Alaskan Holiday

by Debbie Macomber

  “Okay, fine, tell me what she said.”

  “I can mention his name?”

  “No.” The word burst out of me in a fit of impatience.

  “Okay, then. It was late, and she sounded really tired.”

  “She’s working a lot,” I murmured, remembering how exhausted she sounded whenever we spoke. It didn’t matter what time of day it was. Mornings or nights. Chef Anton was doing his best to control her life. I realized now that that was all part of his scheme. If she worked sixteen hours a day, she wouldn’t have the time or energy to date anyone but him.

  “Other than the one who shall remain nameless, she didn’t talk about work. She was real happy to hear from me.”

  I wouldn’t have expected anything less. Josie often asked me about Jack; I knew she missed him and that she was on his mind as well.

  “Josie invited me to visit her in Seattle; she said she’d cook for me.”

  That explained why he was looking to book a flight out of Ponder. He was willing to go to the trouble and expense so Josie would cook for him again.

  “She said I could visit anytime. I was thinking the sooner the better, you know? Strike while the iron is hot. And seeing that you’re heading that way yourself, I thought I’d tag along.”

  Not exactly the plan I had in mind. Then again, having Jack accompany me might prove to be an advantage.

  “I’m thinking that between us we can convince her to return to Ponder,” Jack continued. “She misses us.”

  “It’s something to consider,” I agreed, unwilling to commit.

  “You’re smiling,” Jack noted, grinning himself. “First time in a long time.”

  He hadn’t been around when Josie and I were on the phone.

  “So you gonna let me fly to Seattle with you?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “What’s there to think about?” Jack argued, his eyes widening. “You want to win back Josie or not? You have to know I’m your best bet.”

  “That’s debatable,” I grumbled.

  Jack ignored that. His eyes got big. “I’ve got an idea.”

  This might prove to be dangerous.

  “We’ll surprise her,” he burst out excitedly. “We won’t let her know we’re coming and show up at that restaurant where she’s cooking. It’ll be a little Christmas surprise. What do you think?”

  That isn’t a bad idea, I thought to myself, and it would give me a chance to see firsthand what her relationship was with the chef.

  “Palmer?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts. He stared intently at me, awaiting my response.

  I nodded my head in agreement. I hadn’t counted on traveling with Jack, but he’d put up a good argument.

  His grin was contagious. “As a bonus, maybe we can convince Josie to cook for us. What could be better than that?” he exclaimed. “Think she’ll have my stroganoff on the menu?”

  “Can’t say. Maybe.” That was Jack’s favorite dish, and Jack claimed no one came close to cooking it as well as Josie.

  “I have to go on to Pennsylvania,” I reminded Jack. “Seattle is only a layover. I only intend to stay a few days, if that.” It all depended on Josie’s reaction. If my fears were realized, I didn’t plan on sticking around.

  “Okay. Go do what you need to do in Pennsylvania and come back to Seattle. I know you’re obsessed about that chef guy, so while you’re away, I’ll do a bit of snooping and give you a report on anything I find out.”

  Briefly, I considered his proposal, but it didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t want Jack spying on Josie.

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Josie and I will figure this out ourselves.”

  “You sure?” He didn’t look like he believed me.

  I assured him I was, but, bottom line: I’d never been less sure of anything in my life.

  CHAPTER 12

  Josie

  “I’m leaving for work now,” I called out on my way to the front door.

  “Josie.” Mom rushed out from the kitchen, rattled and nervous. “I’m gone overnight and won’t be back until late Sunday.”

  “Mom, you’ve told me this at least three times today.” I didn’t know what was up with my mother, but it was obvious now that something was going on that she wasn’t telling me.

  Something was up with Palmer, too. We had barely spoken since Thanksgiving. There’d been a couple brief phone conversations that felt stilted and awkward. I’d asked him both times if there was a problem, and he denied that there was. It was all so strange. We continued to text, but those messages seemed abrupt, almost like hearing from me was an imposition.

  “You’ll be all right without me?” Mom called after me.

  “Of course. Enjoy yourself and don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay.” This trip was with Carol, her best friend, to the quaint Bavarian-style village of Leavenworth, tucked away in the Cascade Mountains. Carol and Mom were taking the train and spending the day touring the picturesque shops. Leavenworth was everything Christmas, oozing charm in a festive winter wonderland. Then on Sunday afternoon the train would deliver them back to Seattle. For years, visiting Leavenworth had been a holiday tradition for Mom and me.

  Not this year, though. With my work schedule, Mom and I hadn’t been able to find time for any of our usual traditions. I hadn’t baked a single cookie or made our family’s special recipe for handmade chocolates. Mom had baked fruitcake without me, and that just felt wrong. I was missing out on my favorite time of the year.

  When I’d entered culinary school, I’d dreamed of creating amazing dishes. While working at the lodge I had free rein in the kitchen and was able to design my own menus. At the restaurant, I was constantly under Chef Anton’s thumb, with no creative freedom after the first days of helping him with the original menu. I wasn’t allowed any originality, or even a chance to make suggestions to the menu. Because he was so often absent, I’d tried adding my own flair to a dish and had been severely reprimanded. The only reason he’d learned about what I’d done was from a customer who had complimented him. I’d heard from one of the servers that Chef had taken the credit.

