The thread of their conversation was abruptly severed by a sharp, rhythmic knock against the room's ornate door. All eyes turned, a silent question hanging in the air, before the polished wood swung inward.
A hushed procession entered: a young woman, her movements precise and graceful, guided a silver-laden cart, while a man, his demeanor both attentive and discreet, followed, ready to orchestrate the culinary ritual.
The air shimmered with the promise of exquisite flavors. First, came the appetizers: delicate slivers of smoked salmon, artfully arranged on crisp, toasted crostini, their rosy hues contrasting with the vibrant green of micro-greens. Beside them, miniature ceramic bowls held creamy lobster bisque, its rich aroma laced with a hint of sherry.
For the main course, plates arrived bearing pan-seared scallops, their golden crust yielding to a tender, pearlescent interior, nestled on a bed of saffron risotto. Alongside, roasted duck breast, its skin a lacquered mahogany, was presented with a side of wild mushroom ragout. Steamed asparagus, glistening with lemon-infused olive oil, added a touch of vibrant freshness.
The serving staff, their movements a silent ballet, placed each dish with practiced care, a quiet reverence for the artistry of the meal. Then, with a final, almost imperceptible nod, they retreated, leaving the room to the symphony of clinking silverware and murmured appreciation.
Later, as the remnants of the savory feast were cleared, dessert arrived: twin indulgences of chocolate lava cake, its molten heart oozing warmth, and crème brûlée, its caramelized top a delicate, shimmering crust.
"This lava cake is truly divine," Heather breathed, her eyes closing momentarily as she savored the rich, decadent flavor.
"It really is!" Marjorie echoed, a soft smile gracing her lips as she carefully offered a tiny spoonful to baby Dave. His eyes widened, his mouth opening with an eager, almost comical anticipation.
Marjorie chuckled, a warm, maternal sound, as she fed him another small bite, the rich chocolate melting on his tongue. Dave's tiny hands reached out, wanting more, his happy little sounds filling the room.
The kitchen, a bustling hive of stainless steel and simmering scents, momentarily stilled as five waitresses clustered near the pastry station, their voices hushed but animated.
"You'll never guess who just walked in," whispered Anya, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and disbelief.
"Spill!" demanded Lena, her hands pausing mid-polish on a dessert spoon.
"Rhys," Anya breathed, the name hanging in the air like a secret. "Rhys from Lux!"
A collective gasp rippled through the group. "Here? In Ember and Ivory?" whispered Mei, her eyes sparkling with sudden interest.
"Yeah," Anya confirmed, her gaze darting around the kitchen as if expecting him to materialize. "He's in one of the private rooms, with... a whole entourage."
"The rest of Lux?" asked Clara, leaning in.
Anya shook her head. "No. An older couple, a baby, and... a girl. She's wearing a nursing uniform."
"Girlfriend?" Lena's eyebrows shot up.
"I don't think so," Anya said, her voice laced with uncertainty. "They weren't exactly... close."
"Maybe family?" suggested Mei, her brow furrowed. "Like, the girl is their daughter and the baby is their grandchild."
"Or maybe they're just friends," interjected Sofia, a note of caution in her voice. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions."
Their hushed speculation was abruptly cut short by the sharp, authoritative voice of the manager, Mr. Davies. "Ladies! What is this, a social gathering? I expect you to be attending to your duties, not gossiping in the corner." His gaze swept over them, a silent reprimand. "And I trust you're not discussing our guests."
The group scattered like startled birds, their faces flushed. As they returned to their respective tasks, Mr. Davies added, his voice laced with a stern warning, "I will not tolerate any rumors circulating about the patrons of this establishment. The confidentiality of our guests is non-negotiable!"
Back in the private room, the lingering sweetness of the desserts faded, leaving a comfortable silence.
"Darling, should we head home?" Marjorie asked Anthony, her voice soft.
"Yes, look at Dave," Anthony replied, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. They all turned to see the little boy, his eyelids drooping, his small hand still stubbornly clutching a brightly colored spoon.
Marjorie rose, lifting the drowsy Dave into her arms. "Where are you staying tonight, Heather?" she asked, her gaze warm.
"The condo," Heather answered. "But I'll go back home tomorrow. Now that my exams are finished, I can help out with Dave, or work while I wait for the results."
"Perfect. We'll see you tomorrow, then." Marjorie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Heather's cheek, then turned to Rhys. "Drive safely."
Rhys nodded, a quiet acknowledgment. Anthony stood, offering a reassuring pat on Rhys's shoulder. "Take care."
Marjorie, Anthony, and Dave exited, leaving a quiet stillness in their wake. Heather, gathering her things, turned to leave. "Ready?" she asked Rhys, her voice casual.
But as she took a step towards the door, she felt a gentle pressure on her arm. Rhys's fingers, warm and firm, held her back. "Heather, wait."