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

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 candle-light? 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 Telluride 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 spotlight? There are some very talented chefs who work at places that never get the attention they should because they don’t have the financial means to market themselves and to buy high-priced ads in Boston Magazine. ”
    I nodded eagerly. “That’s brilliant, Kyle. Hidden treasures. We could spotlight unknown chefs and get recipes from restaurants that really deserve praise.”
    “As much as I love eating at restaurants like this one, the chef and the owner here don’t need the publicity. And honestly? Half the time the food at these places is so overrated that it’s obscene. Most of what’s in that box I brought to your house are pieces I started on chefs at those unheard- of places. I’d like to focus on the small places that diners would love if they knew about them.”
    “Yes, but from a marketing standpoint, I think we should do a mix of high-end, well-known restaurants