Turning Up the Heat: A Sizzling Modern Romance Novel

28. Kelsey

I was sittingat the café, in awe of Caroline’s somewhat gymnastic coordination in her wheelchair as she spun around the small restaurant. It was the Monday before Christmas, and I had a meeting with Octavia that afternoon. One of the three days a week that I now had to drive into the city to sit in a cubicle instead of my home office.

Everyone at the magazine hated the new policy except for Octavia.

I knew I was going to be talking to her about my desire to cover the Central Coast full-time so I could base myself there. I was pretty sure she had no idea that I wanted to move, and I had no idea how she was going to react.

From the new office policy, I was not optimistic.

I mentally reviewed what Hanna and I had talked about in our strategy sessions. Thanks to talking it over with her, I had a clear idea of what I wanted and what I was prepared to give up.

I was expecting a cut in pay, but Hanna correctly pointed out that the cost of living was significantly cheaper out of the Bay Area. I was also prepared to travel, but I was already traveling quite a bit as it was. That part wouldn’t be that much different.

The hard part was going to be convincing Octavia that one of her most popular columnists was better based out of a rural part of the state instead of one of its culinary capitals.

If I were to ask her to move me to the Los Angeles office, there wouldn’t be a problem even if she didn’t like it. But convincing her that the Journal needed a full-time writer on the Central Coast was going to be a stretch.

I leaned my chin on my hand, studying the notebook where I had written out my case and rubbing my temple absently. I was not feeling optimistic.

I felt a soft hand rubbing my shoulder and turned to see Caroline had rolled up beside me. “Hey. You look serious, and your aura is all muddled.”

She’d started back at the restaurant the middle of last week, giving herself some time to get used to the new routine before the weekend rush.

The situation was rocky the first couple of days, with a lot of dropped dishes and shouting in the kitchen, but it had smoothed out now, and things were back to a more normal atmosphere.

She reached for the coffee carafe on the small tray she’d attached to her chair and reached across the table to refill my cup. “So the big meeting is today?”

I nodded silently.

“Are you really that nervous? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could shut me down completely and say that it isn’t even an option she would consider.”

Caroline frowned. “Do you think she would fire you?”

I snorted. “I doubt it. My columns still get a lot of traffic on the website, and I get tons of email feedback. She wouldn’t fire me, but she could easily say that the Central Coast doesn’t need or warrant a full-time columnist.” I sighed. “The thing is, she’s probably right. Professionally, this is not the best option for me.”

She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at me. “You’re questioning yourself. I wish I had time to do a reading for you right now.”

I continued quietly. “Am I making a mistake? Seriously, I feel like I’m moving backward professionally, however much I might want this personally. Do you think I’m going to regret this?”

She pursed her lips and thought for a long time before she spoke. “Even if I did a reading for you, I don’t know what the future holds. And that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Life isn’t life without risk.” She smiled. “Are you happy where you are right now?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you feel like there are challenges here you still need to conquer? Are there things here that you can do as a writer that you can’t do farther south?”

I thought long and hard before I answered. “No.” These were some of the same questions Hanna had asked me. “I’m tired of covering an endless string of new restaurants and catty chefs who are only interested in one-upping each other. It’s not everyone… but it’s a lot.”

“Then there’s your answer.” Caroline spread her hands. “You’re not moving backward professionally because there’s not a new challenge for you here. You’re bored as well as homesick.” She put her hands on the wheels of her chair and backed up. “Just think what you could accomplish in a new area. What a challenge.” She winked at me, then left to visit other tables.

Invigorated by Caroline’s optimism, I packed up my bag, finished my coffee, and walked briskly back to the house to drive to Larkspur Landing. I felt like taking the ferry today.

“Kelsey…I don’t know what to say. This is… a surprise.”

