A/N: Thank you all for your encouraging reviews and unbridled excitement. This chapter, we meet Bella at Edward's restaurant and, later, get to see her emotional side when confronted with thoughts of Edward and what they used to be! Read more to find out!
Isabella Swan was good at her job, and that's what she would do when she entered chemie, she decided; her job. Nothing more, nothing less. Edward Cullen be damned. Bella looked up at the looming front of chemie, swallowing against the butterflies that erupted in her stomach at the thought of running into the head chef.
The place was crowded, a veritable uproar of voices creating a strange din in her ears and setting her head pounding. Bella pressed forward, toward the host area, where a man in too expensive suit stood on the phone looking irritated.
"I don't know what they told you, but I expected three shipments of-" The man shut his eyes in frustration, his golden hair glimmering in the soft light of the restaurant as he shook his head, lips pressed together thinly. He looked vaguely familiar.
"How can I help you, madame?" The man asked, having hung up the reciever with more fervor than was strictly professional, at least in Bella's opinion.
"Table for one, under Swan, please."
"Ah, you must be Bella Swan, the critic from Nom," the man corrected his posture, standing ever so slightly taller and broader, though his lips turned down in distaste at the name of the blog, "my apologies, there was a mixup with a shipment of fish bones, hence the upset."
Bella remembered suddenly; Jasper Whitlock was a handsome man, moreso in person, and his grey eyes appraised her neat coat and he stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture.
"May I take your coat before you're seated? Our special this evening is escargot avec veloute poisson- snail with fish sauce paired, naturally, with a Yakima Valley white."
"Sounds delicious," Bella said, and she wasn't lying. Her stomach grumbled lowly and she flushed.
"Very well, let us seat you and I will bring you a menu."
"Oh, no need, thank you," Bella said, weaving between tables as Jasper led the way. The soft candles and avant garde paintings spoke to a sort of elegance that had Bella shifting uncomfortably in her basic black dress, her hair falling against her shoulders as she shook her head in polite protest, and she spoke again as Jasper pulled out the chair, "I would like the special with the wine, the coq au vin, and the mushroom ravoli."
"Very well."
With a firm nod, Jasper bade her goodbye, headed toward the faint bustle of the double doors hiding the kitchen staff from prying eyes. She suspected that he was off to alert the kitchen staff. Most hosts, front of house manager or no, did. The mushroom ravioli was a guilty pleasure of hers, and she ordered it wherever she could. She wondered for a moment, when she'd first reviewed the menu after learning that Edward was head chef, whether or not he remembered. She was no cook, nor would she ever earn a Michelin star, but her own mushroom ravioli had been successful.
At least Edward had told her as much between kisses and heated touches. The long ago moment passed, however, as a waiter poured her glass, the beautiful, pale wine spilling carefully into the glass until it was filled perfectly, not a drop of wine spilled onto the lush, pale blue tablecloth beneath it.
Bella lifted the glass, first to inspect the way the light bounces off of the wine, and then, to her nose, testing the sweetness and swilling it carefully. Sipping it, she appreciated the warm bite of alcohol, the way the fruity aftertaste lingered on her lips and tongue. At home, she'd have easily had the glass almost empty, but here, in this place that demands as much from it's clientele as it does it's staff, she's careful to observe propriety.
So, the glass was left to the side afterwards, and instead, she fished in her small clutch for her notepad and pen, her glasses already perched carefully on her nose. A steaming plate of escargot appeared before her before too long, and with a gusto she barely managed to disguise as a professional eagerness, she dug in.
First, the veloute poisson; the cream and wine and fish medley and played on her tongue as the meaty escargot, a classically difficult dish to get right, melted in her mouth. Rosemary played a starring role. The lemon aftertaste, however, was far too strong for such a delicate dish, and Bella made a note. Rose wouldn't be happy to hear her complaint, but it wasn't for nothing that she'd made quite a name for herself. The second dish, a classic coq au vin was simple, no frills, no fuss, but Bella liked it quite a bit, never mind that the dish itself was difficult to mess up. The chicken and wine fused into one, and the juicy, tender pieces played along her palate like a fine dance.
The mushroom ravioli, however, was bland, and suddenly, Bella remembered once more the way Edward's hair glinted in the lamplight of her one bedroom apartment, his face dusted with flour as he laboured over the mushroom and cream-wine filling, his tongue trapped between wine-reddened lips as he concentrated.
"I'm sure it will be perfect tomorrow, Edward," Bella sighed, pushing her long hair behind her ear and twining it up into a sloppy ponytail, "but here, I can help. Let me show you how I make the filling, and we'll try again together."
"Together?" he asked, his eyes bright and hopeful, drooping tiredly in the late hour.
"Together."
Bella swallowed, and had Jasper clear the dishes. She'd seen him watching her from afar, pretending like he wasn't. His grey, hard stare wasn't hard to miss.
"Give Chef my regards," she said, her voice trembling, and Jasper glanced down at her plates.
The mushroom ravioli was nearly untouched.
"The mushroom-?" Jasper bit back the question, as though he knew the answer before she spoke.
"Too salty, Mr. Whitlock," Bella replied coolly as he rummaged for an answer. This wasn't the type of restaurant where dishes went unfinished.
She was grateful for the kitchenette in the room Rosalie had reserved for her, and as she washed her hands, she spoke aloud, "- and then the bear took the honey from the bee with a grateful smile. The end- Is he asleep, Alice?"
"Yeah, he passed out around the time the bear made it to the dragonfly," Alice spoke, her voice hushed. A low click sounded on the line, and her voice rose a bit, "but I liked the story, so I thought I'd keep listening."
Bella's cheeks flushed as she soaped up.
"Really, Al? Honestly, of the two of you, you'd think you were the four year old."
"Hey, am not!"
"Listen, thanks for letting me call, I know it's late," Bella spoke, her eyes flicking to the digital clock on the nightstand across the room. 10:01, it read.
"No problem, but listen, I've got RuPaul on my DVR and some shit went down on last week's episode, so I'm gonna watch it now- bye!" Alice called, and Bella laughed, short and sharp as a resounding click ended their call.
The dough was done, she thought as she poked at a little square drying on the counter and turned back to the fragrant filling simmering away on the little stove. Mushrooms, white wine, onion, rosemary, and sage all married together to make the most beautiful smell on earth, or so she thought. She wasn't much of a cook, but she could make this.
She took her time, carefully filling the little pockets with their filling and sealing them until she had an arrangement of neat pillows of pasta and mushroom. She thought of another time, her mind's eye filled with a shock of copper hair and a brilliant smile, and her heart ached.
Suddenly, she couldn't bear it.
Tears blurred her vision as she poured the pasta into the wastebin, her hands shaking.
Damn Edward Cullen and his awful pasta and his empty promises.