Memories of You (Calypso Key)
Chapter 1Stella
Chapter One
Stella
Every step was a journey, from the past to the future. That was never truer than this morning. Sunlight glinted on the gentle waves, making me squint. The path under my running shoes was a familiar one, winding like a lazy river around the perimeter of Calypso Key as I ran. The late-morning sun was going from warm to hot against my exposed shoulders, but the breeze cooled me slightly as I kept a steady pace. My muscles complained from last night’s final shift at Blue Nirvana, but I pushed on, the burn a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.
New day, new start.
A grin tugged at my lips, the kind of smile that comes when you stand on the edge of a precipice. Thrilling and terrifying all at once. Today marked the beginning of my official role as the head chef at Orchid, our family’s crown jewel of a restaurant nestled right here on the resort island. My title was more than just a job description—it was the mantle of a dream I’d cradled since I could reach the kitchen counter on tiptoes .
The path wound past the beach barbecue area and onto a trimmed green lawn, the morning’s serenity broken only by the rhythmic scrape of a rake over the ground. Peter, a landscaper I’d known since I was a teenager, was raking old leaves and blossoms from the flat expanse of green, his signature straw hat bobbing in time with his movements. He stopped as my brother, Evan, who was Calypso Key Resort’s general manager, approached him with a slight hitch in his gait. Halting, the two men spoke.
I detoured to join them. “Morning, guys.”
Peter looked up. “Good morning, Stella!” His tone was cheery as he waved a weathered hand. Evan tipped a friendly nod toward me.
I returned the greeting with a smile. “Hey, Peter. How’s life treating you today?”
“Can’t complain.” He leaned on his rake like it was an old friend. His wrinkled face was ruddy and tan from a lifetime of tropical weather. “Welcome back, by the way. Are you done down in Key West yet?”
My eyes met Evan’s, the weight of my new title pressing down for a moment. He shot me a sheepish smile and rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. He’d recently shaved off the beard he’d had for years, and I couldn’t help smirking that his nervous habit still remained. Despite Orchid being my dream, taking this position hadn’t been an easy decision. Less than a month ago, our brother, Gabe, had appeared in the middle of my shift at Blue Nirvana to tell me Orchid had just lost its celebrity chef and was in desperate need of my services.
As in now.
I’d stared at him, dumbfounded, as he explained that Evan had fired their temperamental chef. I couldn’t quit my job with no notice, especially since Blue Nirvana was one of the most celebrated restaurants in Key West and had served as my culinary apprenticeship.
“Yes, and I’ve cleared out my place in Key West,” I said to Peter, my running shoes sinking slightly into the soft grass. “I’ve been juggling the two jobs for several weeks. It’s been wild, but it’s over now. I’m officially back at Calypso Key as of today.”
“And she’s already won everyone over,” Evan said.
Peter nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Well, if anyone can make Orchid shine, it’s you, Stella.” A slight grimace crossed his face as he glanced back at his rake and the long stretch of lawn still ahead of him. “I should let you get on with your run and get back to work. See you around.”
After he moved away to resume raking, I turned to my brother. “Everything ready for the new landscaping project?”
Evan’s evaluating eyes took in the area. “As ready as possible. It’s going to be a big job, so get ready to have some disruptions for a few months.”
That made me laugh. “I’m an expert at that. I’d better get back to it.” With a wave, I stepped back onto the path.
“Thanks for stepping up, Stella. We’re glad you’re back!” he called after me, his assurance a gentle push against the small knot of anxiety in my chest. I picked up my pace again and soon the winding path opened up to a view of the restaurant.
My restaurant.
Orchid’s pale pink walls gleamed against the backdrop of turquoise sea, and warm timber eaves supported the roof. My heart thudded with something more like stage fright than exertion. Instinctively, my pace slowed as I neared the arched live trellis leading to the entrance, my shoes padding softly against the gravel. A delighted smile rose on my face as I stopped to inspect the tropical ground cover that served as a carpet for the structure beneath. There they were—my orchids—nestled among the lush foliage framing the entrance.
