And Then There Was Her

by Tagan Shepard

The words were clearly meant for Kacey, but she looked at Madison as she spoke.

  “Oh no. It’s very good.” Madison said, trying to eat more enthusiastically. “We don’t do anything fancy at home.”

  “I save all my creativity for work,” Kacey said with a wink before turning back to explain that yes, Tom really was that roguishly handsome, but he was married and not exactly her type.

  “Jolly Roger makes a mean lemon-caper sauce,” Boots said, pointing his fork toward the far end of the table where the man with the eye patch was just sitting down.

  “Call me that again and I’ll get you a matching patch, Boots.”

  Boots flashed his childlike smile down the table at him before shoving approximately an entire head of lettuce into his mouth.

  Kacey leaned closer to CS, asking in a low voice, “He won’t be a problem will he?”

  “In what way?”

  “You know, some guys don’t like to be passed over for executive chef. I just want to make sure there won’t be any wounded egos to deal with.”

  “There won’t be.”

  Without further explanation, CS went back to her food, slicing grilled squash into neat chunks and eating with her fork in her left hand in the European style.

  “Jolly Roger likes it where he’s at,” Boots explained between bites. “He didn’t want the job of running this new place.”

  Noticing that Boots indicated the room with a wave of his fork, Madison asked, “Oh, is this it? This is the new restaurant?”

  “Yep,” he said, diving back into his salad and sending a ranch dressing-coated pea rolling across the white tablecloth. “Thought we’d give the new chef her first look at the place, right Boss?”

  “Don’t call me Boss,” CS barked without looking up.

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  “Boots,” she growled and he held up his hands in submission. She turned her attention back to Kacey, reluctantly explaining, “Chef Roger will be relieved to have some of the pressure off his shoulders. They serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner for both guests and staff in the main dining room. He’d rather the crowd was thinner at dinner service. Some of our wealthier guests will choose to dine in Kacey’s restaurant.”

  After dinner, the restaurant staff cleared the plates and brought out big dishes of apple crumble and carafes of coffee before heading off to open the main restaurant. CS disappeared to her office shortly after, evaporating without saying goodbye, which was fine by Madison. She had a hard time determining what she thought of the quiet winemaker. They hadn’t exchanged another word during dinner, and Madison wasn’t sure she’d played the part of charming girlfriend well.

  “Can you believe this place?” Kacey asked, beaming from ear to ear, her cheeks rosy pink and a glass of something alcoholic in her hand. “This is my restaurant. Mine.”

  “It’s beautiful. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

  “Here, have this.”

  She tried to shove the drink into Madison’s hand. A powerful blast of what smelled like rubbing alcohol and licorice wafted up from the glass. The smell alone made her head swim. She pushed the glass away, hoping the odor would go with it.

  “No, god, what is that?”

  “Sambuca. It’s good stuff. Try it.”

  “No, thanks.”

  She grabbed a coffee from the bar beside her and used the slightly more pleasant smell of burnt coffee to clear her sinuses.

  “Suit yourself,” Kacey said, tossing the drink back and banging the empty glass down. She’d had at least two glasses of wine at dinner and Madison was sure she’d had something else from behind the bar. At least CS was gone. Kacey was more confident in her ability to hold her liquor than she had any right to be. “This place is incredible. Did you see the view?”

  “I saw the patio, but it was too dark to see anything else.”

  “The view from the tasting room patio is better,” she pouted, looking around the room with the glassy-eyed appreciation of a mildly drunk lover. “She really should swap the two. The restaurant should have a better view.”

  “Well, it is a winery, you know.”

  “A winery that’s about to have a new Michelin-star restaurant.” She leaned over the bar, grabbing the tall, clear bottle of that wretched liquor and splashed another generous serving into her glass. “Whatever. This place is going to be the best restaurant in Oregon by the end of the year.”

  “Of course it will.”

