by Avery James
Abby leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek. Beneath Nolan’s wit and confidence, there was a streak of untouchable loneliness that she hadn’t seen before. She wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around him, and she wanted to protect him from it, which really meant she wanted to protect him from himself. Her heart ached a little for him. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“We’re almost there,” he said after a long silence.
“Almost where?” she asked. As far as she could tell, they were somewhere outside the city at this point.
“The next best thing to a walk in the fog,” he said. “Have you ever been on a private plane before? Flying through the clouds, it’s like the whole outside world fades away for a while.”
“I’ve been on a few chartered flights,” she said. “Usually in the middle of a crisis, so I don’t have time to ruminate.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Well, we have an hour’s flight ahead of us.”
“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?” she said.
“You know you want it to be a surprise,” he said. “One more clue. We’re headed to the hideaway.”
“The hideaway?” she asked.
“That’s the name of the place,” he said as he helped her out of the car and onto the tarmac. A small jet was waiting before them, and she wondered how many thousands of dollars more this date would cost than their last one.
What seemed like moments later, they were 30,000 feet in the air, flying above the clouds, bathed in brilliant sunlight. Abby wondered what was happening at work. She’d promised to check her messages once that night and once only, and normally it would have driven her crazy no to know what was going on, but one glance at Nolan, and she knew everything would be alright.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, “but you have to make me a promise.”
“Depends on what the promise is,” she said. “Some are easier to keep than others.”
“I want to turn our phones off when we land,” he said. “Otherwise, we’ll both be checking in and putting out fires the whole time instead of enjoying ourselves.”
“Is that the surprise?” Abby asked.
“No, this is,” he said. He took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Go ahead and read it.” It was the article.
“I told you I’d make sure this didn’t blow up on you, and I wanted you to know I kept my word.”
She pored over the article, looking for any hint of how the reporter was going to screw her over. But there was nothing to find. It was just a perfectly bland and forgettable puff-piece, with a few nice anecdotes about the senator’s time before holding office and barely any mention of the senator’s husband.
Abby was almost embarrassed by the amount of relief she felt. Of course Nolan did right by her. He was crazy about her. She was crazy about him. Why did she have to think that everything was so cloak and dagger? Why couldn’t she just take him at his word? She knew the answer to that question. She’d seen things go wrong too many times. She’d seen too many men make bad choices just because they were easier than making the right ones. She’d seen people throw away relationships for the smallest scraps of financial gain.
But Nolan was different. Otherwise she wouldn’t be with him. She struggled over what to think as she watched the otherworldly way the sun lit the clouds below and around them. Just turn off your brain for a day, she told herself. Just be a girl who likes a guy. How hard can that be?
The article was completely forgettable, just enough to please the senator, and little more. So why had Erin paid multiple visits to Andrew Heck? He wasn’t even quoted in the article. He was barely mentioned. Stop, she told herself. You’re not working right now. You owe this to yourself. Don’t self-sabotage.
“It’s great,” she said. “Well, it’s forgettable, which is great.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. “Hold onto it for me, ok?”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know, but I want to. You’re right, I want my full attention to be here. Wherever here ends up being.”
“You’ll find out soon.”
On the descent, the plane dipped back into the clouds. Abby caught a flash of color through a break in the clouds, but instead of green, she saw hillsides draped in orange and red. She was confused for a moment before she realized the explanation: foliage. He was bringing her to New England.
Even after the plane landed and she could see the foliage blazing on the hillsides and mountains around the small valley around them, Abby could hardly believe any of it. When Nolan took her bag in one hand and her hand in the other, and led her to the exit, she just followed without a word. She followed him down to the tarmac and over to an SUV that was parked and waiting for them.
“Welcome to Vermont,” he said as they climbed in. “It’s the most like home of any place I’ve been in the states, especially with weather like this” he said. As he started the SUV and pulled onto a country road, Abby found herself getting lost in thought.
There were times when she imagined living different lives. When work brought her outside the city, it gave her a chance to reflect, to catch a glimpse of the kind of life she could have led if things had gone differently. If not for Amy Haven, Abby probably would have given up on politics after a few years and gone on to something else. Maybe she’d have ended up in a place like this, living a quiet life. As she watched the foliage appear through breaks in the fog only to disappear again in an instant, Abby wondered whether she could ever be happy doing anything else. She liked the excitement of her job, the immediacy of it. Sometimes it felt like the whole world was crashing in, and she was the only one who could put it back together, but out here, far from the halls of power, she felt something different. She felt like she could almost see another way through the fog, if only she knew what.
“Tired?” Nolan asked as Abby stared off through the window at the farmhouses that appeared in the distance, through a fog so thick that they appeared to be floating in air.
“No, just thinking,” she said.
“That usually gets me in trouble.”
“When I think or when you think?” she asked.
“Both,” he said.
Abby laughed. She wondered how, with his gorgeously deep blue eyes and his generally swoon-worthy body, how it was Nolan’s wit that drew her to him the most. He always had an answer, and it always delighted her. The only exception was when he wanted to get a rise out of her, but even then, she enjoyed acting indignant around him. She wouldn’t admit that to him, though. It would only encourage him. Abby reached out, placed her hand on his, and relaxed into her seat as she watched the pastoral landscape pass by.
