establishments, so in the meantime I can hone my skills working here.”

Eustace blinked slowly. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“I’m very sure. If I’m going to prepare New Orleans dishes, then why not learn from the best?”

“I’m a cook, not a chef, Tonya.”

“And I’m not a cook, but a chef, Eustace,” she countered. “Right now you’re the teacher and I’m the apprentice. If I begin as your sous chef, then maybe your daughters can take some time off to be with their families.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her a long, penetrating stare. “We’ll begin with you working in the kitchen one week for the lunch crowd so you can get an idea of how we operate. After that, you can help with catering. I’m sure Gage will appreciate the extra help.”

Tonya knew Eustace was being optimistic, because she had learned from past experience that chefs were territorial when it came to their kitchens. Pushing back her chair, she stood up, Eustace rising with her. “I’m going to check on the wings.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Tonya watched Eustace as he took a bite of a wing slathered in sriracha sauce and sprinkled with green onions. “Do I pass the test?”

“Damn, woman. These are insane! What did you do to cut down on the heat?”

“I mixed the sauce with mayo and lime juice.”

“Nice!” he drawled with a wide grin. “What other varieties do you make?”

“I’m partial to a citrus pepper rub, a bourbon-espresso barbecue sauce, and my personal favorite is a Thai peanut sauce. But I’m always careful with the peanut sauce because some folks have peanut allergies.”

“You have your first assignment. Prepare them all. I’ll make certain to label the tray with the wings with the peanut sauce.”

Eustace tuned the satellite radio to a station featuring Motown classic hits. Tonya lost herself in the music as she sang along with Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, the Four Tops, the Temptations, and Gladys Knight and the Pips. She concocted the various sauces for the wings while Eustace put up a pot of red beans and gathered the ingredients for his seafood pasta. She and Eustace worked well together, she assisting him shucking fresh oysters, peeling and deveining shrimp, and chopping green onion and shallots, halving the time it would have taken him to prepare the dish alone.

He uncorked a bottle of dry white wine, filling two glasses and handing one to her. “Whenever I cook with wine, I always have a glass.”

Smiling, Tonya touched her glass to his. “Voici un merveilleux professeur.”

“You won’t think he’s a wonderful teacher when he begins yelling at you.”

Tonya turned to find Gage standing only a few feet away, smirking at her. He had come into the kitchen without making a sound. He had exchanged his t-shirt, jeans, and running shoes for a white golf shirt, khakis, and cognac-hued loafers. She glanced up at the wall clock. Where had the morning gone? It was almost one o’clock.

“What if I yell back at him?” she teased in French.

Eustace glared at his brother. “Don’t start none, there won’t be none,” he warned.

Gage held up both hands. “It’s all good, big brother. What can I do to help?”

“We’ve made everything but the bread pudding.”

“I’ll make it,” Gage volunteered. He glanced over at the trays of wings. “I know you didn’t make these.”

Eustace shook his head. “Tonya did. There’s a plate over there with a few samples.”

Gage washed his hands, slipped on an apron, and headed for the plate with the wings. He picked up one, biting into it and chewing it slowly. “Sh-it-it!” The expletive came out in three syllables. “This is the best Thai wing I’ve ever had.”

Eustace angled his head at the same time he crossed his arms over his chest. “Watch your language, Gage. Have you forgotten there’s a lady present?”

Gage winked at Tonya. “Sorry, ma’am.”

She grimaced. Kids referred to her as ma’am. Not men who were closer to her own age. “Apology accepted.”

“Try the sriracha ones,” Eustace urged.

Tonya met Gage’s eyes as he sampled each of the wings, and she knew instinctively they would be a big hit with the book club ladies. And they were healthier because they were baked, not fried. Seeing the brothers together made her aware that although they did not resemble each other their body language was similar. Gage had the advantage of being at least two inches taller, while Eustace probably outweighed him by at least thirty or possibly forty or more pounds.

Gage washed his hands again, wiping them on the towel he’d tucked under the apron ties. “It looks as if you have a little competition, big brother.”

Nodding his head slowly, Eustace flashed a knowing grin. “I don’t mind competition if it enhances Chez Toussaints’ reputation.”

Gage approached Tonya and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful that Eustace won’t try and steal you away from Hannah.”

Tilting her chin, Tonya stared up at the man who stood a little close for comfort as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne. “That will never happen,” she said when he dropped his hand. “I’ve committed to running the café and supper club for the DuPont Inn.” Gage gave her a startled look with this pronouncement. His expression indicated he hadn’t been apprised of the extent of Hannah’s business plans.

“Hannah’s also opening a supper club?”

“Yes.”

“When did she decide this?” Gage asked.

“I don’t know,” Tonya replied. “You’d have to ask her.”

A slight frown appeared between his luminous eyes. “When St. John told me about Hannah converting the house into an inn he only mentioned that she would operate it like a B and B.”

Now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, Tonya saw no further need to act as if the establishments attached to the DuPont Inn were top secrets. “I would never relocate only to serve breakfast, because she could get anyone down here to do that. She’s given me the opportunity to run my own restaurant, and that’s something I’ve wanted to do since graduating culinary school.”

Gage lifted his eyebrows a fraction at the same time he exhaled an audible sigh. “Good luck with that, chef.”

Tonya glared at Gage. Instead of congratulating her, he had wished her luck. Why couldn’t he be happy or encourage her? Was he envious, or had he believed she would not be able to make a go running her own business? She shook off his cryptic remark like a dog after a bath. There was no way she was going let anyone—men in particular—steal her joy. It was the reason she ended her marriage to a man she’d loved enough to marry.

“As soon as you’re finished making the bread pudding, I’d like you to take me back to DuPont House.” Her words were dripping with sarcasm, but Tonya was past placating anyone who openly verbalized their negativity. It had taken a while, but she made it a practice not to associate with toxic people.

Eustace cleared his throat, shattering the uncomfortable silence and the stare-down between Tonya and his brother. “Gage, why don’t you take Tonya back now? Thanks to her, I’m a couple of hours ahead of schedule.”

“I can wait,” she said. “I’d like to see how you make your bread pudding.” Tonya didn’t tell him that if his version of the poor person’s dessert was exceptional, then it would be something she would definitely include on her dessert menu.

Eustace gave her a half smile. “Are you sure?”

Tonya returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “I’m very sure.”

She was not about to let Gage’s negativity dampen her enthusiasm to learn the secrets behind his brother’s signature dishes. If he sought to discourage her, then he was in for the shock of his life.