“Eeeeeeep! Gianni Lupo!”
I blinked at her as she stared at Gianni and jumped up and down, the messy bun on the top of her head coming loose. Then I looked at Gianni—did he know this girl?—but he seemed as bewildered as I was.
“Hadley! Did you get the door?”
Behind the exuberant teen, a woman appeared, wearing an apron over black pants and a red silk blouse. I knew right away it was Fiona Duff because I’d stalked her online obsessively over the past couple weeks, learning her favorite wines, her pairing preferences, her likes and dislikes.
She was even more intimidating than in her photos—tall and thin, with attractive, angular features and dark hair styled in a smooth, chic bob.
“Hadley,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you invite them in?”
“Sorry, Mom. But look who it is!”
“I apologize for my daughter’s manners,” she said, motioning us inside. “I’m Fiona Duff. You must be from Abelard?”
“Yes,” I said, as we stepped into the foyer. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ellie Fournier. And this is—”
“It’s Gianni Lupo, Mom!” her daughter squealed, bouncing up and down again. “From Lick My Plate! You know—the ‘too hot to handle’ guy!”
Fiona’s face suddenly lit up too. “Is it really?”
“Nice to meet you.” Gianni held out his hand, and they both shook it, Hadley’s cheeks turning pink, my stomach turning over.
“Gianni is the chef at Abelard’s new restaurant, Etoile,” I said, “but since we’re closed tonight, he offered to make the drive with me and help out.”
“How nice.” Fiona smiled broadly at Gianni. “We haven’t been to Etoile yet, but I’ve heard so many good things. And I’ve just started watching Lick My Plate. Hadley has been telling me for months that I need to binge it, and I’m sorry I resisted—I’m addicted now!”
“You are?” I couldn’t help being surprised. Fiona seemed like a person who preferred Roquefort with a fresh baguette, and Lick My Plate was Cheez Whiz on a Ritz cracker. （Although, for the record, I loved Cheez Whiz on Ritz crackers.）
“Of course I am.” She laughed. “It’s such good, campy fun! The intersection of culinary and popular culture. I think most people in this industry take food and wine way too seriously. And chefs are the hottest new celebrities.” She shimmied her shoulders.
“I wouldn’t call myself a celebrity,” said Gianni in this aw-shucks voice I’d never heard him use before. “Just a chef. But tonight, I’m only here to assist Ellie.”
“I wish I’d have known you were available this evening.” Fiona looked distressed. “I did all the food myself, but I’d have hired you to cook in a heartbeat.”
“I did prepare something for tonight, but—”
“You did?” Fiona clasped her hands together. “Did you really?”
“It’s nothing fancy, just some prawn and chive dumplings with sake butter that could work as an appetizer maybe, but don’t feel—”
“I’m delighted,” Fiona assured him with a smile.
“Mom, can I come to dinner?” Hadley asked in a rush.
Her mother faced her, hands on her hips. “Earlier, you said you’d rather eat dirt than attend another one of my boring Monday night dinner parties.”
“I changed my mind.” Hadley glanced at Gianni and giggled.
Fiona rolled her eyes and gestured at her daughter’s attire. “Well, you’re not coming to my dinner table dressed like that, so go clean up if you want to attend. You can sit at your father’s place since his flight was delayed, and he won’t make it home on time to eat with us.”
“Okay.” After giving Gianni one last adoring look, Hadley raced up the stairs.
Sighing, Fiona watched her go. “I thought the terrible twos were bad, but seventeen is ten times worse. She drives me crazy.”
I laughed politely. “I think I drove my mother crazy at seventeen too.”
“Although it’s hard to blame her for being excited.” Fiona smiled at Gianni like I wasn’t even there. “And my guests will be thrilled. They’re not quite here yet, but let me show you where the kitchen is.”
“We have some things to bring in,” I said, feeling like I’d invited myself to Gianni’s job and not the other way around. “Cases of wine and glasses. Where would you like us to put them?”