  Madison stretched up on her toes, puckering her lips for a kiss, but Kacey was looking around the emptying restaurant.

  “This space has so much potential. Who gives a shit about the view? People will be coming here for my food.”

  Madison dropped back to her heels. “It’ll be booked solid in no time.”

  Kacey’s eyes finally made their way to Madison’s. They were glassy with booze, but there was an appreciation in them that was unmistakable. She smiled down at Madison, whose heart melted. That smile had a power over Madison like nothing else. It always had. That was the smile that made a city girl move to a vineyard in the mountains of Oregon.

  “What would I do without you, Maddie?”

  She shrugged, letting Kacey pull their bodies close with an arm around her waist. She leaned her head back, watching Kacey’s full lips descend toward her own with agonizing slowness. They brushed together for a heartbeat, making Madison’s pulse race and her eyelids flutter closed.

  All too soon, Kacey pulled away just far enough to whisper against her cheek, “Let’s head back home.”

  Chapter Six

  Madison woke twisted in yards of fabric. She had no idea where she was, but she heard Kacey’s gentle, rhythmic snoring nearby. She pushed and spun, swimming across the massive expanse of mattress until her groping hands found flesh. She pulled herself into Kacey, fitting their bodies together and wrapping an arm around Kacey’s waist. Her girlfriend’s snoring hitched and then resumed.

  She dozed for a few minutes, then spent a few more enjoying the feel of Kacey’s body against hers. Sleep, however, would not return. There were parts of this house she had not explored and parts she could barely remember for all their frantic unpacking. Her mind refused to rest until she knew her surroundings. She slipped out of bed and padded downstairs on bare feet.

  Madison knew there was a second bedroom in the cottage, but she hadn’t found it yet. She also hadn’t found a suitable location for her studio, so she assumed the two would have to be one and the same. Hopefully it didn’t have the same plush carpet of the master bedroom. Carpet did not get along well with either clay or the superheated oven of her kiln.

  Before exploring, she grabbed the jar of coffee beans and buzzed a generous handful to medium-fine grounds. While the pot bubbled and hissed, she continued her mission. A door led off the far side of the kitchen, and Madison left the coffeemaker to work its magic. The second bedroom. It was nice enough, but not suitable for a studio. As she feared, lush carpet covered the room, cradling her bare feet.

  Another door led to a mudroom, floored in darker, rougher tile. A washer and dryer took up much of the room, with a sink between and a bench near the door leading out to a small, deck enclosed by the rooms on either side.

  The moment she peered into the final room, the rest of the house slipped away. Stepping into it was stepping into a dream. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling windows like the front of the house, but this room had a different aspect, nearly full east, and was surrounded by vines coming almost up to the house. The floor in here was also tile, but dotted with potted plants and wicker furniture. It was set up like a sunroom, but Madison knew what it was immediately: her studio.

  Despite the windows and the steadily rising sun, the room was the perfect temperature. Not too hot, but not so cool as to need one of the blankets draped across the chairs. The windows must be UV-coated, which would be perfect for pottery drying slowly. The tile floor was ideal for a quick cleanup, and the many shelves in the mudroom behind her would be ideal for storing her completed
pots. It might take her a few experiments to determine how much curing they would need before going into the kiln, but that was standard with any new space. It had taken her ages to figure out the timing in her old studio in Denver.

  The real sell came when a gust of wind blew a wisp of cloud across the sun. The room around her sparkled. It glowed, went dark for a heartbeat, then glowed again all the brighter for the light’s momentary absence. Madison couldn’t stifle her gasp.

  Light had always been a muse for Madison. Her earliest memory was sitting in her mother’s lap, crying over some childhood hurt long since evaporated in time, and opening her puffy eyes to see a beam of sunlight captured in the tears on her eyelashes. She was so dazzled, she blinked and it was gone. A flash of pure, essential beauty that disappeared the moment you spotted it. Like a snowflake melting in her palm before she had a chance to count the tines.

