Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

He gazed at her. And then he gave a long, low whistle. That did it: Her face heated up, the skin on her arms tingled. She had never felt so desirable in all her life.

“Tomorrow’s your night off?” he said.

She nodded. Wednesday was her night off. Last Wednesday, because everyone she knew on the island worked at the restaurant, she stayed home, ate frozen ravioli, and watched a rerun of The West Wing.

“I scheduled myself off, too,” he said. “I want to take you out for dinner.”

This stunned her so much she may have actually gasped. “Who’s going to work?” she asked.

“Caren,” he said. “She loves to do it. And we only have seventy on the book.”

Adrienne ran her hands down the sides of her new dress. The silk was irresistible.

“Will you go out with me?” he asked.

Rule Three: Exercise good judgment about men! Dating her boss did not seem wise. It seemed dangerous, more dangerous than getting entangled with Mario. And yet, she wanted to go. Rules, after all, were made to be…

“Sure,” she said.

When Adrienne saw Thatcher at work that night, she thought things would be different between them. But Thatcher was preoccupied by the Lefroys’ reservation. It wasn’t a health inspector visit, but he wanted the restaurant to be clean. He wanted it to sparkle. And so, when Adrienne arrived, expecting compliments on the new champagne-colored dress, he set her to work polishing glasses and buffing the silver with the servers. At the menu meeting, he demonstrated the way he wanted the busboys to use the crumbers (and they were short a busboy since Tyler would be eating tonight with his parents). The staff ate family meal on the beach and Thatcher made them brush every grain of sand from their person and wash their feet in a bucket before they were allowed back in the restaurant.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Thatcher assigned Adrienne to the Parrishes during first seating.

“I want you to really watch them,” he said. “Anticipate their needs. Especially Wolf’s.”

“It sounds like you’re asking me to babysit,” Adrienne said.

“We’re going to do what it takes to give Darla and Grayson some peace,” Thatcher said. “We want them to enjoy their meal, yes or no?”

The Parrishes arrived fifteen minutes late, which was unheard-of, and what this meant was that instead of getting them squared away early on, they were smushed at the entrance with three other parties who needed to be seated, and two gorgeous blond women who showed up without a reservation. Adrienne directed the Swedish bikini duo to the bar, sat the Devlins at table twenty-five, and led a deuce staying at the White Elephant under the awning. Then she returned to the podium to properly greet the Parrishes.

“Sorry,” Adrienne said.

Grayson held up a palm. “It’s our fault,” he said. “We had a little trouble getting out of the house.”

Darla was holding a little boy’s hand. “This is Wolfie,” Darla said.

Wolf had white-blond hair and eyes that were mottled and puffy. His breathing was hiccupy. Adrienne crouched down. Despite her years of babysitting the twins, she did not consider herself someone who was good with children and yet now she wanted to succeed, if only to impress Thatcher.

“Hi, Wolf,” she said. “My name is Adrienne.”

He harrumphed and locked his arms over his chest.

Darla smiled at him with all the love in the world, then whispered to Adrienne, “He’s not having a good night.”

Adrienne led the Parrishes to table twenty, and Bruno appeared seconds later with their drinks.

Adrienne pulled Bruno off to the side. “Order of frites, pronto,” she said. “Wolfie’s not having a good night and Thatcher wants Mr. and Mrs. P to be able to eat in their accustomed silence.”

“Bitchy!” Bruno said. He paused. “Is that a new dress?”

“Yes,” Adrienne said. “Thank you for noticing.”

Caren approached Adrienne with a stone face. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Why?”

“You put those girls at the bar.”

“What girls?” Adrienne checked the bar. Ah, yes, the girls. They were laughing, and flashing Duncan with their remarkable cleavage. Adrienne instantly understood the problem, but come on! She was busy and they were all adults here. Well, everyone except for Wolfie.

“They didn’t have a reservation,” Adrienne said.

“You could have put them at three.”

“I guess I could have, but…”

“They’re all over him,” Caren said. “And he’s just eating it up. Oh, and look. They ordered apple martinis. What an insipid drink.”

“Okay, well, I’m sorry. I have to put a…”

Thatcher passed by, touching Adrienne’s arm. He raised one pale eyebrow.

“I have to put a VIP order in,” Adrienne said to Caren.

“Champagne?” Thatcher said.

“I’ll get your champagne,” Caren said. “Let me get it.” She strode toward the bar.

Bruno breezed by with a huge plate of fries. “These are for Dennis the Menace,” he said. “You want to deliver?”

“I have to put their VIP order in,” Adrienne said.

“Already done,” Bruno said. He handed Adrienne the plate of fries. “You go, girl.”

The Parrishes were sitting in silence, the elder two focused on their drinks while Wolf lay splayed across the wicker chair, his face sullen.

“Fries!” Adrienne said brightly. She took the seat next to Wolfie, but he couldn’t be convinced to eat even one. She tried to lead by example, eating one fry, then another, then another. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said.

“Please, Wolfie,” Darla said. “Just try one. Just one for Gam. Please.”

“I want yogurt,” he said.

Grayson finished his Stoli tonic and flagged Bruno for another. “Why don’t you take Wolf down to the water, Adrienne?”

“To the water?” Adrienne said. She considered informing Grayson Parrish that she had work to do. The restaurant was buzzing around her. Thatcher sat tables, Elliott and Joe recited specials, Gage and Roy poured water and delivered doughnuts. Rex played “Happy Birthday” as Spillman popped a bottle of champagne for the Devlins. Adrienne wanted to get up and join the adult activity.

Bruno came to her rescue. He eased up alongside Adrienne as he served apps to the adjoining table and whispered, “You’re needed at the bar.”

“I’m needed at the bar,” Adrienne told the Parrishes. “I’ll be right back.”

At the bar, the blondes were splitting a VIP order, and at the far end, by the cherries and the citrus, Adrienne’s champagne beckoned. She took a long swill, appraising the situation. Duncan was MIA. It was much commented upon that Duncan had the world’s sturdiest bladder-he never used the restroom during service. Christo swaggered up to Adrienne and said, “I need a vodka grapefruit and a glass of zin.”

“Who do I look like?”

“The assistant manager,” he said.

“Where’s Duncan?” Adrienne asked.

Christo shrugged. “I just work here, lady. You gonna get my drinks?”

One of the blondes whipped around. She was one of the most attractive women Adrienne had ever seen, if judged by the standards that certain American men tended to use. Lots of natural blond, lots of natural tan, lots of natural breast.

“I think his girlfriend’s pissed at him,” she said. “She snatched him away.”

The other blonde, who was wearing a blue sequined halter top, sipped her apple martini. “We were just talking to him.”

“So he’s gone?” Adrienne said. “And where’s Delilah?”

“Night off,” Christo said. He grinned at the blondes.

“Okay, fine,” Adrienne said. She was thinking many things at once: She was the assistant manager, this was-if looked at from a very warped and immature point of view-partially her fault, and it had always seemed like fun to be a bartender. Not to mention it gave her an excuse to blow off the Parrishes. Adrienne slipped behind the bar. She felt like she was about to drive an expensive race car. Look at all the stuff-the sink, the fridge, the rows of mixers, the gun, the fruit, the bottles in the well, the bottles of wine. She picked up a bottle of red and scrutinized the label.