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Geralt had announced at the bi-monthly Sunday roast, the first he’d managed to attend in four or five months, he couldn’t quite recall, that he was finally ready to move to Beauclair. He’d been missing way too many roasts in the last decade, been missing his siblings and his dad, been missing Roach too much ever since Vesemir had moved South after he’d retired. He’d sold his baking shop to one of the bakers who’d apprenticed under him and had shown interest in running the business. Geralt, on the other hand, was so done with the business end of things, he just wanted to bake and cook, thank you very much.
Lambert had muttered something along the lines of ‘About damn time’ under his breath before speaking louder and telling Geralt to send him an up-to-date copy of his curriculum vitae as soon as he could, whilst Eskel asked if he’d picked a house already and enquired as to when Ciri and Cerys would come for a visit so that they organised a proper housewarming party that everyone could attend.
A month later his brother had sent him a text message with an address, a date and a time. Geralt, still drowning in bubble wrap and packing material, had input the information in his planner, replied to Lambert with a thumb-up emoji and continued packing his life in boxes.
There were only three other staff that Geralt could see in the semi-opened kitchen when he entered the restaurant on his first day of work. He was a bit early, but he knew how important it was to make a good first impression, no matter how qualified his CV said he was.
He glanced around the dining area but there was no one there. Granted, they probably didn’t expect him for another half hour so they might be busy elsewhere. He made his way to the bar towards the back of the room and sat on a stool with a view of the kitchen and a narrow corridor with a series of doors.
He didn’t have to wait for long before one of them opened and he stood up. The blond that came out spotted him immediately, smiling warmly and extending a hand the second she’d closed the distance between them.
‘You must be Geralt! Keira Metz, front-of-house manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Le Panache! Your references are remarkable, and Lambert said you’d “probably do an alright job”—and isn’t that high praise in and of itself coming from him?’ Her handshake was firm, just long enough. She wore a dark teal, skinny trousers and jacket suit with a gold-thread-embroidered indigo waistcoat and a dark burgundy shirt. And killer shoes to match. She seemed both bold and self-possessed and he liked the vibes he was getting from her.
‘One of the highest praise he’s ever bestowed on anyone, I’d wager,’ he said with a shake of his head. Of course, Lambert would find a way to chirp him whilst also finding him a new job at a high-end restaurant. He wondered how he’d met Keira. She seemed to know Lambert well enough to understand the hidden meaning behind his rather harsh assessment of his person if nothing else. Geralt made a mental note to ask Lambert about it on Sunday. ‘Geralt de Riv, nice to meet you too, Keira. I wish I could return the compliment, but Lambert has been mum about his ties to this place.’
She harrumphed and rolled her eyes, unimpressed but also seemingly unsurprised. ‘Ugh! Silly, prickly man.’ Geralt laughed, commiserating with her. After a moment, she shook her head fondly. ‘We can talk about Lambert’s peculiarities at length over a drink or two once we’ve dealt with all the paperwork and you’ve met the staff?’ He nodded. ‘Excellent! If you’ll follow me to my office we can get started on that.’
She lead him to the room she’d vacated earlier and gestured for him to go on in. ‘I’ll be right back.’
He stepped inside and looked around. It was a brightly light office, with a few potted plants on floating shelves and a large window. There were a few chairs around a mostly uncluttered desk on which sat a running laptop and a printer, but he could also spot some personal touches here and there on some bookshelves and on top of the cabinet.
Keira returned with a fancy tray loaded with a selection of mini fresh fruit tarts, crème brûlées, and biscuits on a plate, a coffee pot, a tea kettle, water, loose-leaf tea tins, as well as more trimmings and accoutrements than Geralt had expected. ‘Please do help yourself to anything. Some of the staff came in early today so these would be ready before you arrived,’ she said pointing at the sweets. The glimmer of amusement in her eyes made him smile and he picked a raspberry and pastry cream tart.
He broke it in half, his attention focused on the shell. ‘Nice consistency, good docking, even golden colour.’ He brought one half closer to his face, a waft of berries and vanilla filling his nose before he put it in his mouth and chewed pensively. ‘Hmmm. Buttery, crumbly shell, not too sweet, and a touch of salt. No soggy bottom. The cream has a good flavour but it could do with a little more vanilla sugar, to balance the raspberries. Great textural contrast between the components.’ He stuffed the rest of the tart in his mouth and enjoyed it quietly, before pouring himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip, before looking at Keira again. ‘I did not expect a wooing on my first day. Why am I being wooed?’
Keira couldn’t help herself and laughed. ‘Your reputation precedes you to Le Panache, Geralt. A few of our chefs de partie have been covering our collective arses whilst we found a suitable replacement for Jean-Christophe, and they did a very decent job of it I might add, but they are very happy at the prospect of giving their respective stations one hundred per cent of their time and effort and letting an actual pâtissier take the reins once more.’
Geralt's face felt hot suddenly, he was pretty sure he was blushing. ‘Well, colour me flattered.’