  Whenever she closed her eyes, Madison could see that image with perfect clarity. Sun trapped in a tear. Light made solid. It stopped her tears that day and it was the reason she became a ceramicist. She’d tried every medium she could imagine to re-create that sight, but nothing was right. The closest she ever came was the first time she glazed a pot and took it to the window to search for imperfections. The kiln had fired the glaze hard as glass and it shone like a diamond.

  It wasn’t right. Wasn’t perfect. It was, however, beautiful. She fell in love with ceramics and she knew that someday, somehow, she would make that perfect piece to capture light in solid form. That was her dream and she sought it every day. A day away from the wheel was a day without the chance to find perfection.

  Arms wrapped around her from behind. Familiar, sinewy arms with long, thin hands that pulled her close. Madison fell back into the embrace, sharing the euphoria of finding her new studio.

  “I like this room,” Kacey whispered into her ear, the breeze of her words tickling through Madison’s hair. “We can have coffee together out here every morning.”

  Any hope they were on the same mental wavelength broke.

  “Actually, I was thinking this would be the perfect studio.”

  “Here?” Kacey’s voice had the barest hint of a sour note. “I thought you’d set up in the bedroom behind the kitchen.”

  “Then we wouldn’t have a guest room.”

  “We wouldn’t have guests.”

  “The tile in here would be much easier to clean. Plus the light…”

  Kacey cut her off abruptly. “I just think it would be a shame to waste this room.”

  Madison stepped out of her arms, turning to look at her. She was tousled and bleary-eyed from sleep, a look Madison usually appreciated—disheveled and sexy—but not after a comment like that.

  She tried not to let the hurt show, but she was sure Kacey would detect it in her voice. “I don’t think my studio is a waste.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “That’s what you said.”

  “I just meant that we can’t both appreciate it if you have all your stuff in here.”

  “My stuff?”

  “I meant your wheel and kiln, not your pottery. Don’t make me the bad guy here, I got us this place rent free.”

  “I appreciate that, Kacey, I do.” Madison took a deep breath, searching for a way to explain how important this was. “I’m going to be spending most of my day in this house working. The only reason I get to do that is because of you and it means the world to me.”

  She hated herself for her imminent tears. She tried to stop them. It wasn’t fair to cry. She took a deep breath and continued.

  “I just really love this space. I think it’ll be perfect for me and I really, really want it. What can I do? How can I convince you?”

  Madison could see the annoyance melt out of Kacey’s body. She took a step forward and pulled Madison to her, pressing her tear-streaked face into her chest.

  “Of course you can have it, baby. We can have our coffee on the deck.” She kissed the top of Madison’s head. “I’m sorry.”

  Madison burrowed her face into Kacey, breathing in the scent of her and reveling in the softness.

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

  “We’ve had a lot going on. It’s been stressful.”

  Madison nodded, wrinkling the cotton of Kacey’s shirt. She wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s waist, holding her tight when she felt they might slip apart.

  “I could use some coffee.”

  Kacey tried again to slip out of her grasp, and this time Madison let her, though it cost her a sharp pang in her chest.

  * * *

  It took a week for her kiln to be delivered. If only Madison could have waited on the porch so she couldn’t see what was happening, she wouldn’t have been in such a state. Her body practically shook with nerves, but she had to direct the overburdened vineyard employees so she needed to be there. What if they hadn’t understood her directions and she ended up with a fifteen hundred-pound kiln in the wrong place? What if they broke it or busted out half the windows sliding it into place? What if it fell on someone and they had to go to the hospital?

  She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her baggy jeans so the crew wouldn’t see the way she gripped so hard her fingernails cut little half-moons into both palms.

  “Okay everyone,” Boots said, the strain as evident in his voice as the laughter. “Let’s get this beast into place. Gatekeeper, pivot your side my way.”

