Page 43 of Infidelity Rules

Daily Special

Frisée salad with blue cheese crumbles, crisp bacon and poached egg

Beouf Bourguignon

Parsley butter mashed potatoes

Tonight’s wine pairing is a breeze. Beef Bourguignon is literally beef cooked in red Burgundy, so there really is no other wine to serve with this dish. In fact, I won’t even allow it. It would be criminal to drink anything else. I hope my guests feel the same.

It’s a chilly winter evening so Chef could not have picked a better night to serve this hearty, rich stew.

It’s one of my many favorite cold weather dishes and Chef’s version rivals those I’ve had in France.

In fact, his is one of my favorites. He doesn’t take any shortcuts, so the long-simmered meat falls apart with a simple nudge of a fork.

He marries it with the requisite browned pearl onions and mushrooms, rendering it all into a luscious, beefy, winey stew.

It never fails to remind me why I am not and could never be, a vegetarian.

We’re not packed tonight as I think a lot of people stayed home due to the cold.

It’s definitely a good night for pajamas and take-out in front of the fire, which is exactly what Marcus and I did a few nights ago at his hotel.

Pizza, red wine and PJ’s. My face starts to feel hot and flushed just thinking about it.

We followed up the night with blueberry pancakes and bacon in bed the next morning while watching the season’s first snowfall.

Sometimes I feel as if everything I have with Marcus is simply too good to be true.

I’m waiting for it to all come crashing down around me.

But then I remember, it actually is too good to be true.

He’s married. And I’m his mistress. And I’m still not sure if I want to be anything more than that.

Sigh. We didn’t discuss Juliette at all during our pizza and wine night. An unspoken, mutual decision, I think. Avoiding the subject keeps things so peaceful. In fact, her name hasn’t come up since “Taco Night.”

I am jolted back to reality by Chef grabbing me by the shoulders and marching me into the kitchen. “Sit. Eat,” he says, handing me a small bowl of the beef stew. “You look peaked.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say, gratefully diving into the steaming bowl of beef and vegetables. “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow. This is so good.” And it is. Comforting, too.

Chef beams and nods, handing me the heel of a baguette. “To wipe up the sauce. I can’t have you licking the bowl.”

“You know I would, too,” I say, taking the crusty hunk of bread.

“Yes,” Chef nods, sighing and shaking his head. “I’m well aware you were apparently raised in a barn,” he says, turning back into the thick of his kitchen.

I laugh. I know he’s just pretending to be exasperated. He loves it when anyone adores his food. And what’s more flattering than somebody licking the plate it was so good?

I soak up the last bit of sauce and then do a quick table check in the dining room.

My guests seem settled and happy, most of them enjoying the stew and good red wine.

One couple appears to be arguing over what to order, so I give them a few minutes to settle down. I get a few more tables squared away with wine pairings and finish pouring the last of the wine for a six-top before making a quick stop to see Julian.

“Q,” he says, nodding at me as he looks up from behind the bar. “Slow night.”

I nod. “It’s the weather. This is the kind of night you want to be cuddled up at home with the person you love.”

Julian nods again. “You haven’t wrapped up already, have you?”

“No. I wish. I’m ready to go home and get cozy myself,” I say, yawning. “I’ve had a few too many late nights.”

“Let me guess, the pilot?” he asks, smirking.

“Is there anyone else?”

“I never know with you.” He winks at me. “But I always seem to find out more fun stuff whenever you stop by at the end of the night.”

“Very funny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I suppose it’s true though. Maybe I ought to skip the after-work chat tonight.”

“Your call. But I recommend stopping by even for just a minute.”

I look up and he’s holding an envelope with my name scrawled across in a familiar script.

Marcus.

“Wait, when did you get that? When was he here?”

Julian just smiles and shrugs. “I have strict orders not to give you this until the end of your shift tonight.”

I shake my head and grumble, “Men,” as I return to check on my tables. “I’ll be back,” I say over my shoulder.

“Don’t I know it,” he says with a grin.

I wish all these people would hurry up and finish their food and chug their wine.

My brain has officially departed. I haven’t seen Marcus since our pizza and wine night at his hotel, so when did he stop by?

I know he’s flying tonight, perhaps he caught Julian when he first arrived to set up the bar.

I jet around the dining room and see that most of my tables are wrapping up — hallelujah!

