by penny watson
“I don’t know. Mr. Smith doesn’t look happy.”
They both grimaced as Harold slid across the room in his penny loafers.
“Hard to imagine that man in running shoes, isn’t it?” Elliott raised a brow.
“That’s not very nice, Elliott. He’s doing the best he can.”
“I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone here. Except you.” Elliott’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. “Great. Here comes Lancelot and Mr. Barbecue.”
Michael and Kevin joined them.
Chef Baldwin jerked his head toward the cluster of producers. “What do you think is going on? Any ideas?”
“None,” Elliott answered. “But I’m ready to cook. I hope they figure this out in a hurry.”
“Me too,” said Kevin. “I can’t believe we made it this far!” He smiled nervously at Sophia, and she wanted to pat his head. He was like an overeager puppy, and she had no doubt that Michael treated him accordingly.
Mr. Smith held up his hands. “I have an announcement. I’m sorry to tell you this, but we will not be having our final taping today.”
Elliott growled low in his throat.
“We are having some electrical issues with our kitchen. Until everything is repaired, we’re on temporary break. I’ve been told the delay will only be twenty-four hours, which I’m praying is true, since we’re on a tight schedule and a tight budget.” He wiped his forehead and stuffed the used linen into his pants pocket. “In the meantime, the finalists will have the day off. We’ll give you a voucher for meals and other expenses. Feel free to explore Vermont, relax, sleep. Tomorrow, if all goes well, we will be taping our final segment.”
Michael shook his head in disgust. “Is this some sort of psychological warfare? Getting us hyped up and then leaving us hanging?”
Mr. Smith blanched. “No. Of course not. Believe me, I’m not happy about the delay either. This has been a very intense and rushed schedule, so it’s probably just as well to have a short break. Don’t knock it, Baldwin.”
Elliott’s arms were crossed tightly. Sophia tapped his elbow.
“What?” he barked.
“We have the day off. Don’t look so glum.”
“I want to get this bloody contest over with. I want to win. I want my big fat check and to head home to Scotland and fix the mess I’m in.” He hissed at her with impatience.
Sophia was surprised to feel an ache in her chest when he spoke of leaving the country.
“I know you do, but there’s nothing we can do about this now. Let’s go.”
“Where the hell are we going? To our rooms?” Elliott’s foul mood was escalating.
“No. We’re going home. To my home. I live about fifteen minutes from here. We’re going to spend the day dawdling in the garden and sipping lemonade and hanging out with my daughters. And tomorrow you’ll be refreshed and ready to go.”
“I don’t work that way. I don’t need to be . . . refreshed.”
Sophia laughed. “Oh, Elliott. You look so put-upon. Lighten up.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the parking lot.
They were going on a field trip.
❦
Twenty-five years ago, when David had been offered a job at Patterson College in Vermont, she’d trailed along to investigate a potential new home. Their truck had bounced on a raggedy dirt road, and they’d turned into a driveway made of rocks. The cottage was sweet. Small. Needed some work. But Sophia hardly noticed.
She’d been focused solely on the vista behind the little house—mountains covered with evergreens and fields of wildflowers. Tall purple lupine leaned gently in the breeze. Wild chicory and Indian paintbrush framed the side of the road. And nestled beneath a dense copse of maple were wild blackberry bushes. She meandered over, plucked fruits off the shrubs and popped them into her mouth, as David discussed mortgages with the real estate man.
When David had asked her what she thought, she said, “Surprisingly sweet. Delicious.” He laughed.
“The house, Sophia. What do you think about the house?”
She’d glanced at the porch, which appeared to be hanging on by a thread, and said, “Yes.” That was all.
Every year they’d worked on a project. A new porch. An updated kitchen. Built-in shelves in the living room for David’s extensive book collection. Window seats for the girls’ bedrooms. Sophia started with plantings in front of the house, and graduated to perennial borders and a vegetable patch. She’d attempted Forget-Me-Not seeds one year, and they’d spread all over the lawn. And every spring, when mud season was making her yank out her hair, the backyard became a carpet of delicate blue flowers. She and the girls would spread a blanket for a picnic, speaking in whispers so they didn’t disturb the Spring Fairies. Sophia baked sugar cookies drizzled with powdered sugar frosting and topped with candied violets.