  I paused long enough to hug my mother. “Have a wonderful time.”

  “We will.” She looked sad and guilty, though.

  “Mom, go and enjoy yourself. We’ll get to Leavenworth next year.” But not if I continued with Chef Anton.

  I left the house with frustration growing inside me. This opportunity hadn’t turned out to be the career break I’d thought it would be. Then again, to be fair to Chef Anton, my mindset might have been all wrong. While my head and hands were in the work of the restaurant, my heart remained in Ponder with Palmer and all my friends there. I lived to hear from Palmer and feared I was losing him, though I didn’t know why. Drowning in doubts, I was agitated and edgy, not getting enough sleep and not taking time to eat.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Mom, too. As much as she loved and supported me, I sensed my mother was ready for me to find a place of my own. She’d grown accustomed to living by herself, making plans with friends, living her own life. All this was good and as it should be. Mom liked having her own space, and by living at home, I seemed to be intruding on her newfound freedom.

  It was time for me to move out. I’d changed, too. Living in Alaska, I’d become independent. I loved my mother and was grateful to her, yet I was ready to be on my own also.

  * * *

  —

  When I arrived at the restaurant, Chef Anton was in a rage. The fresh produce truck had arrived and there’d been a mixup with the order. Instead of the broccolini and cauliflower, they’d delivered a triple order of red radishes. Chef was on a rampage, blaming everyone in the kitchen, insisting the mistake had been an attempt to sabotage him and his reputation.

  “Out, all of you! Out of my kitchen!”
he screeched as I arrived. He looked directly at me and the rest of the crew. “You’re all fired. Every last one of you. Leave me.” He dramatically waved his hand, dismissing all of us.

  The line cooks stood frozen in place, not knowing what to do. The prep cook stood in wide-eyed terror. Everyone looked to me to resolve the issue.

  “Chef, I’m sure we can fix this,” I said as calmly as I could manage.

  “Fix this. Fifty bunches of radishes. What am I to do with that?” he fumed. “Did you do this?”

  “No, Chef. I’m sure it was a mistake on the wholesaler’s part.” I was the one who’d placed the order, so I reached for the phone and called the local produce company and spoke with the manager. I had him repeat the order back on speaker so Chef would be assured this wasn’t an attempt by the staff to undermine him.

  Unfortunately, all the produce trucks were currently out making deliveries and wouldn’t return until later that afternoon, too late for us to get what we needed for the current menu.

  Chef paled at the news. He rammed his hands through his hair. “Radishes. What am I going to do with radishes?”

  Immediately a few ideas came to mind, which I suggested. “We could make a radish-and-jícama slaw, melon balls and radish…and what about a cucumber-and-radish carpaccio?”

  The staff stood stiff and uncertain as I calmly talked down Chef Anton. From previous experience, they knew I was the only one capable of reasoning with him. He seemed unable to handle even the smallest kitchen crisis. How he’d reached the position of executive chef and to acquire his own string of restaurants was a mystery to me, especially given his temper and his inability to manage emergencies.

  Chef Anton glanced at me and then at the rest of the team. “See to it, then,” he muttered, before retreating to his office and closing the door.

  The entire kitchen staff, from the line cooks to the dishwasher, sighed with relief. When I’d accepted this job, I’d felt it was an honor, which was why I’d agreed to sign a one-year contract. Not even a month into my position, my job had started to feel more like a prison sentence. I wondered if those who hadn’t been chosen realized how fortunate they were.

  * * *

  —

  Working together as a team, we managed to open for dinner without a problem, and several radish dishes were specials of the day, thanks to the hard work of the staff. The first two hours went smoothly. I was busy overseeing the orders coming into the kitchen when Lizzy, one of the servers, sought me out.

  “Two men at table sixteen are asking to speak to you.”

  “Two men?” I asked. Normally anyone who requested to meet the chef sought out Chef Anton, not the second in line. No one knew me, other than a few friends and fellow culinary students.

  “They said they were personal friends.”

  “Did they give you their names?” I asked, too busy to leave unless it was necessary.

  “No.”

  “Were they unhappy with their meal?”

  “Not at all. One raved about the food.”

  “And they asked for me personally? By name?” I inquired, as I checked a plate before it was delivered out front.

  Lizzy indicated with a nod that they had. “One is older—fiftyish. He’s got a beard and his hair is a little long. The other man is younger and clean shaven. And drop-dead gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind meeting him in a dark alley.” Her eyes brightened with interest.

  Could it be Jack? I’d suggested that he come to visit, but I hadn’t heard if or when he intended to take me up on my offer. Surely he would have let me know he was flying in beforehand. If it was Jack requesting an audience, then it left me to wonder who the second man could be. Palmer had a beard. He’d once offered to shave it off for me, but I wouldn’t ask him to do that, seeing how it offered his face protection in the winter. He kept it neatly trimmed and he looked handsome with it like that.

  What if it was Palmer?

  My hand instinctively went to my heart, hoping to keep it from leaping out of my chest.

