When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(52)
Author: Beth Kery

Francesca’s step faltered. “I’m so sorry. How awful.”

“Yeah. It was,” Elise said, breathing through the sudden pressure that tightened her throat. “It’s still kind of fresh. He died a little over six months ago. Michael Trent. That was his name.”

“Were you and he . . .”

“No,” Elise said, guessing what Francesca was about to say. “We were just friends. Really good friends. In fact, he was one of the few friends I’ve ever had in my life, I’m ashamed to say,” she added shakily. She covered her discomposure with a bright smile. “I used to choose friends very poorly. Or they chose me unwisely. Maybe both.”

“I’m sure that’s all changing now.”

“Thanks,” Elise replied gratefully. “I’d like to think so, anyway. Michael really changed the way I looked at things. Not just his death, or the realization of how impermanent, how fragile life is. His life changed me. I know people have a preconceived idea about heroin abusers, but Michael wasn’t a stereotype of anything. He was unique. Wonderful. I met him at chef’s school. He was the most talented of us all—a true culinary poet—but he never hesitated to offer any of us support and help when we were struggling. He just had this demon. He did battle with heroin addiction daily. Hourly. He finally succumbed to that monster, but his life had meaning. He counted. To me, he did.”

She swallowed thickly and blinked the bright sunshine out of her eyes.

“And so you want to create this restaurant as a tribute to your friend’s life?” Francesca asked soberly.

“Yes. But it’s more than that,” Elise said quietly. “My life was going nowhere when I met Michael. I was a shell, empty on the inside. I might not have had as malignant of a demon as heroin abuse to conquer, but my life was spiraling out of control. He infused hope into me . . . meaning. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”

“He must have been very special.”

“He was,” Elise said, striving to control her emotions and succeeding. “So that’s why I came up with this plan for the restaurant. It’d be great. Family members and friends of people struggling with addiction often feel like they can’t take their loved ones out anywhere for dining and entertainment, for fear of triggering a relapse. This would be a place where people could go without worrying. Michael told me that in rehab, they learn a lot about nutritious food and cooking. Their bodies get really run-down from all those chemicals. A lot of them turn into foodies—like Michael did—but have nowhere to go and celebrate their love of food and dining. It all sort of goes together really well.”

She glanced anxiously at Francesca, worried one incredulous or condemning look would silence her idea forever. Francesca hardly seemed disdainful, however.

“What a fantastic idea. You know who else it’d be great for? Dieters. Or not dieters, necessarily, but people trying to have healthier eating habits. It’d have everything. They could dress up and show off their new bodies; they wouldn’t have to worry about the extra calories of the liquor and they could go dance off their dinners,” Francesca said, grinning.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Elise said.

“Overeaters are addicts, too,” Francesca said, her knowing manner piquing Elise’s interest.

“You say that like you have some personal knowledge on the matter,” she said, echoing what Francesca had said earlier.

“I do,” Francesca said matter-of-factly. “I was an emotional eater as a child. Very overweight. It’s one of the reasons I took up jogging when I went to college.”

“It helped you with your addiction?”

“It helped me take back control of my body. My life. Well, I love the idea. You know who you should ask for help with the idea? Lucien.” When Elise didn’t immediately respond, Francesca turned to study her. It just so happened they were nearing the tall tower where Lucien—where she—lived.

“Don’t you think that’d be a good idea? He has a surprising amount of contacts here in the city. Ian always says he can’t believe he just moved here last year, the number of people he knows. Ian also has mentioned Lucien was at the center of the entertainment and restaurant scene in Paris. He’s well on his way to becoming a hub here in Chicago, too.” Something seemed to occur to her. “Hey . . . did you ever meet Lucien before you came to Chicago? Did you ever go to his restaurant there? Ian says it’s very popular with the late-night crowd.”

“Renygat?” Elise asked. It would be strange for her not to be familiar with Lucien’s landmark restaurant if she’d lived in Paris. It’d be okay for her to at least acknowledge its existence. “I think I went once,” she said elusively, staring distractedly at Lucien’s building. She was thinking about what Lucien had said last night about asking for what she wanted. She’d been thinking about that a lot.

Should she bring up her idea with Lucien? She hadn’t yet because it made her feel far too vulnerable. It would hurt, to see doubt on his face in regard to her proposal. It was one thing to put herself on the line to Francesca. She was a new acquaintance.

Lucien, though—that was different.

“That’s Lucien’s building, isn’t it?”

Elise blinked, rising from her thoughts. “Uh . . . maybe. I think it might be.” She noticed Francesca’s amused, wry glance. “What?”

Francesca rolled her eyes. “Come on, Elise. You really can’t believe that I think you’re so casually aware of the details of Lucien’s life.”

Elise’s heart seemed to bound ahead of her feet. She almost faltered. “Why wouldn’t you believe that?”

“Just an observation,” Francesca said. “There’s some pretty strong chemistry between the two of you.” She glanced aside and saw Elise’s open-mouthed look of incredulity. “He can’t take his eyes off you whenever you’re near. Ian has noticed it too.”

“He . . . he has?” Oh no. Lucien was going to be so irritated.

“Yeah. But it’s no big deal, is it?” Francesca asked when she noticed her stricken expression.

“No, I just . . .we thought we’d been discreet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Francesca said confidentially. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business. But just so you know, I think it’s fantastic. He’s a wonderful man.” Francesca gave her a gleaming sideways glance. “And sooo gorgeous. And that voice . . . the accent—so sexy. Well, you have the accent, too, so I guess you don’t think it’s as hot as we would here in the States, but—”