They passed through a few small villages during the next half hour—nothing more than a few houses and an intersection. Then the houses started getting closer and closer together. The traffic picked up, and before she knew it, they were in the middle of a bustling town center parking in front of a few shops. “Supplies,” he said. “And this time, there’s no spending limit.”
“Let me guess, a bathtub full of caviar.”
“I was thinking champagne,” he said. “We have dinner reservations in an hour.”
“Early,” Abby said.
Nolan winked. “I want to make sure we have enough time for everything,” he said. A short stop in town provided them with everything they needed. Nolan led her from quaint shop to quaint shop, picking out “provisions,” as he called them. Abby wasn’t sure they quite qualified for that title. An obscenely expensive bottle of champagne, cheese and crackers, another bottle of champagne. “Let me guess,” Abby said. “That one’s the breakfast champagne.”
“You know me too well,” he said with a laugh. He let his eyes linger on her. She loved the way his eyes lit up when he looked at her, the way he seemed to want to look at her and only her. It was like her every move was novel to him; the slightest movement of the shoulder or a
half smile would keep him in rapt attention that seemed to make the rest of the world fade away.
She wondered what they looked like to the cashiers and clerks at the shops they stopped in. Was their back and forth really something as special as she thought? Or were they like every other new couple that came through leaf-peeping? She was afraid to ask.
By the time they were headed back to the car, Abby noticed a distinct lack of actual food. She asked Nolan for a quick summary of what they’d gotten. He picked up on her real question quickly enough.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re going to love dinner.”
“Is that right?” she asked. “Let me guess: it’s another surprise.”
“For both of us,” Nolan said.
“How is that possible?”
Nolan grinned as he climbed into the SUV and started the engine. “Come on and find out.”
Chapter 11
A short drive later, Nolan pulled the car to a stop in a small parking lot next to a quaint restaurant overlooking the river. A massive beech tree yawned over one corner of the building, and provided a kind of canopy for a back patio. Beyond the patio, a garden followed the slope of the hill down to the water’s edge. Fog hung just above the water, giving the place an otherworldly feel.
“Have you ever heard of Celine Howard?” Nolan asked as they walked up to the side entrance to the building.
"She writes cookbooks, right?" Abby asked. No one would ever accuse her of being a foodie, but even she had heard of Celine Howard. The woman was one of the most prominent chefs in the country. If Abby recalled correctly, Maggie was a big fan.
Nolan cracked a grin and nodded. "Yeah."
"Wait, is this her restaurant?“ Abby asked. "Isn't it like 500 a plate?"
"Don't worry about it," he said. Abby stopped in the doorway. "She's a friend.”
"A friend?"
“She taught me how to cook,” he said as they stepped inside. “Reservation for Ross," he said to the host.
Before the host could even respond, another voice boomed from the back of the restaurant. "Nolan!" a woman called out, “this way." The woman leaned out of a doorway and waved them in. It was Celine Howard herself.
Abby grabbed Nolan’s sleeve. “Nolan, what did you do?” she said quietly.
“This must be Abby!” Celine called. “Come, come. We have to get started.”
“When she says ‘get started,’ what does she mean?”
“I thought it would be fun to try a cooking class together.”
“You know I can’t cook at all, right?” she said.
“You might have mentioned it a time or ten,” Nolan said. “That was the idea, got to get those chains of domesticity back on you.”
“Chains, you say?” Abby asked. “If I’d known it was that kind of date, I’d have worn more leather.”
Nolan laughed. “It’ll be fun. You can tell me more about the leather when we get back to the house.”
“Are you really trusting me to make dinner with you?”
“Of course?” Nolan said, somewhat confused.
“You’re a brave man,” Abby said with a laugh. If her past culinary attempts were any indication, there was a chance this date could go up in literal flames.
Once they were in the back of the restaurant, Celine led them to a small prep kitchen with a picture window overlooking the garden. Abby looked at the stainless steel ovens and the wide prep surfaces. There were pots and pans and utensils she didn’t even know the names of, and there was Celine, who was all of five foot nothing with bright red hair, with just a hint of gray and a joie de vivre that was unmistakable from a mile away. In person, she seemed like a cross between a hip grandmother and a kitchen pixie.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Celine said. “You are wondering where begin.”
Abby nodded.
“In the garden, of course,” Celine said. “You can’t get more local than this. Our mantra today will be fresh, fresh, fresh!”
With a flourish, Celine turned for the door and led them outside.
“Just as long as you don’t lead us to the hen house next,” Abby said.
“That’s a little beyond our scope today,” Celine said as she turned her attention to what looked like heads of lettuce. Abby breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against Nolan for a moment before taking stock of the garden.
She was surprised how much she recognized. On one side of the garden, there were neat rows of different kinds of lettuce, cabbage, and kale. There were beans, and gourds, and pumpkins as well. Much of the garden looked like it had been harvested already, but there were still a few hardy tomatoes to be seen. The things she couldn’t identify were mercifully labelled. What had looked like small sprigs were really the greens from carrots and onions and other root vegetables. There was even an expansive herb garden. Abby could smell something wonderful in the breeze. She followed the scent, and found herself leaning over the rosemary.
