Chapter 8
Tonya worked well with identical twins Nicole Dupree and Melinda Shaw, who arrived together at eight-thirty and greeted her as warmly as if she were a long-lost cousin. She had met them for the first time the summer before at St. John’s family reunion. The thirty-five-year-old women had inherited their father’s complexion and height, and their mother’s doll-like features.
Both had graduated college, earning degrees in social work like their hospital-based social worker mother, but after marriage and motherhood they were stay-at-home mothers until their children were school age, and then opted to work in the family-owned restaurant. They told her they left promptly at two in order to arrive home to meet their children’s school buses. Nicole, the mother of two sets of twins, admitted she didn’t miss counseling clients or updating case notes, because now she could spend more time with her children, while Melinda admitted she had always preferred working with her hands, because her first career choice had been to study art.
Melinda adjusted the hairnet covering her short natural hair under a baseball cap before she unlocked the front door. “Tonya, you can work the counter with me, while Nicky will take care of table service.”
“Are you ever filled to capacity?” Tonya asked as she placed a tray of white rice in one of the aluminum pans filled with hot water. Several other trays were filled with red beans, shrimp etouffée, chicken-andouille gumbo, dirty rice, and jambalaya.
“Not too often. Most times our customers fax their takeout orders, and a few will begin calling around ten thirty for an eleven o’clock pickup. Then we have some folks who have a standing order, so once we hear their names we know what they want.”
“What happens when you sell out of a particular item?” Tonya asked.
“We don’t replenish it,” Melinda said. “If there are leftovers, then Daddy will donate them to our church for their soup kitchen. He believes it’s a sin to throw away food.”
Tonya nodded in agreement. She had worked at several New York City restaurants that had joined City Harvest and donated food to organizations dedicated to feeding the hungry rather than throw it away.
As soon as the first customer walked through the door, the work continued nonstop until closing time. There was nothing left to donate, because everything had sold out. Melinda and Nicole tossed their aprons in the laundry bin, kissed their father, and rushed out to make it home before the buses dropped off their children. Tonya cleaned off tables and stacked chairs in a corner, and then swept the floor. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Eustace had filled the dishwasher with dishes, flatware, and pots.
“It’s quitting time for you, young lady,” Eustace announced loudly. “As soon as I clean the stovetop and mop the kitchen, I’m out of here.”
“Do you want me to clean the stove?”
Eustace pointed in the direction of the back. “You’re done for the day, so I’m ordering you to leave.”
Tonya affected a snappy, “Yes, sir, boss!” Both were laughing when she took off her apron. “I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early.”
Eustace wiped his shaved head with a paper napkin. “Not too early. Remember, I’ll be here around six.”
“And I’ll see you at six, because I have to put up the bread dough for the baguettes.”
“Thank you for reminding me that I have to call the bread man and cancel tomorrow’s delivery.”
She left Chez Toussaints eight hours after she had walked in, feeling more alive than she had in months. Working in the kitchen alongside Eustace had revived her passion for learning to prepare dishes that were not in her repertoire. She managed to sample a spoonful of each dish and concluded red beans and rice with grilled chaurice—a Creole hot sausage—was one of her favorites. Tonya knew if she did not carefully monitor what she ate, she would regain the weight she had lost.
When she had gone for her annual health checkup, the results of her tests indicated she wasn’t overweight, but over the years the pounds had begun to creep up, and there were times when she felt winded climbing subway stairs, especially in the winter when wearing a heavy coat. But once she began shedding the pounds, she had a lot more energy.
Tonya left the restaurant and drove in the direction of the Lower French Quarter, where she planned to buy fresh produce. Hannah had stocked the guesthouse with meat, fish, and staples, but Tonya had made it a practice to eat several servings of fruit and vegetables every day. She managed to find parking and walked to the market with its graceful arcades that spanned six blocks.
Within seconds she felt as if she had been transported back in time to when residents went down to the river, where fishermen, farmers, and artisans called out to customers to purchase their products. She passed trinket stands and shopkeepers selling pralines, muffulettas, and fresh herbs. By the time she left, her tote and several shopping bags were bulging with her purchases.
She was five minutes into the return drive to the Garden District when her cell phone rang and Gage’s name and number appeared on the dashboard screen. Tapping a button on the steering wheel, she activated the Bluetooth feature. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you tonight because I have to get up early and bake bread,” she said teasingly.
