Happily Ever After Collection - Melanie Moreland Page 0,1

brow furrowed. “Your plate came back virtually untouched.”

“Um, that was mine,” I advised him.

His eyes snapped back to me, his bright-blue gaze holding my own. “You didn’t enjoy your dinner, Julia?”

“No, it was, ah, fine. Really.”

He arched one eyebrow, turning to face me fully, his vivid gaze piercing. His voice was low when he spoke. I felt myself shrink into my seat under his stare.

“Fine? I believe Gerard said you described it as passable. I will not accept that any dish which came from my kitchen was simply passable. Allow me to make something else for you.”

I could feel Melinda’s glare across the table, and I scrambled to assure him. “I used the wrong word. Really, it was great. Really…really…great.”

His expression turned to utter disbelief, and he leaned down closer to me. “So great you didn’t even want to take it home with you?”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I don’t have a fridge to keep it fresh,” I whispered, feeling sheepish.

He stood straight, his eyes locked on me. “Let me prepare you something else. I insist.” He drew in a deep breath. “Please, allow me to do that.”

I shook my head. “I had a late lunch. Really, I’m fine.”

“Byron.”

He turned to Melinda.

“She never eats very much,” she assured him quietly. “She meant no disrespect. The meals were amazing. Truly.”

He stood silently for a minute, his hands clenched at his sides, his brow furrowed. With a sharp dip of his chin, he spoke. “As you wish. Enjoy your dessert, ladies. I hope it proves to be more than passable.” Abruptly, he turned and strode toward the kitchen. I watched as he stopped and said something to our waiter, before disappearing through the kitchen door.

I turned to Melinda. “Wow. He’s intense. He and Mark are friends?” I found that hard to believe. Mark was the most laid-back person I had ever met.

She nodded. “They went to high school and university together. When Byron left to go to culinary school, they stayed in touch. Mark was thrilled when he decided to move back to Toronto and open this restaurant.”

We were quiet as Gerard placed our dessert and coffee in front of us. When he left, I leaned forward. “I didn’t mean to insult him or his food, Melinda. Really, I didn’t.”

She smiled. “I know that. Byron is very intense. He has very high standards and is incredibly picky about his restaurant. Which is why it has been such a success, I think.” She chuckled. “I doubt many plates get sent back uneaten.” She mock-glared at me. “Did you eat at McDonald’s again today?”

I nodded. “I had just ordered when you called.”

She gaped. “And you still ate it? Knowing we were coming here?”

I shrugged. “I know what I’m getting at McDonald’s, Melinda. I wasn’t sure about this place.”

She chuckled as she stirred the cream into her coffee and added some chocolate shavings and whipped cream that came with it. It was a lovely touch.

“Good thing Byron didn’t know that piece of information. The fact that you would eat at Rotten Ronnie’s and barely touch his cuisine might send him over the edge. I pity the chefs in the kitchen if that happened.”

I made a horrified face at her, then grinned. “Our little secret.”

She indicated my plate. “Eat your dessert please, Julia. I don’t think I could take another visit from the kitchen.”

I agreed. The way Byron Lord looked at me? I didn’t want another visit either.

I watched Melinda drive away and sighed, grateful dinner was over. I shook my head as I made my way to my car where I had parked at the edge of the lot. My car was older and run-down, but all I could afford. It had been as out of place in the parking lot as I was in the restaurant.

No bill had been offered at the end of our meal, and Gerard refused any sort of tip, saying the meal in its entirety had been looked after by Chef Lord, with his compliments. No doubt he was just anxious to get the troublemaker out of his restaurant. I hoped I hadn’t caused a problem for Mark with his friend.

“So, you find my cuisine stuffy, do you, Julia?”

Startled, I spun around to find Byron Lord leaning against the hood of a car, looking irate. His chef’s jacket hung loosely from his shoulders, and he was smoking a cigar in short, angry puffs. I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. Melinda and I had one of the last