Yes, Chef

by Waitlyn Andrews

It suits me. Adventure always has; independence always has. I just forgot for a while.

No, sir. I just want to keep my head down and be on a team that earns a star. That’s why I moved here. That’s my goal, and nothing can sway me.

She’s gonna eat these words😂

It wasn’t personal. It’s not personal.

Don’t be delusional babe😖it’s personal

And he doesn't appear to be a screamer, another relief. But I didn’t drown the duck. And that sauce is delicious, thank you very little.

Please scream like Carmy…a little bit🤏🏽

They live by the laws of seasonality in their cooking, and there’s an inherent beauty in that type of context, a reverence to the seasons, an appreciation of rhythm.

“I guess we really are neighbors then,” he says with a grimace. “I don’t have any sugar to offer you, sorry,” I retort with a wry half-smile.

I’m screaming 🤣🤣

“He is carrying his coffee to go. That is an American trait. Coffee is not to be . . . er, um, what is the word? Chugged? Yes, chugged. Coffee is the start of one’s day. It is to be savored.”

I’m starting to get the feeling that Mr. Americana over here has some old-fashioned, “escort the lady home” tendencies. I don’t want to find it endearing. But it kind of is. Just a bit.

With my back pointedly turned to Mr.-steal-my-favorite-spot, I scan the room for a backup table when I feel him approaching from behind me. “I took your spot, didn’t I?”

There’s so much that I don’t want to notice about James Sullivan. But I do.

Montana, mountains, horses, cowboys, cowboys with blue eyes . . . no, no, the book says this cowboy has brown eyes. The damn chef to my left is the one with blue eyes. Damn him.

Le goûter: a small meal or snack typically eaten in the late afternoon or early evening made up of simple and light foods such as fruit, yogurt, a slice of cake or pastry, a baguette with butter and jam, or a small sandwich.

Fall is my favorite season, and while everyone would claim there’s no time in Paris quite like springtime, I disagree. I think fall in Paris has a superior charm all on its own.

“Would you rather drive?” “Really?” “Why not?” “You’d let me drive your car?” “If it’d make you more comfortable.” “It would, actually. Thank you.”

So considerate, I love ittt😆

There’s a lightness of optimism that floats in my mind as we drive at an appropriately slower speed to wind around roads lined with changing trees under a blue sky.

FALL ROAD TRIPS>>>>

I can’t help but think that in another life, in another circumstance, this would be kind of a romantic date. Convertible, open French roads, sandwich shop . . . come on. This is a romance novel dream.

Leaves of all shapes and sizes are in the midst of turning colors, and as a fall girl, I’m positively thriving.

“This playlist is called ‘Ratchet, Guilty’ and I have to know . . .” he trails off.

“I’m right. Phillipe’s right. You’re getting the dress,” she said with a level of finality I didn’t know she was capable of. When did she grow up so much?

I love the relationship with her sister. An interaction that she was deeply dreading has been lovely

My mother must have sent it to him. I knew she looked smug. My own face blanches as I come to terms with what she did behind my back.

I hate her so much.

I don’t have time to fully lament the loss of my croissant before he comes out the door with two cups of coffee and a bag in his hand, wordlessly handing it over along with the spare to-go cup. I eye him skeptically, but he merely shrugs and keeps walking. I look in the bag to find it’s my usual croissant, and in the to-go cup is my double espresso.

He’s so attentive😍

You can’t go wrong with chocolate.”

“Are you headed to your balcony?” he asks cautiously when he reaches his own door. “As a thank you—and a delayed tip for handling the world’s worst customer—can I offer you a glass of wine?”

His number should be blocked at this point!

“Not sure how to take that, Chef.” “James.” “Not sure how to take that, James.”

I look over and I’m hit smack in the face with the blunt force of a full smile. A smile! My own lips turn up in return, and if I thought the butterflies were an issue then, they’re in a troubling league of their own now.

I look forward to our market visits now, and I can thank Handsy Mandy for breaking the ice.

😂😂

“If you say so, Chef.”

I’ve finally started to refer to him as Just James, he’s flipped the cards and now calls me chef. I kind of love it.