The girls grew up, and the tricycles in the driveway were replaced with backpacks straining at the seams and hidden packs of cigarettes, and eventually the house became empty for months at a time. It was heavy with anticipation, like a puppy with his wet nose pressed against the window, waiting for the girls to come home. Sophia and David continued with their life and their activities, but the quiet was sometimes oppressive and melancholy.
Sophia tried to pack the quiet holes with plants. She’d arrive home from the nursery with flats of Johnny Jump-Ups and thorny roses and delicate ferns. David joked they could charge admission when guests arrived at their house since it was beginning to resemble a botanical garden.
Those holes were bittersweet, but not utterly crushing, because the day would come when the rusty Honda crunched on the rocky drive and the dented Subaru slid into the remaining spot, and all the holes would be filled up again and Sophia could breathe a long, sweet sigh of relief.
And then a new hole blasted into her life. The hole that could never be filled up.
The hole that shocked the hell out of her. Not because it was so unexpected, which it was. Because it was so destructive. She hadn’t realized that those quiet moments, the ones that seemed so unimportant, were the threads of her life holding everything together. Holding herself together.
And when they unraveled, so did she.
She turned and watched Elliott stare out the window. He vibrated with anger. He had no interest in a day of relaxation. He was ready to work. He grumbled and complained bitterly about the change in schedule. She’d stopped asking him questions, since every response was pithy and terse. Just a few short hours ago he was mellow and aroused. Now he was snapping at her. The man was exasperating.
Her truck dipped and crested on the dirt road as they flew by familiar scenery. The farm stand at the corner. Mr. Miller’s horses in the field across the street. August was a lazy time in Vermont. Insects buzzed around the overgrown grasses and frogs croaked among the Nymphaea, and the girls, when they were home, sat on the front porch with their coffee cups in the morning and chatted with the neighbors who walked by. They wore tattered college sweatshirts and baggy pajamas and just the sound of their voices through the window settled Sophia’s heart. Made the racing beat slow down and the small tremors in her hands subside.
She pulled into her driveway and glanced at the house. Painted a fresh coat of coconut white with a red tin roof and flower boxes at every window, her fix-it-up cottage now looked like the quintessential Vermont dwelling. Bicycles leaned against the garage door, and a wheelbarrow filled with compost was parked next to the shed. She saw her daughters on the porch, and Sophia laughed with happiness.
“We’re home,” she announced and Elliott grunted. “Be nice, Grumpy Scottish Bastard.”
“Worried I’ll snap at your daughters?”
“No, I’m worried they’ll snap at you if your manners don’t improve.”
He raised his brow at that comment.
“Mom!” Cady yanked open her door. “What happened? Did you win? Did you lose?”
“Who’s this?” Emilia asked, staring at Elliott wi
th undisguised curiosity.
Sophia stepped from the car and hugged Cady, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“Mommy, is everything okay?” Cady peered over her shoulder. “That guy looks sort of pissed off.”
Sophia laughed. “Elliott, why don’t you get out of the car so I can introduce you? Hmm?”
He rolled his eyes and stomped over to her side. “Let me guess. Your daughters. They look exactly like you.”
“Your powers of observation are astounding.”
“Thank you, madam. I do try.”
The girls watched the interplay and giggled.
“I haven’t won or lost . . . yet. The competition isn’t over. We have the day off due to technical difficulties on the set.”
Elliott scratched his beard. “Yes, evidently we can’t cook in the dark. So here we are.”
Sophia squeezed his arm. “This is Chef Elliott Adamson from North Berwick, Scotland. He’s my partner for the challenges.”
“You have a partner? I didn’t see that in the description.” Cady inspected Elliott from head to toe.
Sophia nodded. “I know. It was a surprise. The producers paired an amateur cook with a professional for the duration of the competition. Elliott and I made it to the finals, which should be tomorrow.”