I looked at Octavia’s skeptical face with growing dread. I took a breath, prepared to reiterate my talking points. “I think if you look at my columns over the past six months?—”

“I understand what you’re saying, and I’m fully prepared to spend more time covering the Central Coast in future editions. Your articles from that area have been well-received and popular. I just don’t think there’s enough there to keep you busy full-time.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath. “I think if you consider the points I made, you can see the benefits of putting a person in that area full-time. The number of small-scale food producers in Central California, combined with the growing wine industry?—”

“We have a columnist in Santa Barbara.”

“You don’t have anyone full-time between Monterey and Santa Barbara though.”

“Kelsey.” Her voice was clipped. “Do you think I didn’t hear you the first time?” She frowned a little. “I think the area needs more coverage, but it doesn’t need someone full-time. It just doesn’t make sense for the Journal. LA is the most densely populated city in the state. San Francisco is the second and has a huge percentage of California’s most trendsetting restaurants. I need you here. Not out in a rural area no matter how good the food is.”

I sat silently, looking across her desk. This was basically my worst-case scenario—she shut me down completely. She’d mentioned me spending one week a month on the coast, but that was almost like rubbing salt in the wound.

I felt a crushing feeling in my chest, and all my optimism fled the room.

The worst part was, from her perspective, she was absolutely right. I knew it before I walked into her office. It was the same feeling I had this morning.

My career didn’t fit the life I wanted, and I had no idea what to do.

“Octavia, thank you for your time.” I was frustrated and angry. I wanted to flee her office and find somewhere to cry, but instead, I stood up professionally. “Happy holidays.”

I was leaving for Oskar’s on Wednesday after a morning meeting with a winemaker in Petaluma, so I wouldn’t see her again before Christmas.

She called my name as I turned to leave the office. “Kelsey?”

I turned around, my features carefully masked. “Yes?”

She took a step toward me and lowered her voice. “Is this more personal? I know you have family in the area and…”

“And?”

“People talk. Everyone knows you and Olson are involved. You know how the gossip is.”

I resisted the urge to throw something. “I see a lot of potential in that area, Octavia. This is a professional interest for me.”

It was a lot more than that, but I didn’t feel like sharing. She knew enough already.

“I don’t want you to get discouraged. You’re a hell of a writer, and I am personally invested in your career. You’re building a reputation, Kelsey. But professionally, you have to realize the future is here.”

“Kelsey.”

I heard a far more welcome voice call my name as I exited the building. I turned to see Stan bump into a woman entering the building as he rushed to catch up with me. He held the door and waved at me to wait for him.

“Hey, Stan. What are you up to?” I tried to put on a happy face when he caught up with me.

“You headed back to Marin?” he asked breathlessly as he caught up with me.

“Yeah, I took the ferry over this morning. You going over to Hanna’s tonight?”

He nodded, and I tried not to let jealousy rear its ugly head. I was happy for them both. Really. It was a totally normal thing for a couple to spend an evening together.

It just wasn’t something that I could do.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. “We can grab some coffee or something. There’s a Blue Bottle Coffee in the Ferry Building.”

“Sure. That sounds good.” I started walking, closing my eyes as a rare peek of sun broke through the gloom of the persistent San Francisco fog.

Stan fell into step beside me. “Did I see you leaving Octavia’s office earlier?” He nodded back toward the building.

“Sure did.” I forced a smile. “Hey, guess what? I have no future writing on the Central Coast.”

He frowned at me, and then he smiled. Then he snorted a little. “Horseshit.”

My eyes went wide. “Stan Brent. That was almost a bad word.” I wiggled my finger at him. “That Hanna is a bad influence on you. What would your grandmother say?”

He chuckled. “She’d say a lot more than horseshit.”

I shrugged, trying to brush off my disappointment.

I’d let myself get carried away, entertaining starry-eyed visions of starting off the new year in a new place with new challenges. Not to mention a new life living in the same zip code as the man I loved. It wasn’t in the cards, which meant that Oskar and I needed to have some very serious conversations about the future of our relationship.

“Kelsey?”