  Madison was about to yell that he was moving it the wrong way, but the group moved too quickly. Before she could even open her mouth, the massive oven was in the exact place she indicated. It was even spaced exactly in the center of the short wall. Far enough from the walls to prevent a fire, close enough to the windows for good ventilation. Boots went about reattaching the control box to the exterior with quick, sure movements. If she didn’t know better, she’d assume he’d installed pottery kilns in a thousand buildings.

  “That’s…that’s perfect. Thanks, Boots.”

  He stood and tossed his screwdriver into the air, watching it flip end-over-end a few times before snatching it and stuffing it into his back pocket.

  “Any time. Just…one thing?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever make me move that thing again? It’s heavier than my dear old abuela, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

  Madison laughed in relief and moved out of the way while the others brought in boxes of her tools.

  “It fits!” Kacey strutted into the room, not seeing that she stepped carelessly in front of Gatekeeper and the girl with the undercut, working together to bring in a set of clay-stained shelves. “Good work guys.”

  “I notice you missed helping with the install.”

  She winked at Boots. “Had to get ready for work.”

  “Actually, that shelf goes here in the mudroom.” Madison directed them next to the washer. “It’ll probably get too warm in there to cure the pots.”

  She scooted around Kacey, who stopped buttoning her new chef’s coat long enough to grab Madison’s butt as she passed. Kacey wandered into the room, getting in the way and touching everything. Madison didn’t miss the wistful scowl she gave to the view from back here, but it was too late to change the setup now. They’d had the same fight twice more in the week they had waited for the moving van from Denver, and they weren’t going to have it again.

  “The new coat looks good.”

  Madison ran her hands over her girlfriend’s shoulders, squeezing lightly at the tensed muscles. The fabric was crisp and clean, neatly pressed the night before. The logo sewn into the left side was the Greek helmet of Minerva Hills with a simple, lowercase script: “ambrosia at Minerva Hills.”

  It was a good name, one Madison helped her come up with while Kacey was planning both menu and restaurant décor back in Denver. The food of the gods in Greek mythology. Only divine beings were allowed to eat it. Delivered to Mount Olympus by doves, it brought immortality. Kacey had no i
dea what she was talking about when she first suggested it, thinking of the fruit salad instead. Once Madison explained, she jumped onboard enthusiastically.

  The name was great, but Madison hated the font. The name was majestic and ancient. The font was one of those ridiculous hipster types that looked like it came off a typewriter. The whole thing being in lowercase also bothered her, but it wasn’t her restaurant and it fit Kacey’s aesthetic well enough.

  “Your shoulders are tense,” Madison said, massaging a little harder. “Are you nervous?”

  “No. Just excited.”

  The way the words squeaked out, like a mouse being stepped on, made the lie evident. Madison pulled her into a hug.

  “You’re going to be amazing.”

  “You know it.”

  Tonight was the soft opening of the restaurant. It was quick, only a week after they arrived, but Kacey had spent the three-month layover before moving working on every aspect of the restaurant. Apart from the name, she’d picked the furniture, art, linens, dishware, and even the cutlery from a massive online catalog. She’d spent an entire weekend agonizing over salad forks.

  Once she got all that out of the way, she went to work on the menu. If she was meticulous with her restaurant’s décor, she was ten times so with the design of each dish. From what Madison could tell, the contents were secondary to presentation. She would spend hours on the couch with a sketchpad, drawing her dishes down to the slightest detail. Madison spied one sketch that actually labeled the grains of finishing salt, but the arrow pointing to the rectangle at the base of dish just read “protein.”

  Kacey had spent a month on her menu, then sent it to CS for review. The email she got back listed the local farms and included a strongly written encouragement to utilize some of their choice products. None of those elements were in any of her dishes. After spewing a litany of vitriol about her boss’s interference and poor understanding of the culinary world, she decided to tweak her menu. She added a single first-course option using pork belly from a farm in Corvallis.

  “You’re coming up for dinner, right?”