Angels at the Table (Angels Everywhere #7)(19)

“I second that. We aren’t running a popularity contest with these restaurant reviews. However, when three hundred people take the time to write and contradict your findings, I sit up and take notice.”

“Three hundred?” Aren squared his shoulders. “I ordered the sole—”

“I know what you ordered.” She cut him off. “You wrote about it in great detail as part of your review.”

She was right, he had.

“Look at this.” Sandy swiveled her monitor around so Aren could read a few of the comments left on the website. In case he had trouble, Sandy read one aloud. “My name is Bill Wheeler and I’ve traveled extensively around the world. One of my favorite seafood dishes is sole served with a beurre blanc sauce. I’ve ordered sole in London, Paris, and beyond. The best, the very best I’ve ever tasted, is served at Heavenly Delights.” The last three words were spoken slowly and precisely as though she was reading them to a child.

“Three hundred comments,” Aren muttered under his breath.

“Apparently Mr. Wheeler liked it.”

“Apparently so. Mine was inedible. An entire canister of salt must have fallen into that sauce, along with enough lemon to pickle herring, not to mention the distinct taste of cayenne pepper. There was no redeeming this sauce or the fish.”

“Some people aren’t going to agree with a food critic’s reviews.”

“That’s understood.”

“But three hundred? That tells me you aren’t doing your job.”

“That’s not true.” Aren feared he was about to join the ranks of the unemployed. “What would you like me to do?” he asked, fearing she was about to ask for his resignation.

“What I’d like,” Sandy said, her voice elevated to the point that the window of her office vibrated, “is for you to eat at Heavenly Delights again. Clearly the chef had an off night.”

“Clearly.” Aren struggled to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“If several hundred diners have rallied to defend the chef, then I believe a second look is in order.”

“All right.” Although Aren wasn’t looking forward to this dining experience.

“Do it soon.”

“Consider it done. However …”

“Yes?” Sandy had already returned her attention to the computer screen. Her gaze bounced back to Aren.

“I wrote an honest review. I’m willing to give Heavenly Delights a second chance, but if the food is the same poor quality as before I won’t change my opinion no matter how many people disagree with me.”

“Fair enough,” Sandy said. Then, as if she’d suddenly had a second thought, she asked, “Anyone go with you when you ate there earlier?”

“My sister.”

“What was her opinion?”

Aren exhaled and frowned. “Actually, she was impressed. Her chicken dish was delicious, or so she claimed.”

“So it was you and you alone who found the food below par.”

“Apparently.”

Sandy was facing her keyboard again even before he left the office. Returning to his desk, Aren reached for his cell and texted out a message to his sister.

Giving Heavenly Delights a second chance. Join me?

Her reply came within a few seconds. When?

Tonight?

Tomorrow?

OK tomorrow.

Can I meet you there?

No problem.

What time?

7 unless you hear otherwise.

Aren made the call and discovered, somewhat to his chagrin, that the only reservation available was for five thirty p.m. He sent another text to his sister.

She replied, I’ll do my best to get there on time. Might be a few minutes late.

No problem.

Aren arrived at Heavenly Delights five minutes before their early reservation. His sister sent him a text telling him she was running ten minutes behind and told him to be seated.

Be there lickety-split.

The same charming, older woman who’d served as hostess at his first visit seated him. “I see you’re back.” She beamed him a smile. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “I’m glad that nasty food critic didn’t change your mind about our food.”

Aren feigned a grin.

She led him to a table that was close to the kitchen. He had to agree the scents coming from the other room enticed him.

Perhaps he had been overly critical. Well, he’d find out soon enough.

Chapter Seven

Busy in Heavenly Delights’ kitchen, Lucie paused, certain she’d heard the sound of tinkling bells. The piped-in music was low and subtle but the gentle ring could be heard above and beyond that. Bells? Someone was ringing bells in the restaurant, and while that seemed rather odd, the melody resembled a favorite Christmas carol. “Jingle Bells.”

Glancing outside the kitchen, thinking she might find the source, Lucie caught sight of someone who resembled … Aren.

It took a moment for her brain to register the fact that the man sitting at the table, reading over the menu, was indeed Aren Fairchild. Instantly her heart started racing at double time. Aren was here … in her restaurant? She swallowed hard, debating what to do … if anything. It’d been almost a year. She would hardly know what to say to him. How could she explain what had happened?