Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(78)

Gianni shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Ellie, darling, would you like tea?” my mom asked.

“No, thanks. I’m sure you guys are tired and want to go to bed.” I sat down in one of two chairs opposite the couch, and Gianni sat in the other. He looked even more uncomfortable than he did when we told his parents, and I didn’t blame him, although my parents were handling this entire situation with a surprising amount of calm and grace—especially my mom.

“We’re fine, honey.” My mom sat down again, tucking her feet underneath her.

My dad sat next to her and covered her lap with a soft pink throw blanket. “How are you feeling, Ell?”

“I’m okay.” I glanced at Gianni, who was nervously rubbing his hands on the tops of his legs. “I’m definitely tired, but we wanted to—”

Gianni suddenly stood up. “I’m going to take care of them,” he blurted. “I’m going to be there.”

“Of course you are.” My mother’s tone was soothing.

He glanced at me. “I just didn’t want anyone to think that I wasn’t taking this seriously. I am. I wish I hadn’t signed that contract.”

“Could you get out of it?” my mom asked.

“No. Gianni and I have discussed this,” I said firmly. “He’s going to do the show and come back when it’s finished.”

“What would happen if you broke the contract?” my dad asked.

“He’s not going to break it, Dad. I don’t want him to, and there’s no need.” I made eye contact with Gianni. “You can sit down now.”

He did, but he still looked uneasy.

“Your mom mentioned that your dad was a little rough on you,” my mom said to him.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Give him some time,” my dad said. “Nick’s temper runs a little hot, but he’ll come around.”

“I agree,” said my mom. “So tell us how things are going at Etoile and what we can do to help.”

“Things are going great,” I said with pride. “In fact, we had a billionaire in our dining room tonight.”

“We did?” Gianni looked at me curiously. “Who?”

“The guy by himself at the early seating. Table by the window.”

“That guy’s a billionaire? Huh. He doesn’t look like one.”

I laughed. “What does a billionaire look like?”

“I don’t know.” Gianni shrugged. “A suit and tie? A closer shave? That guy looked kind of scruffy. He’s a billionaire?”

“Who was it, Ellie?” my dad asked.

“Hutton French,” I said. “Apparently, he’s an old friend of Felicity MacAllister’s. He’s one of those cryptocurrency guys.”

“Really.” My dad sipped his scotch. “Huh.”

“That sounds made up,” Gianni said. “What’s cryptocurrency anyway?”

My mom laughed. “I don’t know either. That’s always confused me. Did he enjoy his meal, Ellie?”

“Yes,” I said. “He’s not a huge talker—he seems a little shy—but I chatted a little bit with him before he left. He loved the butternut squash and mushroom Wellington.”

“That was Felicity’s idea,” Gianni said generously. “She’s really good at vegetarian recipes, but she can do anything. And she’s willing to stay on while you search for another full-time chef de cuisine.”

“If you’re returning in ten weeks, Gianni, could she just serve as a short-term substitute?” my dad asked. “We’d be glad to hold the position for you.”

Gianni glanced at me, as if he was looking for my approval, and I smiled. “That’s really generous, Uncle Lucas,” he said, “and I do love Etoile. But I don’t want to ask that kind of favor. You guys have already been so understanding.”

“Nonsense. You’re family,” said my mother with a smile. “We’d love to have you back after the show is done filming. And I’ll speak with Felicity and make sure she’s okay with that.”

“I bet she’ll be fine with it,” I said. “She wants to start her own catering business and food blog. That’s why she moved back.” I tried to stifle a yawn and couldn’t. “Sorry, guys. I’m about to drop. Can we talk more tomorrow?”

“Of course,” my mom said.

Gianni stood up. “I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you out,” I said, rising to my feet.

“No need. I know the way, and you’re tired. Get some rest.” He hesitated, then hugged me.

At first, I was so surprised I didn’t know how to react—it was the first time he’d ever hugged me goodbye. But after an awkward second or two, I put my arms around him. He smelled good—a combination of herbs from the kitchen and hair product. I was even more shocked when he kissed my cheek before letting me go.

“Goodnight,” he said, nodding at my parents. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” I echoed.

My heart raced as I watched him leave.





Upstairs, I changed into my pajamas and washed my face. Someone knocked on my bedroom door while I was brushing my teeth. “Come in,” I called.