Page 33 of Babydaddy To Go
“Yeah,” he says. “What do you think?”
“It’s huge!”
Nate blushes. “Yeah. It’s way too big for just me.”
Am I imagining the sadness in his voice at this admission? I would have thought Nate loved his mansion. He probably has ten guest rooms! I thought my one-bedroom apartment in the city was luxurious, but that’s nothing compared to Nate’s place. I’m embarrassed that he ever set foot in my meager dwelling.
“Shall we go inside?”
I assume Nate wants to change for his grand opening. Is it a fancy thing? I’m not exactly dressed for fancy in my black slacks and tank-top. Maybe I can wear my chef’s jacket? Then I might be confused with the actual chefs, but that’s better than being mistaken for a waitress.
The inside of Nate’s large house is brighter than I expected. The skylight lining the front hallway allows natural light to flood the first floor.
To the right is a dining room big enough to hold thirty people. My grandparents and I eat at a table against the wall, barely large enough for the three of us. Does Nate often eat alone at the head of this long table? Or does he bring home friends – or girls? – to keep him company?
“This is the living room,” Nate announces, pointing to our left. “It’s where I spend most of my time, aside from the kitchen.”
I nod, taking in the extravagant room. The TV wouldn’t fit through my apartment door. The smell of clean leather permeates the room. Staged on the table is one of Nate’s cookbooks and a home-décor magazine. It seems likely he hired someone to fill his home with furniture. It doesn’t feel lived in at all.
Behind the living room is the den. I didn’t know people had both living rooms and dens, but Nate does. The smaller room has a fireplace against one wall. Matching brown furniture sits comfortably throughout the room. Six large bookcases built into the walls house countless antique books. Are they first editions? I’ve read that first editions are worth a lot of money. How many does Nate have?
We exit the den back into the main hallway. Ahead of us is a sprawling staircase to the second floor, but Nate bypasses it.
“This is the kitchen,” he says. I follow him into the brightest room so far, which is saying a lot since the rest of the tour was blinding.
The kitchen is heaven. “Do you film your show here?” I ask, realizing it looks familiar.
“We did when it first started out, but we have a sound stage now. It’s all setup like my real kitchen, though.”
That’s for sure. A twelve foot granite countertop sits in the middle of a room almost as big as our kitchen classroom. Against the walls are state-of-the-art appliances. He has both a gas and electric stovetop. Beside those, there’s a full-sized pizza oven. Mixers of varying sizes sit covered against the wall, flanked by other important chef-equipment.
“This is incredible,” I gasp when I’ve finally found the words. “You get to cook here every day?”
Nate chuckles. “I rarely cook here unless I’m developing new recipes for a cookbook, and even that doesn’t happen often. I’m usually cooking in my restaurants or on the soundstage that the network set up for me.”
“That’s a shame,” I tell him. “All of this beautiful stuff goes to waste?”
“I bought most of it for the new show,” he says, referring toNate’s Kitchen, his most recent network program. He specializes in making expensive dishes in the home. It’s intimidating to watch. He’s great at teaching the methods necessary to make gourmet food even in the lamest of kitchens, but he’s surrounded by all this expensive cookware while he’s doing it. I must admit, sometimes the show felt disingenuous.
“Well, it’s beautiful. My kitchen in Maine is probably a quarter of this size, and we have zero counter space. I usually use the kitchen table or our glass stove top for prep.”
Nate winces. “You should never prep on a glass stovetop!”
“I don’t cut things,” I promise. “Just mix, spread, and beat. I wouldn’t dare damage the stove. It’s the most expensive thing we own.”
I expect Nate to look at me with pity, but he doesn’t. His eyes are filled with something that looks like lust, instead. “We’ll cook together here someday,” he swears. “For now, though, we have to get ready for the opening.”
I’d nearly forgotten about his new restaurant.
“Why haven’t I heard about this restaurant opening?”
“Because it’s New York’s best kept secret!” he informs me while walking towards the stairs. “We’ve had it listed under a dummy name. It won’t be unveiled as my restaurant until the doors open at seven tonight.”
“Devious!” I tease. “Why did you keep it a secret? You would’ve gotten way more press if they knew it was yours.”
“Because it’s a different direction than my other restaurants. It’s actually on-brand for my TV show, but we wanted to wait until it opened to make the connection. That way, if it tanks, it won’t be as hard to extricate myself.”
That’s a sad way to put it. Are they expecting Nate’s new restaurant to fail?