Chapter 58

It was the head chef himself, Gaston LeBlanc, a giant of a man with twinkling eyes and a beard dusted with flour like edible snow. ‘Elodie, mon ange!’ he boomed, engulfing her in a bear hug. ‘The prodigal sous chef returns! And with a handsome… friend?’ Elodie grinned, introducing them. LeBlanc eyed Ari with good-natured amusement before turning back to her. ‘Ah, remember the day your old man walked in here, Élo-belle? Must’ve been all of eight, you were, eyes wide as a panful of paella.’ The chef cackled, his beard erupting in flour dust. ‘Raymond, ever the showman, said, “Gaston, I have a secret ingredient for you—my daughter, fireproof and ready to learn!”’ Elodie smiled wistfully. ‘And you put me straight to work! Peeling potatoes till my fingers were as wrinkly as your prunes, dicing onions till I cried enough to fill a soup pot.’ ‘But you learned, ma chérie! Learned the language of simmer and sear, the rhythm of the whisk and the dance of the flame. Your father, he could taste a