Trust Me (Paris Nights #3)(50)

The Au-dessus staff, Paris’s current favorite heroes, the very people who had nearly been victims and had fought terrorists and won, feeding everyone who came—as long as those people were willing to support refugees rather than villainize them

Parisians freaking loved it.

The world loved it.

Jake himself nearly went ballistic. If he did that kind of thing—lost his temper explosively—this would have been the moment. He, and the police guards, and the rest of the police who had to be called in quickly to control the crowds and try desperately to make sure they were safe from insane people, and Elias on the phone telling him, “What the f*ck, Jake? Have you and they lost your f*cking minds?”

“Jesus, I hate the internet,” Jake said. “It goes freaking everywhere. Do you have people on the roofs?”

“Yes, much the f*ck good that is going to do us with crowds like this. We should get the riot police to shut the street and shut this down. But…”

Yeah.

“Just let them have it, okay?” Jake said. He didn’t want Lina hurt. But he’d lived all his adult life on the edge of death, and he’d done some pretty crazy shit as a teenager, too. Living life well carried risks. Every single person in this crowd was accepting that by coming here. “They need this. Hell, Paris needs this. You have no idea how alive and happy everyone looks down here.”

For the crowds themselves, it seemed liberating. Like they could pour into the streets, show they weren’t afraid, do something to take back their city.

And for the kitchen team, of course…they were feeding people. Going all out to handle a crazy crowd. Doing what they did best.

And as they distributed the food, every single person who took a plate from their hands heaped praise on them, and stuffed animals and flowers piled up to be taken to Vi later, and people tried to kiss the chefs and begged to take photos with them and…it was a f*cking security nightmare.

But for Lina and Adrien and Mikhail and Amar and everyone else on the teams, it was obviously cathartic. Cleansing their world of ugliness and making it whole again. Themselves, and the people they fed, and maybe even a little healing and help for those other war victims in whose honor they fed the crowds. We’re all in this together, people.

Jake wasn’t religious anymore. He’d gotten the hell away from that crazy stuff when he left the mountains. But still, his main ancient story references were all Christian. And to him there was something almost Biblical about it, like Jesus and the five loaves and two fishes.

Lina might not appreciate that reference, but then again, she might just laugh. She was too busy and too happy for him to stop her and ask her.

Doing what she did best. Making food. And leading her people. Being brave even when inside she didn’t feel brave.

She was so small, and that delicate heart face and those lashes and those curls were all so very feminine, that it was hard for him, used to a world of über-macho men, to keep wrapping his mind around the fact that she was the commander here. Adrien had stepped up in his role as Vi’s second, and was serving in that role honorably, but Lina was the ranking officer.

And she was a damn good officer.

Jake watched the way the confidence of the line cooks expanded as they worked, back into what must be their normal raucous, outrageous calls and insults and their always focused perfection. The senior chefs were pretty strong already. They probably would have found their feet one way or the other.

But there were the younger ones. The newbies. Like that girl who looked about seventeen, an apprentice maybe. Straightening her shoulders. Watching Lina. Learning how to be a strong woman, how to take what life dealt you and serve it back as something beautiful.

So Jake didn’t try to stop the madness. He believed in madness.

Instead, he focused on doing what he did best—watch the crowds, stay close to her, and stay prepared to kill anyone if he had to, to keep the people here safe.

For a while there, it was a beautiful synthesis—all of them doing exactly what they were born to do.





Chapter 14


As a gesture of defiant courage, it had worked out far better than Lina had ever imagined. People were just people again. Hungry, kind-hearted, wanting to help, wanting to be part of something greater than their ordinary lives. The Tweet had swelled far beyond her first impulsive imagining, and they’d cooked the kitchens entirely empty, and then neighboring restaurants had started bringing them supplies and pitching in. They’d cooked until dark, when the police had finally drawn the line.

And not a single one of those people had tried to kill her. That had felt so damn good. To meet all those people and not be hurt by a single one.

She felt as if she’d been part of something transformative. And this time, not transformative toward bad, the burst of violence that had twisted Paris darker. No, this time, the twist was toward the light.

We are still Paris.

And we, us, here, at Au-dessus—we’re still just cooks.

Okay, “just”. They were still just some of the top chefs in the world.

There. That sounded more accurate.

Lina smiled under the hot water of her shower, humming to herself as she scrubbed all the sweat and food smells off.

Vi had been so thrilled at all the photos and videos. She’d been reTweeting everything from her hospital bed with things like “I love my team.”