Angels at the Table (Angels Everywhere #7)(14)

Josie smiled. “She sort of reminds me of Aunt Lucille, so warm and friendly.” She paused and stared at him. “You’re frowning again. Any time I mention Aunt Lucille lately you get this funny look.”

“Do not.”

“Do, too. I’m your sister and I know a frown on you when I see one. You’re thinking about that girl you met New Year’s Eve again, aren’t you? Her name was Lucie.”

“No.” His denial was adamant. “Besides, I asked you not to bring her up again.” He’d made his case, given Lucie time, and apparently she wasn’t interested. Nothing gained, nothing lost … although Aren hadn’t been able to put her out of his mind.

Josie simply shook her head, Aren noted, indicating she didn’t think it was worth squabbling about. If they were going to argue about anything it should be Josie and her nonrelationship with Jack. His sister did a good job of hiding her broken heart but Aren wasn’t fooled. She was miserable and far too proud to admit it. He didn’t understand how two people who loved each other to the point of getting close to exchanging vows would suddenly decide to call it quits. Apparently, as the time for the wedding drew close, they’d both gotten cold feet. They’d argued and now stubbornness had taken over common sense.

“Are we going to bicker or look at the menu?” Josie asked, opening the menu. “What looks good to you?”

“I’m in the mood for fish.” Aren scanned the seafood section and found it diverse and impressive. The Dover sole served with beurre blanc sauce appealed to him. “That sauce can be tricky and is a good test of a chef’s expertise.” So was seafood, which so many restaurants tended to overcook.

“Did you hear that?” Will said triumphantly. “The woman with Aren is his sister.”

“And he’s still thinking about Lucie.” This was going to work out better than they’d planned. Mercy could see it already. She watched as brother and sister bantered back and forth, obviously good friends as well as siblings. After a few minutes, she glanced around and discovered Will was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Will?” Shirley asked.

“I’m here,” he said, returning from some unknown destination. Mercy felt it was necessary to explain that it was important that they all stay together, and when she finished she discovered Shirley had disappeared as well.

“Now where’s Shirley?”

——

“The waitress is friendly and helpful,” Aren told his sister. Heavenly Delights was turning out to be everything it promised. If the food was as good as reported, he would gladly write up a favorable review. To this point he found it to be a pleasant dining experience, but the true test, as with every restaurant, was the food.

Several people had contacted the newspaper about this up-and-coming restaurant that had captured the attention of Brooklyn diners. The number of recommendations had been impressive enough for the editor to put it at the top of the list. But in Aren’s experience, many restaurants that came highly touted often didn’t live up to the hype. It was his job to notice the details most diners overlooked. It was like a singer who was gifted with perfect pitch. To anyone else a performer might sound fabulous, but someone with a good ear would instantly recognize when a note was even the slightest bit off key. Aren felt he had “perfect pitch” when it came to restaurants and food.

To this point everything met with his satisfaction. The restaurant was clean. The staff efficient without being intrusive, repeating the specials of the day without needing to refer to notes. Their wine order was taken and water glasses were promptly filled. A few minutes after their wine was served, freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, was delivered to their table. Almost as soon as they set their menus aside their server came for their order. Ah, yes, this restaurant did show promise.

Aren and his sister sipped their wine and after just the right amount of time their meal arrived. His sole was artfully arranged on the plate with small dollops of whipped potatoes in golden toasted swirls. The vegetable was roasted asparagus topped with lemon zest.

“Oh my, that does look delicious.” His sister eyed his plate appreciatively.

“Yours does, too.” Josie had ordered the chicken Parmesan. The chicken had been fried to a lovely brown and topped with a blend of Italian cheeses. The meal was served with a side of spaghetti covered in a rich, red marinara sauce. Her dinner included both a side salad and toasted garlic bread. The scent of the warm bread and garlic was like an aphrodisiac. It was far too easy to overdo the garlic. The kitchen hadn’t.

“My compliments to the chef.” Josie reached for her fork.

“You haven’t tasted your dinner yet,” he chastised.

“Well, my goodness, if it tastes even half as good as it smells, I’ll be in heaven.”

Aren grinned and rolled his eyes. Looks could be deceiving.

“Speaking of the chef.”

Aren raised his hand, stopping her. “Don’t mention the name.”

Josie set her fork aside. “Why not?”

“It’s better I not know, otherwise it might influence my opinion. I’ve seen too many others in my line of work be influenced by a cooking celebrity.” He didn’t dare say anything that would indicate to anyone within hearing distance that he wrote for the Gazette. Aren judged the food. Not the reputation. Not the number of cookbooks published and certainly not the fame. What mattered to him was the food and the overall dining experience.