Stan was so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was walking next to me.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…? I mean, if it’s not too forward, why are you still doing restaurant reviews?”

I rolled my eyes a little. “Well, Stan, it all started out with not having a trust fund?—”

“Hey.” His voice was a little bit sharp. “I’m asking as a friend, not as an editor. I hope you consider me a friend. I’m genuinely curious. You’re an incredible writer. Why the hell are you still doing restaurant reviews and chef profiles?”

I halted in the street. “That’s my job. I mean, I know it’s not the Great American Novel or anything, but I happen to feel really passionate about food and culture. I know I joke around with Hanna, but I really do take it seriously. I would think you, of all people, would understand that.”

He looked at me with a small smile on his face. “Yeah, I understand it perfectly. And you’re right. Food and farms and culture do matter and are important things to write about. So I’ll ask you again, why are you writing restaurant reviews?”

I just shook my head and started walking again, leaving Stan trailing behind me slightly. “I’m a food writer. I write restaurant and wine reviews. That’s what I do.”

“You’re a writer, Kelsey. Why the hell are you limiting yourself like that?” He shouted a little as he huffed up the street, trying to keep up with me.

I stopped for a second to wait for him. “What?”

He panted a little and pointed at the Ferry Building. “Come on—let’s grab a cup of coffee. I have a couple of ideas for you.” He held up a finger. “If anyone at the Journal asks, this conversation never happened.”

I lifted an eyebrow and stared at him. I didn’t have much hope, but what could it hurt to hear him out? Everyone knew Stan was brilliant. I shrugged and walked across the Embarcadero toward the Ferry Building. “Fine. Let’s get a coffee.”

Stan called over my shoulder, “So, that eyebrow thing? Am I going to start doing that now that Hanna and I are together? Is it a kind of Olson osmosis?”

We were perchedon barstools in a café. Even on a Monday afternoon, the shops and restaurants bustled as people flowed around us. Commuters streamed in and out of the building, catching boats or taxis, buying fresh vegetables or meeting for a gourmet Vietnamese lunch.

Normally I could spend hours wandering around in here, but I was feeling discouraged and I wanted to hear if Stan had any brilliant ideas about my professional life.

I sipped my coffee and wished I weren’t going home to an empty house.

“So,” he started, “here are some of my thoughts. Publishing is changing. I mean, it’s always changing, but it’s really changing now. Octavia and a lot of the old guard at the magazine don’t want to hear it, but print circulation is down everywhere, and the proliferation of AI-driven websites is going to swamp the online space.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that restaurant reviews need to become very personal. Are you going to trust a site that could be just spouting a computer-generated mashup of online reviews for a restaurant?”

“That’s useless, and those reviews could be referencing a menu that’s two years out of date.”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “What’s going to matter in the new landscape is relationship. Any computer can write a restaurant review.”

I stared ahead as I sipped my coffee. “Trying not to be insulted…”

“But it’s the truth. What you have is human insight, perspective, context, and connection. You relate personally with your audience. You have perspective from different aspects of the industry, and you can put the food they eat into context.”

“Okay. Cool. Thank you.” I nodded, confused as to how this changed anything about what Octavia had said.

Stan lowered his voice. “Kelsey, I’ve seen your online numbers. You get very good traffic. And it’s not just local. You have people reading your columns from all over the world. I see their search terms. They’re not searching for the California Food and Wine Journal. They’re searching your name. Your name is what brings them to the website.”

I nodded. “That’s good, right? Don’t most columnists?—?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not most columnists.”

“Really?”

“Really. And you know what gets the most traffic? It’s not your restaurant reviews.”

“What are you saying? How does this even…?” I pressed my fingers to my temples, feeling frustrated. “Stan, maybe I’m just being obtuse, but I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“Why did Oskar move to California?” He raised his eyebrow.

I blushed immediately, thinking of the story that Hanna must have shared with him.

“Well, he obviously really likes artichokes,” I muttered, taking another sip of my coffee. “And you just lifted your eyebrow in a very Hanna-like fashion.”

