Vintage

1

“This weekend?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Thisweekend.”

“Yes, do you have a problem with that?”

Claude’s already saucered brown eyes widened further. In the bright Parisian sunshine, with his boyish cap of blond curls, he looked even more than usual like a Hummel figurine. It didn’t help that he barely came up to Alain’s chest. Alain had to bite the inside of his cheek and concentrate on unlocking the back door in order not to embarrass the young chef by smiling.

“I just don’t know why you’d leave the restaurant on one of the busiest weekends of the year,” Claude persisted. “Surely, you want to be here, to make sure everything goes well?”

Cooler air and blessed darkness comforted Alain Tiessart as he stepped through the rear entry of Rêver. He’d been unlocking and opening that door for nearly thirteen years; each time still unwound every knot that might reside within him. The ease didn’t last, of course. He’d worked his fingers to the bone to make his restaurant a success. But now, with Rêver finally making its mark on Parisian cuisine, he could enjoy the fruits of his labor.

“Everything will go well.” Alain didn’t look back as he strode through the hall for his office. “You’ve handled busy nights before.”

“But…” Claude pushed past Alain to hold the door open for him. His face shone with continued alarm. “It’s the Fourteenth. We’ll be swarmed. Everybody will be in Paris for the festivities.”

“Everybody but me.”

“My point exactly!”

Alain shot Claude a reassuring smile as he leaned against the edge of the desk, his long legs angled in front of him. It brought him more to the other man’s level, a habit he’d picked up when he’d first hired Claude out of culinary school. “I have complete and utter faith in you. Do you honestly think I’d leave Rêver in your hands if I didn’t?”

Pride warred with confusion in Claude’s dark eyes, and he fidgeted for several seconds, his fingers twisting the drawstring of his long shorts. “I’m grateful for your respect, of course. I guess I don’t understand what could be so important that you’d leave us behind now of all times. Where are you going?”

Alain reached back to his desk blotter and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “That’s my itinerary.” He passed it over, watching Claude scan the long list. “And the numbers where you can reach me. I’m only two hours away. I can be back before the building has time to burn down, if you need me to be.”

Claude’s bowed mouth made a perfect o as he read over the notes. “Can’t he get away this year? The Bastille festivities are better in Paris anyway. That tiny village he lives in probably won’t even have fireworks.”

“Simon loathes Paris.”

“He comes often enough.”

“Only because I nag him about never visiting.”

“So nag him again.”

Alain shook his head. “He’s not even expecting me this time.”

The Hummel eyes were back. “You’re surprising him?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

* * * *

It was more than time. As he navigated the narrow lanes that led away from the village, Alain found it increasingly difficult to keep from smiling. His friendship with Simon Hastings went back over a decade, ever since the night the Englishman had requested to meet Rêver’s head chef. Alain had gone out to accept what he hoped to be praise, and ended up walking Simon home at the end of the dinner service. A camaraderie over good food and better wine had begun then, only to deepen into something more satisfying as time went on.

Yet, Alain had never left Paris to go and visit his friend. There was always an excuse. The restaurant needed him. Simon was traveling for work. The rain made the country roads a mess. Alain had used them all, though to be fair, Simon found plenty of his own reasons to avoid Paris. The man hated big cities. He only came when it seemed his solitude weighed too heavily on him.

Alain understood solitude. With his commitment to making his restaurant a success, relationships took a back seat. He had his share of flings with pretty young men, usually interested in what an esteemed Paris chef could do for their career, but nothing lasting. In fact, his friendship with Simon was likely the longest relationship he’d ever had outside of family.

This weekend was long overdue.

He pulled to the side of the road in order to let a young boy and his border collie guide a small herd of sheep diagonally across the lane. He nodded when the boy waved in acknowledgement, watching them in bemusement until the road finally cleared again. Though Simon found the slower pace of the village charming, Alain had always disparaged it as old-fashioned. The fact that he hadn’t even drummed his fingers in annoyance or frustration boded well.