Chapter 2 - A Seat at the Chef's Table
I walked back to table twenty-four with measured, deliberate strides.
As I approached, our server, a young man named Marcus whom Connor had personally trained, was standing beside Jolene with an electronic notepad. Paige was rattling off orders: "Harper will have the eight-ounce filet, medium, with the loaded baked potato. Belle wants the pan-seared salmon with extra garlic butter. And Landon will have the handmade pasta."
"And for you, ma'am?" Marcus asked Jolene politely.
"The dry-aged ribeye, twelve ounces, medium-rare," Jolene announced, snapping her leather folio shut with an air of absolute authority. "And bring us a bottle of the 2018 Caymus Cabernet. Mark, you're having the strip, right?"
Mark nodded eagerly. "Make it sixteen ounces."
Marcus hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Leah and Colton. Colton was still sitting entirely still, his small hands clasped over his belly, staring at the embroidery of the linen napkin.
"And for the young man?" Marcus asked gently, gesturing toward Colton. "We have an exceptional braised chicken with mashed potatoes, or our house sliders."
Before I could speak, Jolene chimed in, her tone dripping with fake maternal efficiency. "Oh, Colton isn't hungry. He ate a very late snack at home. His mother gave him some crackers before they arrived. Just bring him a glass of tap water with lemon, Marcus."
Leah’s jaw clenched so hard the muscles in her cheek twitched. "That is a lie," Leah said, her voice trembling with restrained fury. "He hasn't eaten since noon because you told us we were having an early dinner."
Jolene sighed loudly, waving a dismissive hand as if shooing a fly. "Leah, please. Don't start an argument in a place like this. You know how Colton gets with rich food. His stomach is delicate, and I am not paying eighty dollars for a meal he's just going to pick at. Paige’s children appreciate good food. Now let Marcus take the order."
"He doesn't have a delicate stomach, Mom," I said, stepping up directly behind Colton's chair.
Jolene glanced up at me, irritated that I had interrupted her performance. "Dustin, sit down. You're hovering. You look ridiculous. Marcus, go ahead and put that in."
"Actually, Marcus," a voice cut through the air from behind us.
The entire table turned.
Connor Walsh stood there. He was wearing his immaculate white executive chef coat, charcoal slates pinned to his chest, his arms crossed over his apron. He stood over six feet two, with broad shoulders and an unreadable, stony expression that immediately commanded the room.
Marcus straightened up instantly. "Chef."
Jolene’s eyes lit up. She recognized Connor’s executive jacket and immediately assumed this was a personal greeting reserved for the high-spending matriarch of the evening.
"Oh! Good evening," Jolene said, offering her most charming, country-club smile. "Are you the head chef? The ambiance here is simply divine. We were just telling our server how lovely everything looks."
Connor didn't look at Jolene. He didn't smile. He didn't acknowledge her compliment. His eyes locked directly onto mine, then softened as he looked down at Colton.
Connor stepped past Jolene's chair, entirely ignoring her outstretched hand. He knelt down beside Colton, bringing his towering frame down until his eyes were level with my son's.
"Hey there, buddy," Connor said softly. "What's your name?"
Colton looked up nervously, his eyes wide. He glanced at me first, seeking permission. I nodded with a gentle smile.
"Colton," my son whispered. "Colton Miller."
"Colton Miller," Connor repeated, tapping Colton's button-down collar with a friendly knuckle. "That is an exceptionally sharp shirt you've got on tonight. You look like a guy who knows something about real food."
Colton gave a tiny, shy shrug. "I wanted duck. But Grandma said I'm not allowed to order."
Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly, a muscle leaping in his jaw, but his smile toward Colton remained warm. "Well, Colton, between you and me, the food on this printed menu? That's just for regular people. The real food—the secret stuff—is in the back. And as it happens, my head pastry chef just finished prepping a batch of double-fudge lava cakes with homemade vanilla bean ice cream, but he needs an official taste-tester before we serve it to anyone else."
Colton's mouth fell open. "A taste-tester?"
"Yep," Connor said, standing up. He looked at Leah and me. "Dustin, Leah, your table is ready."
Jolene blinked, her smile faltering into confusion. "Excuse me? Our table is right here. We've already sat down. We were just ordering."
Connor finally turned his gaze upon my mother. The warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by an arctic detachment. "No, ma'am. *Your* table is here. Mr. and Mrs. Miller, and their son, are dining in the Library tonight."
Paige gasped softly. Even Paige, who rarely frequented places this upscale, knew about the Library. The Brass Lantern's Library was an exclusive, four-top private dining suite behind the main wine cellar, reserved for visiting celebrities, governors, and the chef’s personal guests. It had a six-month waiting list and a four-figure minimum.
"The Library?" Paige blurted out, looking from Connor to me. "Dustin, you didn't say you booked a private room."
"He didn't," Connor said smoothly. "I did. Because Dustin is my brother. And nobody sits at my friend's table and gets told his son isn't worthy of eating."
Jolene's face flushed a deep, mottled red. "Now, see here! That was a private family matter! I am the grandmother, and I am the one paying the bill tonight! I decide how my dinner party is managed!"
"Not in my restaurant, you don't," Connor said quietly. The calm authority in his voice made Paige shrink back into her chair.
Connor extended his hand to Colton. "Come on, Colton. Let's go see the kitchen. Have you ever seen a walk-in freezer the size of a garage?"
Colton scrambled down from his chair, his sadness instantly forgotten. He grabbed Connor's hand with both of his, looking back at Leah and me with absolute wonder. "Daddy! Mommy! A garage freezer!"
Leah gathered her purse. As she stood up, she looked down at Jolene. She didn't say a single word. She didn't need to. The look on Leah's face was one of pure, unadulterated pity.
I leaned over the table, resting my knuckles against the white cloth, right next to the menu Jolene had slammed down minutes earlier.
"Enjoy your dinner, Mom," I said quietly. "Order whatever you want. Truly."
"Dustin, don't you dare walk away from this table!" Jolene hissed under her breath, glancing around nervously to see if the other patrons were watching. "You are causing a scene! Sit down right now!"
"Marcus," Connor said over his shoulder, not breaking stride as he led Colton toward the kitchen doors. "Table twenty-four's tab is strictly separate. Ensure standard protocol is observed."
"Yes, Chef," Marcus said crisply.
May you like
As we walked through the swinging double doors into the gleaming stainless-steel sanctuary of the kitchen, I heard Paige's frantic whisper behind us: "Mom... what does 'standard protocol' mean?"
***