A deep chuckle came through the speaker.
“I’m not calling to take you out tonight, because both of us have to get up early. But I do need to see you.”
Tonya stopped for a red light at Jackson Square. Her pulse quickened. The first thought that came to mind was something had happened with Eustace. “Is Eustace okay?”
“He’s fine.”
She exhaled an inaudible breath of relief. “When do you want to see me?”
“Now. That is if you’re not busy.”
“Right now I’m not home. Can you give me about fifteen minutes to get back to the Garden District?”
“I’m already here. I’m parked on the street outside the house.”
Her eyebrows lifted with this disclosure, wondering what could be so pressing or important that Gage had come to her home. “Okay. Once I’m close enough, I’ll open the gates for you to park near the garages.”
“I’ll be here.”
She tried coming up with different scenarios as to why Gage would have to talk to her in person rather than tell her on the phone, and each time she dismissed the possible situations. In the end she knew she would have to wait to hear it from him.
Lengthening shadows shrouded tree-lined streets as she maneuvered down the block leading to DuPont House. Reaching for the remote device under the visor, she punched a button, and the gates to the imposing mansion opened. She saw the taillights of the white Audi SUV come on and disappear when Gage drove through, she following his vehicle. Tonya tapped another device, and the doors to a three-car garage opened smoothly. The garage was empty, indicating LeAnn and Paige were both out. She knew even if she did occupy a first-floor suite, she doubted whether she would see much of the now retired schoolteachers. She drove into the garage and cut the engine. Gage was out of his car to meet her when she opened the hatch to remove her purchases.
He reached around her. “Let me get those for you.”
“Thanks.”
Tonya gave him a sidelong glance, silently admiring the turned-back cuffs on the crisp pale-blue shirt. A pair of tailored navy slacks and black leather slip-ons had replaced his jeans and running shoes. The lingering scent of his cologne wafted to her nose. Notes of jasmine, musk, and sandalwood were the perfect combination for his body’s natural pheromones. And in that instant, she pondered why someone with his looks and talent was still single. She suspected maybe his ex-wife had soured him when it came to a forming a committed relationship, or perhaps he was so used to women coming on to him that he simply ignored them. She did notice women staring, whispering, and pointing to him when she had sat in Jazzes with her friends listening to live music, and she had been no exception. However, it wasn’t as much about his attractiveness as it was his musical talent. He had played a horn solo, the muted notes so hauntingly beautiful that it left her spell-bound.
Her focus wasn’t on getting involved with a man but putting all of her energies into starting up and making her business viable, because when it came to love she always found herself on the negative side of the ledger. Once she committed, she went all in, and in the end she wound up the loser. It had been that way with Samuel, and the result was that she could not give Darius what he wanted or needed for them to have a satisfying relationship.
“What on earth did you buy?” Gage asked as they followed the flagstone path leading to the guesthouses.
Tonya smiled. “A little of this and a little of that. I could’ve spent the entire day at the French Market, but some of the vendors were closing for the day.”
“The flea and farmers’ markets open at nine and close at six depending on the season and the weather, while retail stores open every day from ten to six.”
“I haven’t seen that much of the city, but right now the French Market is one place I plan to visit over and over.”
“When I take you around the city, I’m going to begin with the nightlife, and after you recover we can visit some of the other parishes.”
Tonya walked up the steps to the guesthouse located farthest from the main house, unlocked the front door, and punched in the programmed code on the wall keypad to deactivate the security system. She had left the table lamp on in the entryway because she did not like walking into a dark house. She flipped a wall switch, and the table lamp and a crystal chandelier in the living room flooded the space with warm, golden light. She slipped out of her shoes and left them on a thick straw mat.
“Do you always take off your shoes when you come into the house?”
Tonya dropped her keys on the drop-leaf oaken table. “Yes. It’s a habit I picked up when living in Asia. I’ll take those,” she said to Gage, reaching for the bags as he, too, slipped out of his shoes.
“I know you profess to be a strong, independent woman, but damn, can’t you allow me be chivalrous just this one time,” he teased, smiling.
Tonya patted his shoulder and felt solid muscle under the cotton fabric. “Yes, my liege. Come with me and I’ll show you where to put them.” She led the way across the living room to the kitchen.