“Morning, beauties,” I greeted them, bending to inspect a particularly stunning Cattleya. Its petals were a vivid fuchsia, and I marveled at how something so delicate could thrive here. But they did.
I loved cooking with a passion that was almost sacred—the way flavors could weave together to tell a story that ended with the satisfaction of a dessert’s flawless presentation. But orchids… they were my secret re treat, my silent partners in the art of creation. I had missed them while living in Key West. But now that I was home again, tending to them would be more than a duty. It would be a privilege, an act of love mirroring the care I poured into every dish. But as I stood there, the weight of my new title pressed upon me with an intensity that tightened my lungs.
“Can I really do this?” The whispered question escaped my lips unbidden, carried away on the breeze before I could snatch it back. Doubt crept in, and I sought to dispel it by moving on. I straightened and stepped to the next bloom, a lacy white Phreatia. Of course I would be a success. I’d spent my life building toward this very moment.
But is that enough?
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I returned to the path and my run. I’d dreamed of running a kitchen, yet dreaming and doing were very different things. And I wasn’t just stepping into any kitchen—I was stepping into the kitchen. The one that represented my family’s legacy.
The specter of failure terrified me.
Tightening the elastic band containing my dark hair, I pushed away the nerves, the fear. I focused on keeping a steady pace as I wound through the mangroves fringing the northwest section of the Key. A new wooden boardwalk had been built over the boggy areas, an idea Gabe had implemented. He also loved to run along the perimeter of the island.
As I emerged back into the tropical heat, our ancestral residence appeared in the distance. The Big House, a six-bedroom, three-story home, had weathered over a century of storms and stood firm for generations of Markhams, including my own. To the south of the house, three smaller cottages stood along the bluff that rose steadily northward. My sister, Maia, the baby of the family who now had her own daughter, lived in one with her husband, Wyatt.
The salt-touched breeze still clung to my skin as I pushed open the kitchen door and entered the Big House. The large room was empty, and I continued through it and down the hall to the soaring entry foyer. A grand staircase greeted me, rising three flights. A bedroom on the second floor was my sanctuary—close enough to feel the pulse of family life and high enough to gaze upon the sea’s expanse. I tossed my sweaty baseball hat on the familiar dresser, its surface a collage of seashells and photographs.
After showering and changing into crisp black pants and a plain white T-shirt, I reached for my phone. My thumb found my brother’s name with practiced ease, and the ringing tone filled the space between anticipation and apprehension.
“Hey, Stella,” came Hunter’s deep voice.
“Hello yourself,” I replied, sitting on my bed. “Just wanted to hear your voice. How’s the big city treating you?”
“Same old concrete jungle, but different palm trees,” he replied, but I could hear the tightness behind his words—the distance he felt from the sun-soaked shores of home. South Beach was less than four hours away, but more than distance separated him from us. My little brother was anything but little. At thirty-one, he was four years younger than me and a veritable granite mountain of a man. A mountain of many dark shades.
“Listen, I’m tossing around the idea of a casual family lunch,” I said, my words dancing around the suggestion. “Thought maybe you’d want to come down? Nothing fancy, just… us family.”
There was a brief silence, the kind that spoke volumes. I imagined him on the other end, weighing the simplicity of the offer against the complexities of our family. “Stell, you know I’d love to see you,” he began, and I could picture him shifting in his chair. “But are you just talking sandwiches on the patio?”
“Okay, so maybe there’s a slight chance of Dad wanting to eat whatever he catches that morning,” I conceded with a laugh, trying to keep the mood light. “And sure, Evan might be there, but…”
“But we have to start somewhere, right?” Hunter’s tone warmed despite his caution. “You’ve always been the heart of this family. Trying to keep us together, even the ones hell-bent on being islands unto ourselves.”
“Someone has to, right?” I joked, though my chest tightened at his words. A reunion, even a strained one, was a step toward mending the deep crack between him and Evan. And this time I’d be right there in the middle to keep my brothers from tearing each other apart.
“All right, I’ll think about it.”
