9
" They were all there for the food, the drink, and the ambience, even as everyone devoured plates as disparate as Korean bibimbap and French vichyssoise.
"I'm going over there." Ana pointed to a midnight-blue food truck that was known for having the best bao, steamed Vietnamese buns, in Denver. Which, given the popularity of the southeast Asian cuisine in the city lately, was more of an accomplishment than it might have seemed.
"What about you?" Rachel asked Melody.
"I'm having what you're having. You never steer me wrong."
"Then A Parisian in Denver is the way to go. Come on. I want to say hello to Lilia."
They found their way to the end of the line in front of a food truck painted in red, blue, and white, and Rachel craned her neck to feet a better look at the chalkboard that proclaimed the day's specials. There was French street food like crepes and merguez sausages alongside trendy favorites like duck confit pommes frites. "
― Carla Laureano , The Saturday Night Supper Club (The Supper Club, #1)
11
" He ladled the borscht into bowls and topped each with a dollop of sour cream and a sprig of fresh dill- very attractive, Rachel thought, both the presentation and the look of concentration on his ridiculously handsome face.
That thought made her struggle to hold back her smile as he brought the bowls to the table. The meat had been arranged on the platter in an elegant swoop of mushroom sauce with more drizzled over the top. He'd gone to some trouble to think it through and make it restaurant-worthy. The fact he'd given it so much effort only put more weight behind her smile.
He swept his hand toward the table and pulled her chair out for her. "Shall we eat then?"
"This looks amazing." She was rewarded with a pleased smile from him.
It was amazing, actually, especially considering he claimed he didn't cook. The borscht held just the right amount of sweetness, the beets tender but still fresh and bright, finely diced pork giving it further flavor. The dumplings, colored green from the spinach in the dough, were tender with a delicious filling. "
― Carla Laureano , The Saturday Night Supper Club (The Supper Club, #1)
17
" Somewhere along the way, she’d begun to think that when she asked for something good, God would repay her with some pale counterfeit. She’d dared to want something different for her life, dared to rebel against the mold that had been cast for her by her parents. Didn’t she somehow think that if she did anything to attract attention to her success, she’d be punished for it? “If God had wanted you to be anything other than who and what you are, He would have made you that way.” No, she’d pulled back, only allowing herself to be grateful for the small things she could afford to lose, lest God glimpse her true joys and take those away too. But she’d been wrong. As scarring as her relationship with her stepfather had been, it had propelled her out into the wider world, helped her find the thing that truly brought her joy. Losing her restaurant had led Alex to her door, which had given her a new focus and a second chance to do what she was made to do. All this time she thought she was slipping beneath God’s notice, and instead He’d guided her to right where He wanted her to be. “Nothing’s wasted. Not with God. Sometimes you just need to have faith that He’s got what’s next.” She folded her hands in her lap and opened her heart heavenward, a tentative prayer taking shape, halting and slightly uncomfortable. What’s next, then? What do You want for me? Some part of her had hoped for a dramatic, unmistakable answer, but in its place, she received a still, small conviction. "
― Carla Laureano , The Saturday Night Supper Club (The Supper Club, #1)
