“Bastard.”
I chuckled. Why did swearwords sound so refined when spoken by Derek?
“I guess it’s silly not to enjoy the evening,” I said.
“Yes,” Derek said, nodding. “We’ll order champagne to improve our mood—what do you say?”
Once the bottle was opened and our glasses were filled, we raised them in a toast to new experiences. As I sipped, I noticed the place was filled to capacity and a number of guests had begun table-hopping. Most of the people here seemed to know someone else in the room.
It made sense that many of the first week’s guests would be friends or business acquaintances of Baxter’s or the other chefs. Either that or serious foodies. I hoped that indicated that everyone would be extra appreciative of the food, for Savannah’s sake. I knew from firsthand experience that if they gave her strictly vegetarian menu a chance, they would fall in love with it.
It probably didn’t hurt that Savannah had been receiving rave reviews from every food critic in the Bay Area since she first opened Arugula. Some of these customers had to be here because of her, right? Not just because Baxter Cromwell had opened a new hot spot.
As I lifted my champagne glass for another sip, I saw another white-jacketed chef crossing the room and heading directly for me. I recognized him instantly and cried, “Peter!”
“Hello, you,” he said, spreading his arms to greet me.
Scooting out from the booth, I hugged him hard. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”
“I’m marvelous,” he said. His Devonshire accent was as distinctive as I remembered and he was even more adorable, if that was possible. “Kevin said you were out here, so I had to come see for myself.” He hugged me again and then twirled me around before setting me back on my feet. “This night can’t get any better.”
Over Peter’s shoulder I could see Derek’s eyebrows shooting up. I wondered if his reaction was due to his hearing yet another British accent or to the way Peter continued to cling to me.
I eased back from Peter, eager to introduce him to Derek. As they shook hands, I said to Derek, “Peter attended Le Cordon Bleu with Savannah and Kevin. And Baxter, of course.”
“Of course,” Peter said dryly. “Can’t forget Baxter now, can we?”
“Apparently not,” Derek muttered.
“Peter and Kevin shared a flat with Baxter and Savannah,” I explained. “They let me invade their living room for two long weeks that summer. I was such a pain.”
“You were sweet,” Peter said, nudging me gently. “We all got to be great friends.”
“Well, most of us did,” I said, reminded of the ugly sleeping bag incident with Baxter.
Peter apparently remembered, too, and glowered. “You should’ve let me kill him, Brooks.”
“I know. Silly of me.”
“And now you’ve gone and found yourself another Brit. Just to make me jealous, no doubt.” He tsked, then winked to make sure Derek understood it was all in fun. “Where do you hail from, mate?”
I smiled. Just as Kevin had done a few minutes ago, Peter was playing the British guessing game. His approach was more direct, though.
“A bit northwest of London,” Derek said cryptically. “And you?”
“Gipping-on-Plym, one of the tiniest villages in Devon.” Peter’s expression softened. “Smaller than your elbow but pretty as a picture. Forty miles northwest of Exeter, if you know the area. Middle of nowhere, but we boast a film festival, a rather interesting church museum, and a champion tar barrel racing team.”
“Both Kevin and Baxter grew up there, too,” I explained to Derek.
“And all three of you became chefs?”
“Yes,” Peter said. “Odd, isn’t it? But Kevin and I were always talking about food and cooking, so we finally decided to give it a go. Baxter just…well, he’s not exactly known for his original ideas.”
“You must have been good chums,” Derek remarked, ignoring the note of bitterness in Peter’s voice.
His eyes clouded reflectively. “At one time we were.”
Just then, I noticed yet another chef, a gorgeous blond woman whose chef jacket was still pristine white, greeting acquaintances at a nearby table. “Peter, who is that?”
Peter whipped around. “Ah. That’s Colette. Didn’t you meet her in Paris?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember her.”
“She’s married to Raoul. He’s here, too.”