“I’ve been to DuPont House a few times, but I’ve never been in any of the guesthouses,” Gage admitted as he followed Tonya into the eat-in kitchen. “They’re as large as some of the cottages where I grew up in Tremé.” He placed the bags on the floor next to the refrigerator, and then walked over to the French doors spanning the back porch. There was still enough light for him to see the gardens.
“Do you still live there?”
Gage turned and stared at Tonya. He still found it hard to believe she was fifty when she could easily pass for a woman ten years younger. He had celebrated his forty-sixth birthday last November, and there were times when he felt much older, especially when it came to dealing with his ex-wife and son. It was only after constant threats to cut him off that Wesley finally finished high school, and now at twenty he found every excuse known to man not to attend classes at a local junior college. Fortunately for Tonya, she wasn’t faced with the same dilemma because come May her daughter would graduate college.
He returned to the kitchen, rested a hip against the countertop, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Tonya as she emptied bags filled with seasonal fruits and vegetables. “No. I live in the Upper French Quarter between Dauphine and Burgundy Streets.”
“How far is that from Bourbon Street?”
“About two miles; far enough away where I’m not kept awake from the constant nighttime debauchery.”
Tonya rolled her eyes upward. “Do you hear yourself? I was under the impression that musicians stay up all night and sleep during the day.”
“For me it’s only two nights a week. Monday through Thursday nights I’m usually home because I have to teach the next day. Speaking of teaching, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
She held up a hand. “Have you had dinner?”
“No. Why?”
She met his eyes. “You can tell me over dinner, but first I’m going to light a few candles, turn on some music, and change my clothes, and then I’ll make something for us that won’t take a lot of time.” Tonya continued to set plastic bags of shrimp, avocado, fresh cilantro, scallion, red onion, fresh ginger, red bell pepper, salad greens, and several types of cheese on the countertop.
“Are you planning for us to have a romantic dinner?”
Her hands stilled. “Why would you say that?”
“Dinner with candles and music goes hand-in-hand with romance.”
Tonya scrunched up her nose. “Sorry to burst your bubble, there will be no romance tonight. I usually light scented candles to mask cooking aromas, and listening to music always relaxes me.” She patted his shoulder again. “If you’re looking for romance, then you should join an online dating site. I know a few guys who met their future wives like that.”
Gage was unable to form a reply as he replayed her suggestion. “Do you really think I need to go online to find romance?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, I don’t. Would you go online to find someone?” he asked her.
Tonya shook her head. “No. I don’t like the idea of someone hiding behind a much too perfect to be true profile, and then when I get to meet them in person I’m ready to run in the opposite direction.”
He angled his head, meeting eyes that reminded him of pools of dark, rich coffee. “At least we can agree on that.”
A hint of a smile played at the corners of Tonya’s mouth. “I’m willing to bet we will agree on a lot of things. After all, we’re both chefs.”
“True.” Gage nodded. “I can’t believe you’d want to cook when you’ve spent most of the day on your feet.”
Tonya went still. “I like cooking for others, but I love cooking for myself.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
A beat passed. “Would you mind standing in as my sous chef?”
Gage bowed gracefully from the waist. “I’d be honored, Madame Chef. What’s on the menu?”
“Asian shrimp cakes with avocado-wasabi sauce, a mixed citrus salad with red onions and escarole, and hazelnut gelato for dessert. I’m going to give you an apron so you don’t stain your clothes.” Tonya opened a narrow closet and took out two bibbed aprons, handing one to Gage.
“Did you make the gelato?” he asked, as he slipped the apron over his head.
“No. Hannah knows how much I like gelato, so she bought some for me. I’ll be right back, so don’t run away,” she teased.
He watched her leave the kitchen, and seconds later the house was filled with the melodious voice of Sade singing “The Sweetest Taboo.” Gage wanted to tell Tonya that he couldn’t run away even if he wanted to. There was something about her that so intrigued him that he wanted to know what had happened in her life to make her who she was today. She had more than her share of confidence—a trait she needed in order to become successful in what was still a man’s profession. And in addition to confidence, she projected an air of independence, like a badge of courage.
He washed the fruit and then emptied the bag of shrimp into a bowl of cold water while he waited for Tonya to return to the kitchen. Opening and closing drawers and cabinets, he selected knives, spoons, plates, a grater, bowls, and measuring spoons. Then he examined the inside of the refrigerator and discovered it was fully stocked. All of the ingredients needed to make the shrimp cakes were stacked on a plate when Tonya returned dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and an oversize white tee. The baggy attire concealed her curves.
