Absinthe novel Chapter 32

"I'm really sorry, Rob."

"Don't worry, I understand."

"I called Derrick. He's on his way now. Please do enjoy the rest of the evening with him. I'm really, really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Robert smiled as I kissed him on the cheek. I mouthed one last sorry before rushing toward the entrance and riding the taxi the maître d' had procured for me.

It was annoying that I didn't get to finish the amazing food at Le Chaumiere. I shuddered at the thought of Nico's skill level. And it was even more disappointing that I wouldn't be able to spend the night with Rob. After all, I'd prepared for it by cleansing myself thoroughly down there.

But there was no use crying over spilled milk now. And I shouldn't have been thinking about failed sexcapades! I'd just gotten asked by the Chef Maxwell Olivier to cook desserts for his restaurant. That was an honor no amount of shagging could replace, even if it was with hot half English Rob!

However, when I reached Chef Maxwell's, I felt as though something was wrong. For one, the parking lot seemed emptier than I had expected. Where were the fancy cars for diplomats?

I paid the fare and tipped the driver handsomely before rushing in.

The whole place was empty. Seriously, I had no idea what the hell was going on. Was there some hidden function hall I didn't know about?

I walked further inside, toward the special area right in the middle of the restaurant. There, the transparent ceiling was accentuated by a gigantic live tree, with flowering vines hanging all over the place.

It was the best spot in the entire restaurant. When I glanced at the table behind the tree, there was a guy sitting there. His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face, but I noticed that he was handsomely dressed. He seemed tall, too, with slender yet athletic legs framed perfectly by an amazing set of trousers whose brand I couldn't quite put my finger on. And don't get me started with the breadth of his shoulders—the mere sight of them made me weak.

In other words, I was only a few steps away from an impossibly handsome man.

For a moment, I thought I had said that adjective out loud because before turning and looking at me, the stranger at the table said it.

"Hey, handsome."

It was Jiwoo.

He stood up, walked toward me, took my hand, and gently led me to the table. He pulled out the empty seat next to him and motioned for me to sit.

As if on cue, Chef Maxwell and two other members of his staff approached and greeted us.

"Good evening. My name is Maxwell Ollivier, your chef for this evening."

"Good evening. My name is Rachel Samonte, and I will be your head attendant for tonight."

"Good evening, sirs. I am Gabriel Montalban. I will also be attending to your needs for tonight."

They all smiled before Rachel and Chef Maxwell bowed themselves out. Gabriel stayed and raised an unmistakable golden bottle with an engraved spade symbol in the middle of it—I was 100% sure it was Armand de Brignac Brut Gold! That costs more than 2,000 dollars!

"Champagne, messieurs ?"

Jiwoo nodded and gestured toward the chair again.

I wanted to make a scene at that very moment, scream and walk out on Jiwoo, but the champagne was to die for, and I was tempted to drink no fewer than three bottles. I needed to get revenge for Chef Maxwell's lies!

Once Jiwoo and I were both seated, Gabriel expertly opened the bottle with a soft pop. He then proceeded to pour a generous amount into two peculiar-looking glasses before putting the champagne back in an exquisite crystal champagne cooler sitting on a beautiful side table.

I took a sip of the sparkling wine and studied the glass it was in. It wasn't the typical flute most restaurants used for champagne. It wasn't a coupe, either, which was what I had seen earlier at Le Chaumiere. It looked like a typical glass wine, but the stem was longer, and there was a depth to the glass akin to a flute.

"It's called a tulip," Jiwoo said. He must have been watching me. "We had the same thing at the Hilton. We only use it to serve VIPs when they order champagne costing $1,000 and up."

"A tulip, huh?" Indeed, the glass resembled a tulip bulb.

"Do you like the champagne?"

I nodded. "You seem to know your alcohol."

"Not really. But I did work in the hospitality industry, so I've been trained for these things."

"Why are we here?" I asked as I put down my glass. "I thought I told you that I have neither the time nor the energy to play around with you."

"Play around? That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"And what you did wasn't?" I asked, remembering what Jiwoo had done that day and instantly feeling the anger rise in my chest.

"Can you humor me, then? If you think I'm playing around, let's play a literal game."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"C'mon. It'll be interesting. We'll guess the ingredients in each of the dishes they'll serve. Whoever does so correctly gets to ask the other person any question, and the loser has to answer truthfully."

"Why the hell would I want to do that?"

"Because you'd know how I really feel." Jiwoo was looking not at me but rather at his hands.

"And what makes you think I'm interested in how you feel?"

"Because it has everything to do with what I feel for you."

How.

On earth.

Could he say such a thing with a straight face?

For three fucking months, I had kept my cool despite my anger and had avoided Jiwoo. Yet, he had not made a single move to dispel the bad blood between us. And now he wanted to talk about how he felt?

Rachel came back with what looked like the best appetizer on the fucking planet. There was caviar on top of quail eggs from the looks of it, and those were resting on some crispy fried noodles in the shape of a nest.

"Messieurs ," Rachel said. "This is our ca—"

"Sorry, Rachel," interrupted Jiwoo. "We'd like to guess what the ingredients are after tasting the dish. Can you confirm which of us is correct?"

Rachel smiled. "Definitely, monsieur." She gave me the dish first before doing the same with Jiwoo. It made me recoil on the inside because in traditional French dining, ladies are served first.

"Ready?" Jiwoo asked. I figured I had no choice but to play along. I took a bite, and the intense flavor of smoke coming from the soft-boiled quail egg filled my palate. The saltiness of the caviar reminded me of the sea. There was also the unmistakable presence of cumin in the nest made with taro yam as well as the nutty flavor of sesame.

After I described everything I tasted, a grin appeared on Rachel's face.

"Very good, monsieur. Our first course is indeed mini taro nests infused with cumin and deep-fried in sesame oil, with soft-boiled quail eggs smoked in applewood and topped with caviar."

"I didn't stand a chance," Jiwoo said, smiling as well. "You get to ask your question."

Rachel cleared the table and refilled our glasses before disappearing back into the kitchen. There was soft piano music playing in the background, and for some odd reason, there were visible stars in the sky. The transparent roofing of Chef Maxwell's restaurant is truly magical at night.