‘Excellent! Shall we go over the schedule and the menu, then?’
‘Yes, let’s.’
It took an hour or so to get most of the formalities—Geralt hadn’t worked in a restaurant in over a decade but things hadn’t changed all that much he came to realise as they went over the restaurant’s current offerings. Keira had given him a folder with all of Jean-Christophe’s recipes for him to use until they’d all adjusted and were ready to introduce his creations to their esteemed patrons, and a copy of the usual order they’d send their food suppliers with the express permission to tweak it as required based on the new menu items.
Coming up with a new dessert menu would take time, he knew that and wasn’t in a hurry. He had some ideas, but they would need to test out how some of his recipes would translate in a restaurant environment, during the dinner rush. But he was looking forward to it.
By the time they were done in the office, he’d tried all the assorted sweets Keira had brought for him to try, had drunk two cups of coffee and he was almost jittery with pent-up energy. He wanted to see the kitchen and meet the team that he’d work with.
Keira led him first to the staff breakroom and showed him his appointed locker where he could leave his things, and she waited for him whilst he changed. If he was going to spend time in the kitchen, he was doing it properly. Checkered trousers, a white jacket and a dark grey beanie later, he was following Keira through a set of swinging doors and suddenly there was noise everywhere, people shouting, music blasting, knives chopping away, buzzing energy everywhere and he got goosebumps.
Keira clapped her hands. ‘Everyone if I could have your attention please?’ It took a few seconds but he swore he’d hear a pin drop given how silent the kitchen had become. ‘This is Geralt de Riv, our new chef pâtissier. Incidentally, also Lambert’s brother.’ He could hear some laughter. Why did all these people know his brother? Lambert would have some explaining to do.
Geralt awkwardly waved a hand. ‘Hi.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ He tried to make eye contact with everyone. ‘I’m sure you’ll have a thing or two to teach me over the next couple of weeks, looking forward to it.’ Chuckles. Good. ‘That being said,’ he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, ‘can I have a word with those of you who took over Jean-Christophe’s station, please? Thank you.’
Keira patted his arm a few times and smiled at him. ‘Stop by my office before leaving after your shift? I’ll introduce you to Regis, our chef de cuisine.’ He nodded, as she made her way out of the kitchen.
‘Of course. See you later, Keira.’
By the time he turned back toward the kitchen, the noise level had gone back to what it was before Keira’s interruption and only three people were waiting close by, everyone else was back at work.
‘Keira mentioned you went out of your way to get some samples done before I arrived. You didn’t have to, I would still have taken the job.’ He hoped the humour came through despite his deadpan tone.
A woman with short black hair and pale eyes who vaguely reminded him of Yennefer stepped forward. ‘Syanna, entremétier. I blame Jaskier for everything,’ she said, gesturing at one of the two men standing behind her with her thumb before making a quick exit with a small frown. ‘Sorry, must dash. Prep work ain’t gonna do itself.’
A man with a rather imposing moustache stepped into the spot where Syanna had stood. ‘Damien, garde manger.’ He leaned forward to shake Geralt’s hand and spoke quietly. ‘Between you and I? I think we did alright.’ He winked, then resumed his stance and spoke louder. ‘I also blame Jaskier if anything wasn’t to your liking!’ Geralt could see the man behind Damien huffing and puffing with outrage. ‘See you around the kitchen, Geralt. Just ask if you need anything!’ He waved as he made his way back to his station.
There was a single man left. Medium brown hair, large, blue eyes, expressive face. ‘The already infamous Jaskier, I presume?’ The other man rolls his eyes good-heartedly, then shook Geralt’s hand.
‘Jaskier, saucier extraordinaire, and amateur boulanger, at your service,’ the other man introduced himself and followed with a deep and fancy bow. ‘I hope the tarts did not disappoint? Those damn shells have been giving me nightmares for the best part of the last two months! Nightmares, Geralt!’
Geralt chuckled and shook her head. ‘You’re fine, the shells were good.’ He could see the relief on the other man’s face. ‘The pastry cream on the other hand...’ He let his voice trail off, face impassive as Jaskier started stammering about following recipes down to a T but he couldn’t keep a straight face for very long and broke into a smile. ‘I’m just teasing. Everything was delicious. You should be proud of yourself.’
Jaskier shook a finger at him. ‘Oh, I see how it is! You think you’re funny, Geralt de Riv?’ He drew close and poked Geralt’s chest. ‘Please take note that you owe me at least two bottles of good red wine and half a dozen desserts I haven’t had to make myself for all I’ve had to endure.’ He rested the back of his right hand against his forehead with a heavy sigh, but some noise coming from deeper in the kitchen caught his attention. ‘Melitele’s heavenly tits, my velouté!’ He locked eyes with Geralt. ‘Remember Geralt, two bottles!’ He scampered away shouting something in answer to whatever it was he’d heard, leaving Geralt a little speechless, quite amused and very intrigued.
Wooed indeed.