“What do you want me to begin with?” he asked her.
“I’d like you to please peel, devein, and finely chop the shrimp, and then toast two tablespoons of sesame seeds.” She opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of sesame oil. “I found a Vietnamese vendor at the market who has an extensive inventory of Asian products. He stocks wasabi rhizomes, powder, and paste, and many other things I need for my Asian-inspired selections.” Tonya handed him a cutting board after he cleaned and patted the shrimp dry with a paper towel.
Gage finely chopped the shrimp and placed them in a mixing bowl. “Are you planning to offer the same tapas every night?”
“No. Other than the more popular local dishes on the menu, I want to offer special tapas every night. Tuesdays will be Spanish and/or Caribbean-inspired dishes. Soul food Wednesdays, barbecue Thursdays, fish Fridays, and Asian Saturdays.”
He gave her a quick glance. “What about Sunday and Monday?”
“I plan to close on those days.”
Gage silently applauded her. Preparing breakfast for the inn’s guests seven days a week and serving dinner guests at the supper club for five was certain to be exhausting, even with a fully staffed kitchen. “If you want to operate a supper club, then should I assume you’ll provide some type of music?”
Tonya nodded. “I’ll offer prerecorded music Tuesday through Thursday, and a small combo playing live music on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“I like what you’ve come up with.”
Tonya halved an avocado and scooped out the fruit with a tablespoon. “You do?”
Gage stared down at her staring up at him. “Of course I do. Why would you believe otherwise?”
The seconds ticked as she gave him a lingering stare. “I don’t know. For some reason I thought you would have something disparaging to say.”
“Like what, Tonya?”
“Like you don’t believe a woman can run a successful restaurant.”
Gage set down the knife. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot the first time we met, and I may have said a few things that made you believe I doubted you because of your gender, but it has nothing to do with you being a woman. It’s just that there are so many eating establishments in New Orleans that if you’re going to open one, then in order to remain viable, it has to be exceptional.”
“I have no doubt it will be exceptional.”
There was a quiet assurance in Tonya’s voice that indicated she refused to accept failure—another feature Gage had come to admire in her. A flash of humor crossed his features. “I’m certain it will, and I’d like to volunteer my services to make certain you do succeed.” He was certain he shocked her with the offer when her jaw dropped.
“How?” The single word came out in a whisper.
“After you finalize your menu, I want you to prepare the selections and I’ll grade you on each. I promise to be open-minded and unbiased. And if I find something a little off with a particular recipe, then I’d like for you to be open to my suggestions as to how to make it better.”
She blinked slowly. “You’d do that?”
Gage returned his attention to chopping the shrimp. “Why wouldn’t I? Have you ever heard of the expression, ‘one hand washes the other and both hands wash the face’?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, it goes both ways. I’m willing to help you, but I also I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
Gage told her about the change in his teaching schedule and that he needed her to cover the restaurant three mornings each week to allow Eustace to continue his exercise regimen. “If you can’t do it, then I’ll have to try and find someone else to come in—”
“Stop it, Gage,” Tonya admonished quietly, interrupting him. “Of course I’ll do it. Your brother already gave me a set of keys and the code to the security system, so that lets you off the hook for volunteering to become an official taster.”
He curbed the urge to kiss Tonya until both were breathless. “No, it doesn’t,” he countered. “If you think I’m going to turn down the opportunity to sample what you make, then you don’t know how stubborn we Toussaints can be. Not only will I judge, but I also want to be there to observe when you make each dish.”
Her dimples winked at him when she smiled. “Just when are you going to find the time to watch me cook, now that you’re a full-time teacher?”
“I’m usually free on Sundays. Either you can cook here or at the restaurant.”
Her smile grew wider. “Well, well, well. It looks as if I have an official judge. Merci.”
“You’re welcome.” He averted his head so Tonya could not see his smug expression. When he had called Tonya to ask whether he could talk to her, it had not entered his mind to critique the dishes she planned to serve to her patrons. And his offer meant he would get to see her at least once a week. Gage pointed to the fresh ginger. “How much ginger do you want me to grate?”
“One teaspoon, and please make certain it is finely grated.”
“Yes, chef.”
