"No, it's fine," I say. "But you know, I did grow up in the woods, in the Rocky Mountains with my parents. That wasn't faked. It was all real. I'm that guy. I just, I don't know. When I opened a restaurant and I started sharing my food, everything kind of exploded."
Story laughs. "Well, you're pretty handsome. That helped. There is something elusive about this handsome man who's chiseled, with a beard, cooking food that he caught and foraged. That was pretty alluring." She smiles, looking at me. "Sorry, not to make you blush. It's just, you know, kind of dreamy."
Lizelle laughs. "Yeah, there was quite a bit of sex appeal to the whole thing, if you don't mind me saying."
Story laughs. "And the fact that you're wearing a flannel shirt... unbuttoned, holding an ax and a fish you caught on the cover of your cookbook. That helped."
I laugh. "That wasn't my idea," I say. “That was the publisher!”
"Yeah, but suddenly household cooks were snagging copies of your cookbook left and right at Target," Story says, giving me a playful squeeze to the arm.
"Okay. Okay," I say. "I get it, but I never asked for it. And it all came on too much, too fast. That's why I gave it all up. It wasn't what I really wanted in the first place."
Lizelle and Story nod. "I think I understand," Lizelle says. "Regardless, I'm happy you're here for dinner and I hope you like what we're serving. It's a prix fixe meal meant to delight the senses of anyone who is in love. And I hope that's the two of you. So we don't have to go through any sort of interview process."
"I admit we were a little bit nervous about what that might entail," Story says candidly.
"Well," Lizelle says, "I have a hunch you two are a perfect pair. Come right this way." She opens up the curtain and leads us inside her restaurant.
8
Story
Dinner is incredible. We have roasted chicken and vegetables, and rice pilaf with spices that are rich and delicious and dreamy. Truett seems to enjoy it though I know it's a lot different than the food that was served at his restaurant, which was meat and potatoes, fresh fish, and steaks, food from the mountains. Food that you caught and hunted, food from the woods, from the earth.
This is food that is rich and delicate, curated from around the world, meant to tantalize your senses, to bring out your desires, your lust, your love.
The whole time, we're playing footsie. Our fingertips are brushing. Our eyes are meeting. We're laughing.
"So, you're a baker?" he asks.
"Yes, I am," I tell him as we swirl our glasses of wine, a deep red merlot from the fields of Provence. It's delicious. I lick my lips. I tell him the story of why I wanted to be a baker in the first place, to make birthday cakes for my children, the cakes my mom never made for me.
"I know it sounds pretty sentimental," I tell him. I shrug, "But that's me in a nutshell. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I want to be a mom, a wife. I want a family. I want the things I never had growing up. Do you have siblings?"
He shakes his head. "No, it was always just me, my mom and my dad, and the cabin in the woods."
I smile at that. "That seems pretty sweet," I say. "Pretty safe."
He nods. "Yeah, it was. My dad was a teacher. He's just retired recently. And my mom had a quilting shop in town. She still does, but she just works part-time. I'm pretty sure she'll sell that shop any day now, but it keeps her busy."
"That's pretty idyllic," I tell him. "A schoolteacher and a quilter living in the woods with their son. Were you a Boy Scout?"
He chuckles. "No, nothing formal like that, but I got a Swiss Army knife for my third birthday and a fishing pole before that. I’ve loved the woods ever since I was a kid, and my dad taught me everything I know. My mom loves the kitchen, so you'd get along with her. She probably is the one who should get most of the credit for my recipes, in my first cookbook at least."
"That's before you went to culinary school?"
He nods. "Yeah. I was lucky enough to go to France and then Italy."
I smile. "Then Australia for a residency?"
He nods shyly. "So you've read up on me?"
I shrug. "Well, after Helena told me I was going on a date with you, I wanted to have the facts straight." I twist my lips. "Pretty impressive resume, and that was all before you were 20."
"I graduated high school early. I knew what I wanted to do, so I started chasing my dreams. But as you can gather from the conversation with Lizelle in the foyer, those dreams weren't all they were cracked up to be. Everything got out of hand really damn fast, and it wasn’t really what I wanted after all. It wasn't the life for me. I know a lot of people would kill for that, for a cooking show and restaurants with their face on the marquee," he shakes his head, "but that's not what I wanted. What about you? Do you want a starring role on the Food Network?"