  “Should I tell them that you’re too busy?” Lizzy asked.

  “No. No. Tell them I’ll be right out.”

  Lizzy seemed uncertain. “You sure?”

  “Yes, very sure.” I bit into my lower lip and rushed to the far end of the kitchen, yanking off my stained apron that was over my jacket, as I frantically tried to calm myself. It was sheer luck that I didn’t crash into one or another of the staff when I hurried back to Lizzy in panic mode.

  Lizzy started to turn away when I grabbed hold of her arm. “How do I look?” I asked, pleading for her to tell me I was as fresh as a daisy and knowing I was anything but.

  Her cocked eyebrows confirmed my worst fears.

  “Never mind,” I cried, shouting instructions to the rest of the kitchen as I ran into the restroom and looked in the mirror. It was worse than I’d thought. Sweat had dampened the hair around my forehead and several curls had escaped my chef’s hat. Any makeup I’d applied was long gone by now. With no time to repair the damage, I grabbed my purse and, with shaking hands, reached for my lipgloss and quickly applied it. It would have to do.

  Bracing my hands against the bathroom sink, I inhaled a deep, calming breath. No need to be alarmed. It might not be Jack or Palmer. It could be two strangers who simply wanted to meet the chef. But Lizzy mentioned that they had asked for me by name and not Chef Anton.

  Taking in a second slow and even breath, I left the restroom and walked through the kitchen as regal as a queen, with everyone bustling about me, trying to get food out in a timely manner. The lights in the dining room were dimmed. The Christmas tree set up in the foyer had large red balls with gold ribbons and white lights. It was ten feet tall. The windows in the dining room looked out over Puget Sound, with twinkling lights beaming from the waterfront below. A ferry was leaving the dock, heading for Bainbridge Island. Except for my disheveled appearance, everything was picturesque and perfect.

  As I rounded the corner of the dining room that would lead me to table sixteen, I mentally steeled myself. My eyes automatically went to…

  …Palmer. It was him, but a beardless version.

  His gaze locked on me in return. It took me a moment to realize that Jack sat across from him.

  “Palmer,” I whispered, as I approached the table.

  Setting his napkin on the table, he stood and held out his hand. I grabbed hold of it, my fingers curling around his as I resisted throwing myself into his arms. I tentatively touched his cheeks, a bit shocked to see him without a beard.

  He blushed and seemed a little embarrassed. “Thought you might like to see me without hair on my face.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Jack chuckled. “Going to remember that one. Bet no one ever called you beautiful before, Palmer.”

  I didn’t mean to ignore Jack but was unable to take my eyes off Palmer. He wore a light blue button-down shirt and Dockers. It was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than a plaid wool shirt and work jeans. For what seemed like an embarrassingly long time, we were incapable of doing anything more than staring at each other.

  Jack cleared his throat, and I reluctantly broke eye contact with Palmer and turned to greet my friend, who had stood as well. “Jack,” I said, hugging him briefly. “You’re here!”

  “You said I could,” he reminded me.

  “I’m glad you did, and you brought Palmer.” I would be forever indebted to Jack for this.

  He winked at me to signal that this was my little surprise, and what a surprise it was.

  Because they had already eaten their dinner, out of pure habit I asked, “Did the meal meet with your satisfaction?”

  Jack looked to Palmer and stuck out his chest, proud to know me. “She even talks like one of those fancy chefs now.”

  “She does,” Palmer agreed. “Di
nner was above and beyond our expectations.”

  “What is this side dish with a hint of heat?” Jack asked, pointing down to his plate.

  “Radish slaw.”

  “Radish?” he repeated, not quite sure he believed me.

  “It’s a long story.” My eyes returned to Palmer, as I was unable to stop looking at him. Seeing him didn’t feel real. From the way his eyes ran over me, I knew he was feeling much the same things I was. Relief. Joy.

  He continued to hold my hand, squeezing my fingers, and I squeezed his back. I couldn’t remember ever being this happy to see anyone in my entire life.

  “Sorry to see there wasn’t bear meat on the menu,” Jack grumbled. “What kind of a restaurant is it that doesn’t serve wild game?”

  I shared a smile with Palmer. “I’ll mention it to Chef Anton and see what I can do.”

  “You look wonderful,” Palmer said, his voice dipping close to a whisper.

  I knew his compliment was a slight exaggeration. Working in a hot kitchen, I knew I resembled a piece of overcooked broccoli. Far be it from me to complain; I knew Palmer was really saying that he’d missed me and was happy to see me, no matter what I looked like. It was how I felt about him, too.

  “What about me, Josie?” Jack demanded. “Don’t I look good? I trimmed my beard. Got on a new shirt, too.” He tucked his thumbs under his red suspenders and extended them away from his chest while he rocked back on his heels. “This is about as dressed up as I get.”

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I said, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. “I’m ecstatic to see you both.” I wanted to toss my arms around Palmer and kiss him senseless. That, however, was sure to be frowned upon in public while I was still on the clock.

  Lizzy sauntered by, and from the look she sent me, I knew she was seeking an introduction.

  “Would either of you gentlemen care for dessert?” she asked, eyeing Palmer.