Free Cook the Books by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant Page A

when people he doesn’t know hold him, but he really seems taken with you.”
    “The feeling is mutual. He’s absolutely adorable.” Kyle beamed at the two. “I love kids. I hope to have my own someday.”
    Ade winked at me, none too subtly. “Well, I should get home. Owen should be back soon. He’s grilling burgers again, if you can believe it. I’m probably going to start mooing any day now.”
    “Why don’t you come to dinner with us? You can bring Patrick,” Kyle offered.
    “Thanks, but I’m beat. Patrick has taken to nocturnal living. He was up most of last night, which means I was up most of last night. Owen insists that he gets up every time Patrick does, but what he really means is that he is disturbed every time the baby cries. I’m the one who actually gets up and has to stay awake feeding him.” She rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she tossed her blonde mane to the side. “Enjoy your meal. I expect a detailed report on how delicious everything is. Thanks so much, Chloe. I feel like a new woman after getting my hair done. And Kyle, it was really nice to see you again.”
    Kyle nodded at Ade. “You, too. You’ll have to come out another night with us. We’ll have more restaurants to try out. I’d love your input.”
    I hugged Ade and Patrick good-bye and promised to call her tomorrow with a rundown of tonight’s food.
    By the time we were seated at Incline, I was ravenous. Taking care of Patrick wasn’t a hardship, but it did require a lot of energy and left little time to snack. The stress of the horrible morning had depleted me, too. I scooted my chair close to the table and checked out Kyle. He really was very good looking, especially in the light of the candle at our table. I loved his rough stubble and the golden streaks in his hair. Did Kyle think that I, too, looked good by candlelight? I’d changed into my carefully chosen outfit, spritzed on some perfume, and touched up my lipstick before we’d left. Even though this was a business dinner, we could still get swept away by the romantic atmosphere. The walls in the long, narrow restaurant had been painted chocolate brown, and the dark room was just as cozy as I remembered.
    I tucked my hair behind my ears and leaned in a bit. “So your father has left Boston already? Where is he off to now?”
    Kyle sighed and reached for his wine. “Yes, he’s gone, thank God. I think he and his trophy wife are off to Tellu-ride for most of the week. I don’t think I could have taken much more of him. My father is riled up about this book, and he’s really riding me to move it along. And I do want to make it happen. I think it could be a really successful start to the series.”
    As I stared at him—and tried not to salivate—I could see that behind the well-groomed façade was a very exhausted guy. During the short encounter I’d had with Hank Boucher, I found him draining, so I could only imagine what it was like to spend days rather than just minutes or hours with the domineering chef. “Okay, so what’s your plan for putting the book together?”
    “Oh . . Kyle shifted in his chair. “I’m not clear on that yet. But I do have some ideas. Do you want to hear them?”
    I grinned. Kyle was disorganized, but he was eager and interested. I said, “Shoot.”
    “There are lots of cookbooks out already that feature the big-name restaurants and chefs. Certain restaurants in every major city are always showcased in magazine and newspaper articles. Over and over, they’re the ones that get the attention. Sometimes deservedly so. Sometimes not, if you ask me. I’d like to do something different with this book. What about the fantastic but unheard-of restaurant on a small side street that serves the best braised lamb shank? Or the neighborhood Greek place where the owner’s mother rolls out phyllo dough by hand every day? All the spectacular ethnic restaurants in this city that cook up some of the best food in Boston but never get the