“Does something speak to you?” Celine called from across the garden. She was down on her knees pulling up a head of lettuce.
The breeze picked up, and Abby felt the cold through her jacket. It felt like it was rolling right through her. “What do you use in the winter?” she asked. “I mean after the frost.”
“Remember,” Celine added, “Eating local means eating fresh. Your foods will change with the harvest. Everything is about context. A ripe tomato is a gift in the late summer. In the winter, it is an interloper.”
“Don’t get her started on root vegetables,” Nolan quipped as he walked over to Abby. “She once lectured me for half an hour about the virtues of beets.”
“And the perils,” Celine added. “Now, let’s return to the task at hand. What looks good? What speaks to you?”
As she walked back to the middle of the garden, Abby wondered if there were any frozen pizza bushes in this garden. “How about this one?” Abby asked as she leaned down to examine a butternut squash. Nolan scooped it up in his hand and separated it from the vine.
“And we have a start,” Celine said. “Now, to the herbs.” She pointed to a corner of the garden. “Go ahead, touch them. Crush them between your fingers and smell.” She grabbed some rosemary and rubbed it back and forth between her hands. Then she raised her palms and inhaled deeply. “Give it a try.”
Abby looked to Nolan, who simply nodded in approval. She grabbed a basil leaf and rubbed it between her fingers, releasing its sweet, cool smell into the air. Then she tried the rosemary. It smelled wonderful, almost earthy.
“Which one speaks to you?” Celine asked.
“I think I like them both, but differently,” Abby said.
“Perfect,” Celine replied. “We have a start.” She pulled a small pair of scissors out of her pocket and started to snip at the stems. “Remember, improvisation is the key to enjoyment. Don’t live life from a recipe.”
Abby wasn’t sure if Celine was acting as a cooking instructor or a life coach, but she couldn’t wait to see what she said next. The chef suddenly stopped, as if struck by a bolt of inspiration, and said, “Mustard Greens! Divine!” and scampered off to a far corner of the garden.
“Isn’t she great?” Nolan asked. Abby just laughed and nodded her head. She wasn’t sure if Celine was brilliant or certifiable, but she couldn’t wait to see what she did next.
Once the supplies were gathered, they headed back inside to scrub their hands, clean their produce, and prepare to cook. While he was washing his hands in one of the kitchen’s large industrial sinks, Nolan pulled the faucet and sprayed at Abby for a second, lightly misting her face. As Abby shot him a look, she heard Celine clear her throat in disapproval. “This is a kitchen, not a playground,” Celine said, but she gave them a thin-lipped smile that said she was enjoying herself quite a bit.
“Nolan, you will prepare the first two courses, a butternut squash soup, and a field greens salad. Abigail, you will work with me on the main course, a roast chicken in a rosemary garlic sauce.”
> Abby crossed her arms and looked at Celine in disbelief. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? My skills stop at boiling water.”
“Today, they will grow,” she replied. “Though perhaps Nolan can lend a hand as well. That is, if he can stop spraying water.”
“I’ll try, Celine,” he said. “But I make no promises.”
“The things we’ll endure for cute boys,” Celine said to Abby before showing them how to clean and truss a chicken. They laid it in a bed of herbs in a glazed clay pot and set the large industrial oven to the right temperature. Under the guidance of a professional, it all seemed so simple, but it was never that easy on her own.
“Do you do house calls?” Abby asked.
Celine laughed and looked to Nolan. “I like this one,” she said.
“This one?” Abby asked, shooting Nolan a look. “Something I should know about?” she teased.
“A gentleman never cooks and tells,” Nolan said.
“When I was your age, I was hired by a Michelin Star restaurant in Paris as a line cook. The place had this enormous reputation for perfection. The perfect this, the perfect that. I’d eaten there once before, when I was a student. I’d saved for months to afford that meal. It was perfection. I decided that I’d strive to work at that restaurant and learn how to achieve perfection. I thought I was going to learn how to never make a mistake again. It turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.” She stopped talking and looked down at the sauce Abby was stirring. She dipped a spoon in and tasted it, wrinkled her nose, and added some rosemary. “Do you want to know a secret?” she said.
“I always love a good secret,” Abby said.
“Everyone does,” Celine replied with a wink. Abby had a feeling that Celine had more than a few stories to tell.
“Fair enough.”
“The truth is that things tend to look perfect from the outside when you have no idea the kind of work that went into them. It’s a real gift to make something seem effortless. I spent two years in that kitchen trying to make the perfect sauce, the perfect roasted vegetable. You name it, I thought I was a failure at it. I couldn’t figure out why the food I was making didn’t compare to the food I’d had there before, and then I realized, it’s because I knew the food that went into each dish. I did not see and smell a sauce. I saw my effort, my toil, and I thought that was the problem. I wanted it to be effortless. Have you ever heard that you don’t want to know how the sausage is made?”