“Mom!” Emilia shouted and flung her arms around Sophia’s neck. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”
Cady snuggled into their embrace.
Elliott looked amused. “By the way, girls, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’ll be tarred and feathered and left out as feed at the Jefferson Turkey Farm. We signed paperwork to that effect. The producers want to keep all of this a big secret until the show airs. Understand?”
“Of course.” Emilia nodded. “We would never do anything to hurt your chances in the competition.”
Sophia slid her arm around Em’s waist. “Elliott, this is Daughter Number One.”
He smiled at Sophia. And then he chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, Sophia, you are a treasure. Daughter Number One is Emilia. Am I right?”
Em smirked. “Yep.”
“And this is Daughter Number Two.”
Elliott held out his hand for both girls. “The artsy-fartsy one, Cady.”
Cady giggled. “That’s how you described me? Artsy-fartsy?”
Em elbowed her in the waist. “Fartsy, for sure.”
“Girls. Enough. We need to entertain Elliott for twenty-four hours. He’s very anxious about the finals tomorrow.”
“I’m not anxious. I just want to get it over with, win, get my money, and head home.”
Emilia and Cady laughed.
Elliott looked at the cottage. “What a swell little spot. Flowers and hummingbirds and a rocker on the porch. It sort of makes me want to . . .” He staggered and pretended to pass out. “Fall asleep.”
“Oh my God. Mom, has he been like this the whole time?” Cady asked.
“Pretty much. He’s in an especially bad mood today. Worse than normal, I think. He wasn’t happy about the delay in taping.”
“So, Mr. Adamson—” Emilia said.
“—that’s Chef Adamson,” Elliott answered.
Cady hung her head and tried to muffle her laughter.
Emilia’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Chef Adamson. What do you like to do? We have bikes and a kayak and—”
“I cook.”
Cady snickered. “You cook? That’s a big shocker. You’re a chef.”
Elliott shot her a frosty look. “Sophia, your girls have inherited your sarcasm.”
“Yes, they have.”
“Chef Adamson, do you do anything other than cook?” Emilia looked genuinely interested in his response.
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said.” Elliott leaned against the car and glanced at his watch. “How much longer?”
“Holy crap, he is so freakin’ rude!” Cady tugged on Sophia’s sleeve and whispered into her ear. “Is he driving you crazy?”
Sophia kissed her cheek. “Nope. I’m used to him now,” she answered. Had she really only known Elliott for five days? Why did it feel like forever?
Emilia cocked her head at Elliott. “What do you cook?” she asked.
“Scottish food.”
“Like . . . haggis?” Cady’s eyes grew huge.
“Like haggis. Your mother told me I can prepare some for you this evening. I know you’re going to love it.”
Cady and Emilia screamed in unison.
“Is he joking about that, Mom?” Emilia said.
“He is joking.” She turned to Elliott and sighed. “I’m sure the last thing you want to do on your day off is—”
“Wrong. It’s the only thing I want to do. Cooking relaxes me. What else am I going to do today?” Elliott looked at the cottage and frowned.
“Really?” Sophia was shocked.
“Really.”
“Well, if Chef Adamson is interested, the Woodstock Farmer’s Market is open all day on the green. We could load up there with some fresh fruits and veggies—” Cady said.
“Christ. Just like your mum. How about proteins?”
Cady grimaced. “Sure. There is organic beef, a fish monger, several dairies with eggs and cheese . . .”
“Let’s go.”
“You’re quite the conversationalist, Chef Adamson. The producers must love you on that show.”
Emilia made the comment with a totally straight face, but Sophia could tell she was about to burst into laughter.
Elliott answered without missing a beat. “My nickname is Beast.”
Cady gasped. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. And your mum is Beauty, of course. We’re the pair to beat, right Sophia?”
“We’re the pair who’s going to win.”
“Mom.” Emilia’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so happy for you. You sound . . . different.”
Cady squeezed Sophia again. “Em’s right. You sound better. Happier. More confident.”