The silence lingered in the air after Hunter’s tentative promise, and I could almost picture his lowered brow through the phone, the way he’d rake a hand through his hair when a conversation treaded too close to rough waters.
“I know it’s not easy.” My voice softened automatically. “After the accident… Just remember—there were two victims that day. Not just one.”
Hunter let out a sigh, a sound that seemed to travel across miles of ocean and memory, settling heavily on my heart. “No. Only one victim—Evan. And two brothers who don’t speak anymore.”
“But you’re both trying now. We’re family. And everyone’s agreed too much time has passed. Even Evan. He knows damn well he was out of line at Gabe’s wedding.” I pushed the image out of my head. Even though I’d been in the kitchen that evening—when Evan and Hunter had gotten into it at Gabe and April’s wedding reception—I could picture the scene all too clearly. A determined spark ignited within me. “It’s time to try to repair this leaky old boat. And I’m here to help. We’re supposed to get through storms together, right?”
“Sometimes it feels more like a hurricane,” Hunter replied, but the ice was breaking, bit by bit.
“Even hurricanes pass. And then we rebuild.”
“Idiot brothers and all, huh?”
“Especially the idiot brothers.” I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You guys are a handful, but I wouldn’t trade you for the world. All three of you. You can bring a date if you want to.”
He groaned. “God, no. I don’t have time to date. Besides, the old homestead seems to be the place sending out love waves these days. Which means you’re next for Cupid’s arrow.”
I wrinkled my nose and tried not to shudder. “Absolutely not. You think you don’t have time to date? Welcome to my world. No men for me—except for family, of course. I’ll make sure the lunch is casual and low key, I promise.”
“All right, Stel.” His voice, a blend of resignation and affection, came through the phone. “Let me know when you get it set up.”
“Promise me you’ll give it a chance.” I consciously relaxed my hand clenching the phone.
“I already did, remember? Evan was the one who pushed us into the pool, not me.” He paused again, then his voice lightened. “But I’ll do my best to keep us dry this time. How’s that?”
I could hear the half-smile tugging at his lips, a rare expression on Hunter’s face. I was one of the few who got to see this sweet, funny side of him. We talked a while longer, discussing his job in private security for an agency in South Beach. He didn’t sound happy, though he’d never come right out and say that. He never did.
Finally, we said goodbye, and the click of the call ending was louder than I expected. My fingers lingered on the black surface of my phone, tracing the edges while my mind traced possibilities. My chest filled with a cocktail of emotions—pride for stepping into my new role at Orchid, weariness from the transition, and a tremulous hope for healing between Hunter and Evan.
Returning to my closet, I luxuriated in pulling on my crisp white chef’s coat. Dad had presented me with the coat a few days ago. My fingers found the embroidered words on my left breast.
“Stella Markham, Head Chef,” I murmured to myself, testing out the title. It had a nice ring to it, even if the echo of responsibility was intimidating. Orchid was part of my heritage, a legacy entwined with the blooms I adored so much. Several of them flourished on a stand near the door to my deck.
My laughter burst out unexpectedly, breaking the silence of the room. With three brothers who each harbored their own brand of chaos, my life was already a whirlwind of love, frustration, and unspoken bonds. Three men who, despite their flaws, were the pillars of my tumultuous world. Along with a fourth pillar we all leaned on—Dad.
Four men in my life. Four men who had a tendency to stir up enough drama to last a lifetime. I hadn’t been on a date in several years, but I didn’t mind. I lived for two things, career and family. Both kept me plenty busy and very fulfilled.
I trotted down the steps and back out the door, a routine so familiar I didn’t need to think about it. With every step toward Orchid, where my day would truly begin, the weight of responsibility grew heavier. But it was no match for the fluttering hope in my chest. The hope for reconciled brothers, for laughter around the dinner table, for days when the worst we had to worry about was who ate the last slice of key lime pie.
Romance? I scoffed as I reached for an apron hanging by the door and smiled at the happy chatter of my fellow workers.
The only fire I’ll be kindling is under the stove.
And after tying the strings behind my back and stepping into the familiar embrace of Orchid’s kitchen, I was ready to turn the page to the next chapter of my life.