“Oh, Frank, Seth and I can stay out there with the dogs,” Mom said.
Vi nudged me in the ribs. “It’s just you and me now.”
The knitters dispersed to the lounge to continue their projects.
“Nice sweater, dude,” Seth said and couldn’t hide his smirk.
“If you’re jealous, I’m sure one of the ladies could make you one,” Mac said.
“Um, no.” Seth shivered dramatically. “So, do they have any food around here?”
17
Mom went to pack her bag and we left the dogs with Vi. The knitters dispersed to put their things away before their break. Seth, Mac, and I wandered to the kitchen to check on timing for lunch—I figured they’d be getting ready to serve it soon.
Emmett stood at the long worktable arranging sandwich supplies for the buffet. René entered through the other door, lugging a large pot of red soup. He and Emmett had loaded coolers with all the perishables and they kept them outside in the snow. Based on their muttering I deduced it wasn’t going very well.
“Hi, René,” I said. “We have a hungry newcomer—any chance he could get an early sandwich from the lunch buffet?” I asked.
René turned and looked Seth over. “Sure, anyone who arrives on a snowmobile should at least get a sandwich.”
Emmett pulled the rest of the things out of the cooler to show Seth the choices. Seth stepped forward to help and the two of them began discussing sandwich fixings.
René had set the large pot on the floor when he closed the door. He bent down and started to lift it onto the stove. Mac stepped forward to help and they carried it across the kitchen.
I heard a crash from the other side of the door and Vi’s voice raised in alarm.
Jessica cracked the door open and said, “Help!” and just as I turned to see what was wrong, a white streak flew into the room straight at René.
The cat jumped up onto his chest and climbed up to his shoulders, where she sat hissing in the direction of the door. René tried to get a better grip on the pot with a cat stuck to his neck. Just as I started toward René to help with the cat, the door flew open and Baxter charged in with a deep bark. He ran at the chef and the cat. René backed up until he hit the table. He dropped the pot, and Mac’s grip slipped as well. They sprayed a good amount of bouillabaisse all over the kitchen and themselves. The cat continued to hiss and must have been digging in its claws if René’s shouts were any indication.
A stream of angry French ensued and I was glad that I didn’t understand a word he said.
Baxter slipped in the mess on the floor and then began sampling it. Mac stood looking shocked as the red liquid soaked into his jeans.
At that moment, Wally entered the kitchen through the swinging door from the dining room. He carried a large, several-tiered cake and was backing into the room with it.
Duchess hissed again. Baxter looked up from his soup and narrowed his eyes. Duchess launched herself at Wally and Baxter followed. Wally was caught off guard and threw his hands up to protect himself from Baxter. The cake went flying. Wally ended up covered in frosting and Baxter began gulping down bites of cake.
“Not Isabel’s cake!” Jessica cried. She hurried forward but stopped when she started to slip in the frosting.
Duchess ran toward Seth and attached herself to his neck. Baxter gave chase again and I stepped in front of him to stop his progress. I grabbed his collar.
“Baxter!” I scolded. “Sit!”
Baxter looked at me mutinously, but sat.
“Look at what you did,” I said. Baxter hung his head and refused to look at me.
René, Mac, and Wally were covered in either bouillabaisse or frosting.
Tuffy had wandered in as well and hid behind Seth’s legs, growling.
“We must get these animals out of the kitchen!” René said, his face almost as red as the soup.
I dragged Baxter to the door. Vi was there and took the dog. I handed her some paper towels to wipe the soup and frosting off his feet. Tuffy followed Baxter and cast a menacing glance backward at Duchess.
René stood with his arms out, surveying the damage to his chef’s whites.
“I don’t know how that cat always finds me. It’s like she knows I don’t like cats and does it to spite me.”
“You’re covered in soup,” Jessica said. She dabbed ineffectually at the red spots.
René was already stripping his chef’s smock off. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt underneath and I spotted a fleur-de-lis tattoo on his upper arm.
“Cool,” Seth said. He pointed to the tattoo. “Are you from Quebec?”
René tilted his head at Seth as if trying to figure out how he had come to that conclusion. He glanced at his arm and shrugged a new smock over his head.
“No, I am from France,” René said.