“Not . . . lost anymore.” Emilia wiped the tears off her cheeks.
Sophia opened her arms, and both girls embraced her, laughing and crying and squeezing her tightly, which surprisingly made her breathe easier. And over the tops of their heads she saw Elliott watching them quietly. He nodded at her, just once, and she closed her eyes in surrender.
❦
“No, no, no. Like this.” Elliott grabbed Emilia’s hand as she stirred tomato sauce in a stainless steel skillet and tried to direct her movements. “You don’t beat the shit out of the tomatoes. They’ve already been crushed, Em. You stir, gently, trying to incorporate the other flavors into the sauce. See?” He released her arm.
Emilia adjusted her stirring technique. “I wasn’t aware I was beating the shit out of the tomatoes. I’m going to be arrested for tomato abuse.”
“Well, you’ll look good in an orange jumpsuit,” Cady said. She nibbled on a piece of basil. “Orange is your color.”
“True. That.” Emilia swirled the sauce in the skillet. “Okay, Beast, what’s next?”
Elliott turned to Sophia and sighed. “Are they always this cranky?”
Sophia smiled. “Actually, they’re in excellent spirits today. Girls, stop teasing Elliott.”
“What?” Cady shook her head. “His name is Beast. I think he can take a little bit of ribbing, for God’s sake.”
Elliott grumbled, but it was all for show. As soon as he’d made himself at home in her kitchen, he’d begun to relax. What an incongruous scene. The big, hulking brute of a Scot surrounded by hanging plants and mismatched teacups, floral tiles, and girly knick-knacks. Every time he barked orders at the girls, they dished it right back. Soon he wasn’t even bothering to hide his smiles. Sophia had known this trip would settle him down.
Emilia waved her spoon. “For the record, I think I was being exceedingly gentle with those tomatoes.” She leaned over the pot and scooped up a spoonful of sauce. “Here, Mom, tr
y it. Let’s see if I incorporated the flavors.”
Sophia tasted the tomato cream sauce. It was her favorite. Simple, elegant. “This is perfect. And so . . . not Scottish. How is it that Elliott is preparing this Scottish-free meal? He won’t do it for the show.”
Elliott shrugged. “The girls told me at the market this is your favorite meal. I decided to thank you for putting up with my crap.”
He leaned close enough for Sophia to see the glimmer in his eyes.
“Am I allowed to kiss you, love, or not in front of the kiddies?” He whispered it, challenging her.
“I guess that’s up to you. I don’t mind.”
So he kissed her, accepting the challenge. Only their lips met, touched, lingered for just a moment.
“Oh. My. God.” Cady’s mouth hung open.
Emilia continued to stir the sauce. “Looks like more than food is cooking on the set of A Taste of Heaven.”
Sophia shrugged in a totally nonchalant manner. Even though her heart was beating a mile a minute and she struggled to hide her blush.
“Bad pun, Em! Uh, Mom, can I talk to you for a minute. In private?” Cady cocked her head toward the hallway.
“Go ahead, Sophia. I’m sure your daughter wants to pump you for information. About the Beast. I’ll keep Emilia stirring while I cook the pasta.” Elliott winked at her.
Cady dragged her into the hallway next to the kitchen.
“What is going on? Are you guys . . . like . . . a couple? Did you sleep with him?” Cady’s voice rose with each sentence.
Sophia kissed the top of her head. “First of all, I don’t think my love life is any of your business, missy. And second of all—”
“Yes it is! Emilia and I sent you on that mission. If something is going on, I want to know. And make sure . . . you know . . . you’re safe.”
Sophia choked. “Are you talking about birth control? Cady!”
“No! Don’t be crazy. I’m talking about your heart, Mom. You barely know this guy. He’s so temperamental. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re still recovering.”
Sophia cupped her daughter’s face. “Sweetheart, I’m an adult. And to be honest with you, I feel better today than I have in months. Truly. This show has been good for me. Good for me to get out of the house, away from . . . memories. Learn to be a little bit independent. Try new things.”
