French Romance Cooking Class by Beth Mathison Page A

married couple in their early twenties. Before the class began, Dale had a ball game running on his smart phone. David had scooted his chair over to watch the game and check out a new gadget while Frannie and Donna talked about trying to figure out dinner menus with their busy schedules.
    Wine bottles had been placed on everyone’s tables, and at Chef Louis’ urging, everyone filled their glasses. In addition to theoysters, also featured on the menu were petit pea soup, duck breast with Pinot Noir sauce, pommes dauphine, and chocolate mousse. “After everyone has discovered the touch of a fresh oyster, feel free to eat them,” Chef Louis said, looking at David out of the corner of his eye. “As I said earlier, some people believe that this food acts as a powerful aphrodisiac.”
    Chef Louis picked up his own oyster. “You eat the oyster by tipping the shell into your mouth, and chewing slightly. Some people like to add hot sauce, Tabasco, cocktail sauce, lemon, or horseradish to their oyster, but these shellfish are so fresh they are delicious eating all by themselves.” He tipped the oyster into his mouth, chewed slowly for a long moment, then swallowed. “Voilà,” he said. “A perfect start to a couples cooking class to get you in the mood for some romance.”
    David reached over, tipped the oyster into his mouth and ate it. “A little hot sauce would have worked,” he commented dryly.
    Frannie was poking her shell with her small fork. “I don’t think I can do it,” she said.
    “But you touched it,” David reminded her.
    “Touching and eating are two entirely differently things,” Frannie said. “You know my stomach isn’t as strong as yours.”
    She looked around to other tables, where people were sliding oysters into their mouths.
    “Maybe I can slip it into my napkin,” Frannie said. “Or my purse. I have a big bottle of Advil in there that’s almost empty. I know it would fit. I could put the cover on it and everything. It would be hermetically sealed.” She reached for the purse under her chair.
    David cocked his head. “Not up to the date mission of being adventurous? “
    “That’s not in our date mission!” Frannie exclaimed.
    “Maybe we need an addendum.”
    “We already have the sex clause,” Frannie said. “I don’t think we need an addendum for oyster eating.” Frannie was a paralegal, and legal-eze peppered her conversation when she was nervous or defensive.
    “I would suggest you try it,” David urged. “It was pretty good.”
    Frannie looked down at her plate.
    “I’ll eat it if you touch it,” she said, looking up at him.
    David was quiet for a moment, then looked over at Chef Louis.
    “Advil bottle,” he said, his voice low. He shook out the cloth on his lap. “I’ll cover you with my napkin.” David pretended to wipe his mouth, and in the process, covered Frannie’s actions as she fished the Advil bottle out of her purse and slipped the oyster inside.
    “You know this is kind of dysfunctional,” David said. “You can just tell Chef Louis that you don’t want to try it. Or better yet, I’ll just eat it.”
    “I saw the way he was looking at you,” Frannie whispered. “I don’t want the wrath of some French chef haunting us tonight.”
    “Well, that’s one difference between us,” David said. “I could care less what Chef Louis thinks about my aversion to touching oysters.”
    “Are you going to cause a scene?” Frannie asked.
    “Nope,” David said with conviction. “I’m on a date mission, ma’am. My focus is on you and you alone.” He leaned over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Frannie’s ear.
    “I think it’s kicking in,” David said, leaning closer.
    “What’s kicking in?” Frannie asked.
    “The aphrodisiac in the oyster.”
    “Really?”
    “You’re not feeling it because your oyster is tucked into that Advil bottle in your purse. You don’t know what you’re missing,” David said, sliding his hand slowly down