“Shit,” he muttered before continuing. “I truly don’t understand why you’re being so modest about this. You’re a very good writer. Since you didn’t ask, I’ll just tell you the most highly trafficked articles you write are not the restaurant reviews but your pieces like that one, the pieces where you tie the producer to the finished product and write about the process and the people involved. It’s universal stuff, Kelsey. People everywhere can relate to that even when they aren’t interested in the most recent trendy restaurant opening in Berkeley.”

I was flattered by his words, but I still wasn’t seeing how this helped get me back home with an income. “Stan, that’s awesome. That’s the stuff I love writing, but I can’t just decide to only write that stuff. My boss wants me to write about restaurant openings? I write about restaurant openings. That’s my job.”

His brows drew together as he leaned over the counter and looked at me sideways. He took a drink of coffee. “So why the hell aren’t you your own boss? If you tell anyone at the Journal I asked that question?—”

“I can’t start a magazine.” I shook my head. “And there’s a million food blogs out there.”

“You don’t need a blog. Central California feeds the nation, Kelsey. And you’re connected to half the farmers there. Freelance, Kelsey. Why the hell aren’t you writing freelance and selling your writing to publications all over the country?”

My mouth gaped. “I never thought about it, I guess. I’ve always worked for a print publication. First the Tribune, then the Journal. I just never thought about writing independently. Can I even do that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Lots of writers are freelance. You could continue to sell pieces to the Journal; we buy independent stuff all the time, particularly for web content, and then you could really branch out. You could write a book. Or collaborate on a book. How many chefs do you know who want to write a cookbook and have no idea how to string two words together on a page?”

“Stan, I would be unemployed.”

“No, you’d be self-employed.”

I gulped. “That’s scary.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, it could be. I don’t know, Kelsey. It’s just an idea. I think you could pull it off, but there’s no guarantee. It’s a risk.”

“Everything’s a risk.”

Life was a risk.

Stan finished his coffee and looked at his phone. “Looks like if we move it, we can catch the next ferry to Larkspur. Shall we?” He cocked his elbow at me and nodded toward the stream of people headed toward the dock.

I picked up my bag and placed my hand in the crook of his arm. We walked toward the ferry together.

“Stan?”

“Kelsey?”

“I’m really glad Hanna and I ran into you at One Market that day.”

“So what didOctavia say in the meeting today?”

It had taken Oskar thirty-five minutes to ask the question I had been dreading.

I cleared my throat. “She said that she could see me spending around a week a month on the Central Coast, covering the restaurants and wineries.” I tried to keep my voice as upbeat as possible.

He didn’t speak for a long, long moment.

“That’s all?” His voice was flat, neutral.

“Yeah, for right now that’s all she said she could see me having time to do and still cover all the stuff up here too.”

He cleared his throat. “Well… that’s more than you were spending before. That’s good.”

I almost cried then at the forced optimism in his voice. “Oskar?—”

“So when can you leave on Wednesday?”

I let out a breath at his obvious subject change, wrinkling my nose to try to keep tears from gathering. “I’m going to head up to Petaluma first thing in the morning and meet the guy for a breakfast interview, then go to the winery and meet the photographer. I’m hoping to leave Petaluma by noon.”

“So that puts you here around dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll just go to the house?—”

“No, Victor’s working that night. I’ll be home.” His voice was brusque and businesslike.

“Oskar…” I couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in the corner of my eyes. I sniffed audibly.

His voice came back over the line, a little softer. “We’ll figure this out, Kelsey.”

My whole body ached to feel his arms around me. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He cleared his throat. “I should let you go. You probably still have some writing to do tonight.”

“Okay.” I sniffed again. “Oskar?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it still worth it?”

When he answered, his voice was hoarse. “Of course it is.”

My breath shuddered out. “Night.”

My phone beeped when he hung up. I lay back on my bed, crawled under the covers, and let the tears fall.