A slight frown furrowed Tonya’s forehead. “Can you please stop calling me that when we’re alone together?”
“What?”
“Chef.”
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Tonya.”
He nodded. She had berated him when he had referred to her as a cook, and now she had taken issue with him because he called her chef. “Then Tonya it is.”
* * *
There was a comfortable silence as Tonya worked side-by-side with Gage. She concentrated on mashing the avocado with a fork before adding lime juice, salt, and wasabi paste.
“Now it’s my turn to ask a favor of you.”
Gage angled his head. “Talk to me.”
“Hannah asked me to help her plan a menu for her Super Bowl get-together, and I need your opinion as to a more fusion menu besides wings, guacamole, and chips. I thought spring rolls, sesame prawn toasts, deep-fried bite-size spare ribs, Moroccan-style meatballs, and miniature shrimp and crab cakes would be a welcome addition and surprise.”
Wiping his hands on a towel, Gage splayed his fingers at her waist. “I know my cousin’s wife will be more than pleased with your eclectic menu choices, and so will I.”
“Why you?”
“After I help Eustace with his catering orders, I’m joining St. John and Hannah for the game.” He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Just make certain you put aside some of your kick-ass wings for me.”
Tonya laughed softly. “I’ll make certain to put aside a little of everything for you.”
Gage eased back, staring down at Tonya. “I’m willing to predict that after the Super Bowl party, you will become a much sought-after chef in this town even before you open your restaurant.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Aren’t you being premature with your prediction?”
“Not at all. And one of these days I’ll take extreme pleasure in telling you I told you so.”
“And hopefully I’ll be gracious enough to accept it.”
“Believe me, you will, Tonya.”
Tonya felt a warm glow sweep over her body with his prediction. She did not doubt that she could prepare palatable dishes, because she had proven herself over and over; she could broil steak to a diner’s precise specification, and cook a pot of rice so all of the grains were light and fluffy. Her spareribs were tender enough to fall off the bone, and she had perfected tuna tartare, eliciting raves from those favoring sushi and sashimi. However, the thing that nagged at her was the worry her restaurant would become just another eating establishment in a city where food and music were responsible for attracting tourists to the Big Easy.
Picking up a spoon, she scooped up a small portion of the wasabi-infused avocado. She extended the spoon to Gage. “Let me know if you like this.” She held her breath, waiting for a reaction from him as he slowly chewed the smooth mixture.
“It’s incredible,” he said after a long moment.
Her smile was dazzling. “I have to chill it until the shrimp cakes are ready.”
“The chilled avocado will counter the heat from the wasabi, and the sauce is the perfect complement for crab, shrimp, or salmon croquettes. I hope you’ll include it for your fish Fridays.”
Tonya affected a saucy grin. “What grade are you going to give me?”
Gage leaned over and brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. “A-plus.”
She went completely still when she felt the pressure of Gage’s mouth on hers. He hadn’t actually kissed her, but she could not stop herself from fantasizing what it would be like for him to really kiss her. The heat in her face had nothing to do with the warmth from Gage’s body but was a result of her own traitorous thoughts. They flooded her mind with unbidden memories of long-denied passion. Darius had accused her of sleeping with another man because his lovemaking left her frustrated, unfulfilled, and after a while she refused to let him touch her.
“My, my. I had no idea my judge would be so liberal.”
Gage kissed her again, this time on her hair. “Your judge is open-minded, and that means he will always tell you the truth. By the way, I like your taste in music. Dave Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’ is a favorite of mine.”
“Yours and my father’s. I grew up listening to my father playing jazz. He inherited a priceless collection of vinyl seventy-eights from his father. Collectors have offered him an obscene amount of money for them, but he refuses to give them up. I did manage to convince him to convert them to disks, so I have a set for myself. Let me know if you want a set, and I’ll make a copy for you.”
“Thank you. You are truly an angel.”
Tonya felt closer to Gage than any other man she had encountered since her ex-husband. Within minutes of Samuel Alexander asking if he could sit with her in the high school cafeteria, she felt the envy of the other girls at their table. Samuel was good-looking, intelligent, and co-captain of the swim team. However, after a few years of marriage, the love of her life turned into her worst nightmare. She shook her head as if to banish the bad memories and concentrated on sectioning orange, grapefruit, and mandarin orange for the mixed citrus salad.