Chapter 3
Cooking is the thing I do when nothing else makes sense.
Just like two plus two equals four, runny egg yolks become solid when heat is applied. Baking soda reacts with acids, so dough rises. Water boils at two hundred and twelve degrees.
I don’t have to think about how it feels. Whether I’m doing the right thing. Whether I’m doing enough.
As long as the chef is reliable and takes all variables into consideration, the cooking comes through.
Yawning, I glance at the clock over the stove in my family’s kitchen. Just after four a.m. I barely slept last night, despite the fact I was tired from the four-hour drive north from Los Angeles. Probably had something to do with being back in this house for the first time in years.
Memories are everywhere. The little sign of my mother’s sitting atop the microwave: Be nice: I cook your food. The large family photo over the fireplace mantel in the living room, where my parents and a teenage Blake and Marilee will live in memorial forever. That old floral couch my dad hated but Mom loved because it was the first thing they bought together when they were married at the age of twenty-four.
Blinking against the hot flashes at the back of my eyes, I start prepping for breakfast. A quick peek inside the fridge shows me what I have to work with. Thankfully, there’s a decent amount, which makes sense. Though Marilee more enjoys the baking versus cooking side of things, our mother instilled a love of fresh food in us both.
Of course, cooking in and of itself was always too much of “an unlucrative hobby” for it to be my passion—at least in my father’s eyes. That’s why I also had to go to business school and get my MBA. That’s why I’ve worked so hard, even after Dad’s death, to turn my passion for food into a career. It’s the first step toward the big, important life Dad always wanted for me.
It’s also why I’m here, in Hallmark Beach.
At least, it’s part of the reason.
The other part is sleeping down the hall.
I mean my sister, NOT Lucy Reynolds—that insanely attractive woman who is as much of a temptation today as she was my senior year of high school. When I saw her last night, standing in my family’s kitchen, her long tan legs peeking out from tiny pajama shorts, the skin of her toned arms looking soft and silky, her hair hanging wet and wild—well, I nearly had a heart attack.
And it wasn’t because she was pelting me with bananas, which was just…adorable.
Thankfully, she wants nothing to do with me. Because I don’t need the distraction.
Grabbing a carton of eggs along with a block of cheese and some veggies, I close the fridge and select a cutting board from the collection beside the sink. Before I start on the food, I add some coffee grounds to the twelve-cup pot and hit the Brew button. Then I fall easily into the rhythm of chopping vegetables, and my whole body relaxes. When I’m done, I melt some butter in a small frying pan and toss in the onions and bell peppers, which combined with the brewing coffee soon create a delicious aroma.
I hear the squeak of a door down the hall, and Marilee emerges from her room into the living room. “Blake?” She blinks at me for a moment from behind her thick-rimmed glasses. Her brown hair’s piled on top of her head, and she looks so much like Mom that my insides twist.
“Hey, Squirt.”
She runs at me, throwing her arms around my waist in a show of exuberance. The top of her head only skims the height of my shoulders, and I wrap her up, squeezing her tight. Marilee’s the most forgiving person I’ve ever met, and I know I don’t deserve her kindness.
She pulls back and blinks up at me with her brown eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d cook you an omelet before work. That okay?”
“You came all the way to Hallmark Beach to make me breakfast?” She squints and scratches behind her ear, looking hilariously confused. Given the crazy early hours they have to keep, I’ve always been surprised Marilee chose a life as a baker. She was always the night owl among us, and it takes a load of caffeine to wake her up.
“No, Mare.” I point my spatula at the coffee maker, which has finished brewing. “I’ll explain after you’ve had some brain juice.”
“An omelet and coffee? All right, what did you do?” she teases as she pads to the cabinet in her large fluffy Christmas socks. Doesn’t matter to Mare that it’s May and nearly summer. She’d do Christmas all year round if she could.