“It’d taste better with sugar, too, but guess you’re out of luck, seeing as you don’t have any.” And with a wink, he’s through the door. Well, would you look at that—looks like he has a sense of humor, after all.

“Shouldn’t you be at Teaks?” “It was a slow night, so I left early,” he says.

He left early to take care of her🥲

I’m trying to process the idea that he called his sister to ask what to buy for me. For me. That’s swoon-able material right there and I cannot, under any circumstances, fall victim to swooning right now.

She and my grandpa loved each other until the very end, and when I realized I was settling for something other than that, it was a wake-up call I never wanted but desperately needed.

“I think that’s a great idea. In fact . . .” he pauses, pulling out his phone. “I’ll do you one better. We were sent tickets to take the staff to a match that looks to be . . . yep, on that same day. We can do football before the turkey dinner. It’s a different football, but the sentiment is still the same.”

“You should have said something. We get tickets sent over all the time.” “Well, next time tell me. I would go in a heartbeat.” “Noted,” he says as we walk through the backdoor with our morning haul in hand.

Future dateee💖💖

After winding through a few dark hallways, we make our way into an open space that makes my jaw drop. When I think of a classic speakeasy, this is the place . . . but disco.

dark emerald velvet booths grazing the wall. The dance floor has no less than a dozen disco balls spinning and reflecting lights from the DJ booth in a way that immediately makes me want to dance. People fill out the intimate dance floor, swaying to a song I’ve never heard before but is so catchy that I could likely sing along with the next chorus.

Michael and Gabe are herding everyone out to the dance floor, and it takes all of two seconds for me to lose myself in the music. Song after song, I can’t find it in me to be tired, and for the first time in a long time, I'm feeling the unabridged freedom of fun that comes with just letting go and seeing where the night takes me.

“Don’t look now, but he’s been staring at you all night, and you need to keep the upper hand, Claire.”

“Oh, great idea!” he yells back. But as I turn to leave, he grabs my arm and spins me back around. “Wait! No, better yet, I’ll go get you your drink. White wine, yes?”

Ahh Gabe, he’s messyyyyy…I love it

I’m having fun. Unhindered, unwatched, unpestered fun for the first time in over four years with no fear for the consequences

“Fine, chef.” I admit defeat. “I’ll go home.” “How about one more dance and I’ll walk you back, deal?” “Deal.”

That broad frame of his could keep a rhythm, sure, but he didn’t dance to impress. He danced to have fun.

Oh! The stiff chef can loosen up and have a good time

“Of course I have. That’s why we sometimes walk back at the same time after a shift.” I snort. I don’t know why Gabe is acting this way. I know I’ve mentioned it before. “But of course. Must have slipped my mind.” He then takes my hand in his, brings it up to his lips, and plants a lingering kiss on my knuckles. “Another time, then, mon ange.”

😏

“You won’t really have to interact with the person the whole time because you’ll be busy with bridesmaids’ duties, and Mom and Henry won’t see it coming. I think it’s a great idea honestly. And I’m the bride—I should be against the drama, but I’d rather see you coming in swinging.”

Yessss. Don’t let the mom win

Even though he’s been back to his grumpy mood all week, James joins everyone for another round of dancing out on the town.

Nothing monumental to celebrate yet, but I can tell that our team knows what we’re working towards, and I can only imagine the type of celebration we’ll have once we hit our goal. This is the type of camaraderie I was looking for when I made the jump.

I’ve always loved to people-watch, but people-watching in Paris is a whole new level of study with endless material. I take in everything from tourist bus groups following a flag to families trying to wrangle their curious kids from poking statues and chasing pigeons. There are locals who walk by at all hours of the day, looking so effortlessly chic that I can't help but take notes of some of their outfit elements. I decide I need a wrap coat this season. But, of all the people at the park, my absolute favorite are the elderly sleeping in their chairs. They're everywhere. It’s something I’ve never seen before,

Her descriptions transport you straight to Paris.

James walks by arm in arm with a tiny blond who looks at him as if he hung the moon. But what really gets the blood draining from my face is that he's smiling back at her. The grouch head chef is nowhere to be seen.

Jumping to conclusions haha what if it’s his sister 😅😂

And if playing tourist is what it takes to bring back the fun, joking James who was my friend for a brief period of time, then I’m all the more excited about it.