Bea shrugged. “Nice.”
“And Charles hasn’t been around in ages, so of course the rumor mill is working overtime now that he’s back,” Delilah added unprompted.
“Why’s that?” I asked, then instantly regretted it, wondering if the question made me sound too curious.
“Charlie gets a bad rap and small towns have long memories,” Bea answered. “Personally, I think people talk when they’re bored and more of them should learn to mind their business. Anyway, the Hawthorne grandparents and Pops go way back. Good people.”
There was something more to it, but they wouldn’t elaborate. Which was probably for the best. Gossip clause and all that.
Chapter 11
Given my conversation with Mr. Hawthorne, I decided dinner tonight required something lighter. I picked up some gorgeous rainbow trout in town, and prepared it with a lobster broth, topped with poached lobster, capers, parsley, and lemon zest. I threw together a crisp arugula salad with a citrusy vinaigrette to start, then finished with a classic crème brûlée.
The bonus of being alone in the kitchen meant I was able to create some content for my new Après Brie account. People on the foodie side of Instagram went crazy for an artsy picture, so I paid special attention to the perfect lighting and background, opting for a close-up on the marble island. Not enough to reveal anything identifiable about the kitchen, but very upscale.
“They’re very happy in there,” Ali told me after supervising delivery of their dessert to the table.
I wiped up a few spills from the counter while she dug back into her fish, still waiting, half-eaten, on the island. It had become our routine.
“Great. Glad they like it.” I began collecting pans to wash in the sink.
Doing dishes was my meditation. Simple, mindless work that let my brain wander. My cool-down time.
“Oh, by the way,” Ali said, still eating on her feet. I wondered if she slept standing up on a charging station as well. “Charles requested to meet with you.”
I dropped a sauté pan and it clattered in the sink, splashing me with lobster broth.
“What?” I said, alarmed. My pulse instantly started racing. “Charles, why?”
“He didn’t say.” She was fully consumed in her meal.
“When?” I wiped broth off my face with a paper towel.
“I suppose after dinner. He said he’d come find you.”
Good luck with that, I thought to myself.
As soon as the waitstaff came back with the dessert plates, I was furiously washing and scrubbing to get the kitchen spotless before Charles could track me down. With dinner done, I would be off the clock and could make myself scarce. If he thought I couldn’t hide from him, he was sorely mistaken.
“Are you alright?” Ali asked as I grabbed her plate and utensils out from under her the second every last bite was gone. I must’ve looked a little manic.
“Of course,” I said, taking them to the sink. “Fantastic.”
She gave me a troubled glance, then decided it wasn’t her problem. “Alright. Good night.”
After Ali left, I wiped down that kitchen like someone was chasing me, then practically sprinted back to my cottage. I planned to shower, then make myself a grilled cheese and soup, but first I tossed myself onto the couch to rest a minute. I shut my eyes.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the gentle vibration waking me from a nap I hadn’t realized I needed. When I glanced at the clock, it was nearly 11.30 p.m.
Ali:Don’t forget charcuterie for Amelia and her guests tonight.
Holy shit.
I jumped off the couch. In my rush to leave the house before Charles could track me down, I’d totally forgotten to prep Amelia’s late-night snack.
I dashed back to the kitchen and pulled out all the necessary components to throw together a charcuterie board that, hopefully, didn’t look like it was composed at the last minute. Having no idea what time Amelia would be back, I simply worked as quickly as I could.
Around midnight, I heard the back door outside the kitchen open and shut, and the rustling sounds of someone discarding their jacket on the hook and kicking their boots off in the mudroom. Just before their shadow crept beneath the door, I placed the last bunch of grapes on the plate.
