“Certainly. Thank you, Chef. Marcus.”
“It was a wonderful evening, Caroline.” He kissed her on both cheeks, then squeezed her hands. “I better run. Timothy is probably furious with me.”
Once Marcus had left, Mrs. Hawthorne cleared her throat to address me. I braced myself for what I expected would be a truly historic ass-chewing.
“Well, Miss Evans. I told you I expected perfection.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, staring at my shoes.
“And if Marcus Lee says your meal was perfect, far be it from me to contradict him.”
“What?” My eyes lifted to hers. I was completely at a loss. “Thank you, but . . .”
“I know I’ve been hard on you, but you’ve proven yourself capable. Some people crack under pressure. You’ve risen to the challenge. I admit I had my doubts. Nevertheless, I think we’ll be pleased to have you around for the season. Good work.”
I was dumbfounded. As Mrs. Hawthorne left the kitchen, I staggered back against the island. Clearly Amelia hadn’t caught her mother yet to tell her about the Instagram posts. Maybe she was waiting until morning to bring it to her. In which case, the forthcoming ass-chewing would be twice as bad.
For several minutes, I stood in the kitchen nursing that bottle of brandy, almost too shellshocked to move. Until Charles crept in, with something concealed behind his back. He’d discarded his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, and his smile was hesitant.
“So, that was something, huh?” He edged his way into the kitchen. “I got you a little something. To say congratulations. And, I guess, as a memento.”
Charles placed the small turquoise box in the center of the island and pushed it toward me. Inside was a silver link bracelet with a heart pendant.
“There’s an inscription,” he said.
I turned over the pendant. On the back it said, “We’ll always have the blizzard.”
At those simple, silly words, I burst into tears. Charles was at my side immediately, scooping me up just before I sank to the floor.
“Elle, hey.” He brought me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. “Hey, what’s wrong? Shh. It’s okay. Tell me what happened.”
“I heard you fighting with your parents today,” I muttered against his chest between sobs. “How they said we were only for the season and you had to get your priorities straight. That it wasn’t appropriate to be dating the help.”
“Oh, no. Elle.” He kissed the top of my head, squeezing me tighter while my tears soaked into his shirt. “No wonder you were giving me the brush-off. Hey, don’t listen to them, okay? Honestly, I almost never do. They like to huff and puff, but I’m my own person, got it? I make my own decisions. And they usually come around to find a way to live with them. It’s not like I’m out there trying to start an alpaca farm or something, right?”
I laughed into his shirt, wiping the snot from my nose. “Alpacas?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Alpacas are cute.”
He chuckled and I felt the vibration of his chest against my cheek. “You want one? I can find you a flat in London that allows pets.”
“I’m not going to London,” I said, sniffing. “Your mom’s going to fire me when Amelia tells her what I’ve done.”
“What?” Charles pulled away to meet my eyes, his arms still locked behind my back. “What are you talking about? Mother said she was thrilled with how the food turned out. She couldn’t stop bragging about you to everyone at the party.”
Really?
“I created this Instagram account,” I told him. “It’s just a stupid little food thing, basically. I post what I’m cooking, about my job, and some reviews about places in town. It was supposed to be anonymous, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job hiding it because basically everyone figured it out. Only Amelia took offense to some of the things I posted. And I swear I didn’t mean anything by it, but—”
“That’s what you’re upset about?” He smiled sympathetically, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Amelia is sort of a busybody. She tends to get hung up on stupid stuff and moves on just as quickly.”
“She was really upset,” I insisted, wiping my nose again and feeling like a disgusting, sniveling mess. “She said she would tell your mother that I broke theNDAand have me fired.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“No,” I sniffed. “She’s right. I was totally out of line. She warned me about discretion and I ignored it. I knew even when I started it that I was tempting fate. It was stupid and I feel awful about it.”