The couple that was arguing apparently left in a snit, so that’s one less table I need to worry about.

Although I do feel sort of bad I never had the chance to stop by and offer booze.

A bit of distraction and a little wine may have saved their evening.

I watch my tables in pumped anticipation of the moment they all clear out. It’s like I’m hunkered down in the racing blocks on the track before the starting gun fires. I’m coiled and ready to sprint to Julian. And my love note.

My sheer delight in Marcus just seems to know no bounds. It hasn’t dimmed at all. Even now, my pulse is practically skipping over itself just thinking about him sitting down to pen me a letter.

Finally. Finally my tables clear out and I’m in front of Julian in what feels like an instant. I flop breathlessly onto a barstool and start tapping my fingers impatiently.

Julian just smirks and continues polishing glasses and bar tools.

“A little excited, are we Q?”

“Come on, man. You cannot be serious.”

“Simmer down, Q, simmer down,” he says, pouring me my after-dinner Cognac and setting me up with a bowl of olives and nuts.

Julian hands me the note.

“Did Marcus say whether he wanted me to open it here or at home?” I ask, now wondering if I should wait.

Julian shakes his head. “Only instructions were to give it to you at the end of the night.”

“What should I do?”

“Your call. I can give you some privacy if you like.”

I eyeball my glass of Cognac and the bowl of olives and nuts and decide to stay and read. I’m both hungry and thirsty and there’s no way my body can handle the excitement of waiting any longer.

“You’re good,” I say to Julian, beckoning him to continue with his evening wrap up. “There’s nothing you don’t know about us at this point.”

I’m about to open the envelope when Julian tells me that Dezi just walked in.

“What?” I ask, putting the note aside and turning to see that, sure enough, Dezi is practically skipping towards me, stilettos and all.

“I’m engaged,” she sings, thrusting her blinding, diamond-clad hand at me. “Elliot asked me to marry him.”

“Oh Dezi,” I say, jumping up and pulling her in for a tight hug. “Congratulations! That is such great news! I am beyond excited for you.” I look up to signal Julian for some Champagne and I see he’s already on it.

Dezi is beaming and I couldn’t be happier for my friend.

“Now let me see that rock,” I say, grabbing Dezi’s hand. “Holy crap that is gorgeous. Wow. Elliot knocked it out of the park with this one.”

“He did,” says Dezi, gazing at her dazzling new ring. “I’m still in shock, I think, but I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Did he propose while you were in Virginia doing the wine country thing?”

Dezi nods. “At the Inn at Little Washington. He surprised me with an overnight stay. And dinner!”

I’m utterly speechless for a moment.

“Did you just say the Inn at Little Washington?” I ask, referring to the well-known historical inn with its world-class, award-winning restaurant and chef. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a reservation at that hotel? Let alone the restaurant?”

Dezi nods, her face exploding in a smile.

“He’s a keeper, my friend,” I say, smiling at her.

Julian pours us each a glass of bubbly, tells Dezi congratulations and then makes himself scarce.

“Now sit,” I say, pulling out a stool for Dezi. “And tell me everything. Every. Last. Thing. From the beginning.”

Dezi happily obliges, clearly delighted to pour over the details and relive the experience. She fills me in on the day of wine tastings, the surprise detour to the inn and the proposal on bended knee at sunset.

“He had everything perfectly planned out. A beautiful room, a roaring fire and the most fabulous sunset walk in the gardens. I thought we were just doing a day trip, so he even packed a bag for me.”

I shake my head in awe. “Could he be any more romantic?”

“I know, right? It was so perfect it still feels unreal. He told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life loving me and putting a smile on my face.”

“Did you have any clue?” I ask, curious if she had any inkling that something was up.

I’ve always found it interesting that most women I know had some idea that a proposal was looming because the guy starts acting weird.

And, of course, there are the women who know it’s coming soon because they badger their live-in boyfriends with ultimatums and drop ridiculous “hints” like circling engagement rings in magazines and leaving the pages open.

Or “accidentally” sending links to Blue Nile’s engagement ring website.

For the record, I had no clue that my ex-husband, Chris, was going to propose.

Looking back, I think it’s just because I didn’t feel that kind of chemistry with him so it never occurred to me that he might ask me to marry him.

Boy was I stupid.

But, for the most part, it seems like a tremendous feat to pull off a true surprise proposal and I think Elliot just nailed it.