She hugged her friend back. “I feel like I’m different too. I thought I was back to myself once I got the show and everything, but looking back, I think I was still swimming through life, not really living. Isn’t it funny how long everything takes?”
“I mean I thought at twenty-one that’s me, done, and here I am at thirty, still single, still working in a coffee shop—”
“You own the coffee shop for one thing, and you’re an immensely popular part of our TV show and you have your woodworking,” Indy interrupted her friend.
“Career-wise I’m right where I want to be. Romantically... I could get with a couple of guys in town if I wanted to. But just hooking up isn’t really doing it for me.”
“I’ve seen that in you lately. But I do think you are living your best life and doing what you love,” Indy said.
“Thanks. I think I am too, but we were talking about you,” Nola reminded her.
“I’m trying. Every day I feel a little bit closer to figuring out what my best life looks like. I do love the TV show which I thought was a stopgap, but now it feels like what I was meant to do.”
“I think it’s just being comfortable in your skin,” Nola said.
They finished eating their lunch, talking about the latest period drama television series that they’d both binged. After Nola left, Indy couldn’t help thinking of what she’d said. Was simply being comfortable in her skin all that she needed?
Dash had stayed most of the afternoon, then left, and Conrad had come to the test kitchen. It was situated in an old warehouse that he’d converted a few blocks from his Michelin starred restaurant La Bête de la Fable. He had done most of his kitchen training in France and all of his recipes were twists on classic French dishes.
Recently though, he’d been leaning more into fusion, which he knew could go either way with the Michelin judges, and the head chef, Lucien, and his partner, Sig, both were wary of doing anything risky. Risk was like second nature to him at this point, but he knew that his livelihood wasn’t tied to the success or failure of the restaurant the way his staff’s and partner’s lives were.
Yet he couldn’t help pushing himself. And he was back again trying to find a dish that would help him make sense of Indy. Last night he’d had a different glimpse of her, with her hair hanging down and curling around her face. The dark curls against her lighter skin had made him think of sorrel and mushrooms in a thick cream sauce. There was something so homey and satisfying about that combination.
So he’d start with that as a base. She’d stirred fire and heat in him, so he gravitated toward garlic and maybe some chilies or ginger. He pulled the spices walking through his kitchen pantry and trying to think what else. She was delicate, and a cream sauce required something else delicate...not chicken, which was too commonplace for Indy. Something more exciting and intoxicating. His mind kept running through ingredients; before he could make his choice the door to the test kitchen opened and Ophelia walked in.
“I was surprised to see your bike out front today,” she said. “But glad. We need to talk about the challenge.”
She looked understated and sophisticated as always. She wore a pencil skirt and T-shirt that had sequins where her breasts were. He never knew what he was going to get with Ophelia. She loved to experiment with fashion, he had realized a long time ago that her clothes were an indicator of her mood. He just never had been sure what that mood was. .
“What about it?”
“I have been editing the footage. Do you want me to take out the part about you going to the spring renewal? I also found another challenger for you. You free this weekend?” she asked. “The chef who issued the challenge is one the network is thinking of offering a show to, so it would be a nice test run.”
Well fuck.
He was tempted to say yes. Maybe it was fate as Indy believed, stepping in to save her from him. But he wanted her, and fate was going to have work harder than this.
“Sorry, but I can’t. Leave the spring renewal thing in. I think one of the kids in town put a video of it up on his socials—Dash is monitoring it if you want to add the footage to the end of the show. I’ll film with your other guy as well, but just not this weekend.”
“You never have weekend plans.”
Ophelia and he had spent more than one late night drinking and sharing stories of their pasts. Both of them came from a different world than cooking and restaurants and were glad to have left it behind.
He ignored that.
“I’ll let the network know that you’ll do a remote pickup for the promos and cook with their guy in a ten-minute spot. That area is famous for fried bologna rolls, so try to plan on doing a take on that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Am I ever not?” She paused. “What are you working on, anyway?”
“Not sure yet. Something that’s been in my mind and elusive on my tongue. I know the taste I want to achieve, but haven’t figured out what’s needed yet,” he said.
“Good luck with that. I’ll send out the shooting schedule tonight so you can prepare. Let me know if you need anything,” she said before waving goodbye and leaving.
Yesterday, talking to Indy had made him realize that the hatred he’d been carrying around toward his grandfather had started to wane. Maybe it stemmed from the fact that he’d found a life he liked. Cooking suited him in way that nothing else ever had. And the commercial kitchens he’d worked in had given him a place to rage around as much as he wanted to. They were intense and tempers flared, and words flew but were easily forgiven. He’d found a way to live with his beast in the kitchen.
Now he just had to figure out how to do that outside it. This weekend with Indy...maybe he was taking a step toward that. Inviting her to come and see his neighborhood. Having guests in the house he’d grown up in was something of a gamble. Only Dash visited him there. He didn’t entertain, and he knew that he was more himself there than anywhere else. It would be harder to contain his base instincts.