Jessica Conant-Park - Cook the Books

I picked through my wardrobe and chose a short black skirt that I paired with a white shell and a cream-colored sheer cardigan. I’d put on tall black boots and look like a million bucks for Kyle. Josh could go to hell.

“ NOWthat is a gorgeous baby!” Kyle beamed at Patrick, who snuggled cozily in my arms, wrapped in a new fleece blanket that I’d unearthed from the closet of baby stuff.

“Isn’t he the best?” I rubbed the peach fuzz on the baby’s head and then kissed his nose. “I cannot get enough of him.”

“Is, uh… is he yours?” Kyle stood in my living room holding an alarmingly large cardboard box that presumably held cookbook material. “You haven’t said anything about being married or having a boyfriend or…”

“No, no.” I smiled. “He’s not mine. This is Patrick, Adrianna’s baby. She went to get her hair done. She should be back any minute. I’m definitely not married and not dating anyone.” I cringed. Could I be more obvious? But Kyle did look exceedingly handsome tonight. Again, he had on a suit, and although I didn’t usually gravitate toward the stockbroker look, I was willing to expand my horizons. There was something sexy about his being all covered up in layers of clothing. I briefly wondered what was under that button-down. True, Kyle had a beast of a father-I couldn’t imagine having that dreadful Hank Boucher as a father-in-law-but… Wait a minute! What the heck was I doing even considering Kyle as potential husband material? “I’m Patrick’s godmother, so I get to spoil him to pieces. You can put that box down anywhere, Kyle.”

“Thanks.” Kyle couldn’t keep his eyes off the baby. A good sign! The man loved children and probably wanted a family of his own.

“Here, why don’t you hold Patrick for a minute, and I’ll put the material on my desk.” I rose from the couch and passed the baby to Kyle. “Just keep him close to your body. He likes being held tightly.”

I helped position the baby in the crook of Kyle’s arm. Cooing and sighing, the easygoing Patrick nestled right in. Reluctantly, I approached the box that my employer had set down. Ugh. I had just started to make progress on the first, much smaller, batch of notes Kyle had given me, and now I had this new mess to tackle. How on earth could Kyle imagine that randomly tossing papers into a big box was any way to approach writing? What if I handled my graduate school work like this? What if spent the semester haphazardly flinging notes into a box? Well, maybe Kyle was overzealous in his research and too busy to impose any coherent order on all of his findings. I carried the box to the bedroom and set it on a chair. Hours and hours of deciphering and typing lay ahead of me, but I would, of course, be paid for my time.

I heard the unofficial back door to the apartment open, the door at the top of the wooden fire escape that everyone in the building used as an outside staircase. Then I heard Adrianna’s voice: “Oh, hi, Kyle.”

When I stepped into the living room, Adrianna looked at me quizzically, as if she wanted to ask what Kyle was doing in my apartment holding her baby.

“Hi, Ade.” I smiled at her. Her hair was now gloriously tinted in various shades of blonde that lit up her whole face, and her rose-colored tweed coat brought out the pink in her cheeks. After a few hours away from her baby, she looked as refreshed as if she’d had ten straight hours of sleep followed by a day at a spa. “Kyle and I are going to dinner at Incline,” I told her. “Part of our cookbook research.”

Adrianna’s eyes widened. “That place is supposed to be fabulous.” She reached for Patrick. “Kyle, you’re a natural with kids. Patrick tends to fuss when people he doesn’t know hold him, but he really seems taken with you.”

“The feeling is mutual. He’s absolutely adorable.” Kyle beamed at the two. “I love kids. I hope to have my own someday.”

Ade winked at me, none too subtly. “Well, I should get home. Owen should be back soon. He’s grilling burgers again, if you can believe it. I’m probably going to start mooing any day now.”

“Why don’t you come to dinner with us? You can bring Patrick,” Kyle offered.

“Thanks, but I’m beat. Patrick has taken to nocturnal living. He was up most of last night, which means I was up most of last night. Owen insists that he gets up every time Patrick does, but what he really means is that he is disturbed every time the baby cries. I’m the one who actually gets up and has to stay awake feeding him.” She rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she tossed her blonde mane to the side. “Enjoy your meal. I expect a detailed report on how delicious everything is. Thanks so much, Chloe. I feel like a new woman after getting my hair done. And Kyle, it was really nice to see you again.”

Kyle nodded at Ade. “You, too. You’ll have to come out another night with us. We’ll have more restaurants to try out. I’d love your input.”

I hugged Ade and Patrick good-bye and promised to call her tomorrow with a rundown of tonight’s food.

By the time we were seated at Incline, I was ravenous. Taking care of Patrick wasn’t a hardship, but it did require a lot of energy and left little time to snack. The stress of the horrible morning had depleted me, too. I scooted my chair close to the table and checked out Kyle. He really was very good looking, especially in the light of the candle at our table. I loved his rough stubble and the golden streaks in his hair. Did Kyle think that I, too, looked good by candle-light? I’d changed into my carefully chosen outfit, spritzed on some perfume, and touched up my lipstick before we’d left. Even though this was a business dinner, we could still get swept away by the romantic atmosphere. The walls in the long, narrow restaurant had been painted chocolate brown, and the dark room was just as cozy as I remembered.

I tucked my hair behind my ears and leaned in a bit. “So your father has left Boston already? Where is he off to now?”

Kyle sighed and reached for his wine. “Yes, he’s gone, thank God. I think he and his trophy wife are off to Telluride for most of the week. I don’t think I could have taken much more of him. My father is riled up about this book, and he’s really riding me to move it along. And I do want to make it happen. I think it could be a really successful start to the series.”

As I stared at him-and tried not to salivate-I could see that behind the well-groomed façade was a very exhausted guy. During the short encounter I’d had with Hank Boucher, I found him draining, so I could only imagine what it was like to spend days rather than just minutes or hours with the domineering chef. “Okay, so what’s your plan for putting the book together?”

“Oh…” Kyle shifted in his chair. “I’m not clear on that yet. But I do have some ideas. Do you want to hear them?”

I grinned. Kyle was disorganized, but he was eager and interested. I said, “Shoot.”

“There are lots of cookbooks out already that feature the big-name restaurants and chefs. Certain restaurants in every major city are always showcased in magazine and newspaper articles. Over and over, they’re the ones that get the attention. Sometimes deservedly so. Sometimes not, if you ask me. I’d like to do something different with this book. What about the fantastic but unheard-of restaurant on a small side street that serves the best braised lamb shank? Or the neighborhood Greek place where the owner’s mother rolls out phyllo dough by hand every day? All the spectacular ethnic restaurants in this city that cook up some of the best food in Boston but never get the spotlight? There are some very talented chefs who work at places that never get the attention they should because they don’t have the financial means to market themselves and to buy high-priced ads in Boston Magazine. ”