I know she’s joking, but I hate the idea that it’s not normal for me to do nice things for my sister. What kind of brother am I? If only I’d listened to Lucy six years ago and stayed after the funeral like she’d begged me to—for Marilee’s sake, of course. But I’d been on the verge of my cooking apprenticeship at Paprika, and Dale was taking a chance on a guy with no real kitchen experience except what he’d picked up on his own. It wasn’t like that kind of opportunity was going to come along again.
And I’d had Dad’s voice reverberating in my head: “Do what I couldn’t. Get out of this small town, and never look back.” With him gone, I was desperate to make him proud. And so afraid I wouldn’t.
Still. I didn’t have to reduce communication with Marilee to just a smattering of texts and calls each year and her annual visit to me in Los Angeles.
I crack a few eggs into a bowl and whisk them around, then throw them into an omelet pan. “I actually did do something. Just probably not what you think.”
After snagging a pink mug from the cabinet, Marilee fills it with coffee. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“What time do you have to leave for work?”
“Half an hour.” She moves to the fridge and takes out some hazelnut creamer. “I’ve got time.”
I grunt. “Good.”
We are silent for the next several minutes while I make and plate her omelet, and she sits at the scratched oak table for four in the kitchen and sips on her brew, which is more creamer than coffee in my opinion. Guess bakers like their sugar in all forms.
Finally, I slide the plate in front of her. “Bon appétit.”
“It looks amazing. Thanks, bro.” Marilee forks a piece of the omelet and brings it to her lips. Groans. “Sweet macaroni, I’ve missed your cooking.”
I raise a brow. “Sweet macaroni? You still hang out with Lucy a lot, I see.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She coughs. “Um, actually, you might want to know?—”
“That you have a new roommate?”
She winces, and her glasses fall down her nose. “How’d you know?”
“Might have something to do with the fact I came in late last night and surprised her so bad she tossed bananas at my head.”
That has my sister giggling. “She didn’t.”
“I have a bruise on my jaw to prove it.” I point to a small spot that’s been aching since last night. Who knew a banana could do so much damage? Then again, maybe it had more to do with the vehemence with which it was thrown.
Marilee laughs again, then sobers as she takes another drink. Her eyes study me over the top of the mug. She sets it down. “When I told you at the wedding that my other roommates were moving out and that I’d always have a room for you, that was the total truth. I’m not planning to get another roommate. The third bedroom is still open and available whenever you are here.”
That both warms my heart and strokes my guilt. Because I know that weasel of an ex-husband Donny left her in some debt, though she won’t tell me how much. If I had any money to spare, I’d give her enough to cover it in a heartbeat. “Squirt, don’t forego another renter on my account.” In other words, don’t forego the money.
She shrugs and cuts another piece off her omelet. “You own half of this house fair and square. You should have access to a room as often as you’d like.”
Technically, she’s right. We used the life insurance money left to both of us from my parents’ death to pay down the mortgage. Then I took the rest of my portion and invested it to buy an upgraded food truck, because the one that I’d started as a side gig in college was basically falling down around my ears.
I’m pretty sure Donny squandered Marilee’s half.
“Yeah, well. After this visit, if you need to fill my room, please do.”
She reaches for my hand across the table, squeezes. “I know that you and Lucy have a problem with each other, but I hope that won’t scare you off from staying for a bit.”
“I don’t have a problem with her.” Not that I really blame her for having one with me. “And no, it’s fine. She’s your friend, and I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”
“Good.” She smiles. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Itching to do something with my hands, I stand and crack a few more eggs into the bowl. I’m not really hungry, but I could definitely use the steady calm that cooking brings. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay through the summer. Probably something like the end of July, beginning of August.”
Marilee sets down her fork. “Seriously? Of course it’s okay with me.” She cocks her head. “But can you really be away from work for that long?”
“That’s the thing. I finally sent Dale a business plan. Asked him to invest. And he went for it.”
“Wait, what? You’re going to get your own restaurant?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Oh my goodness! I’m so proud of you. You’ve been dreaming of this for…forever.” Her hands go every direction in her excitement, and I halfway expect her to knock over her coffee.
Smiling, I flip my omelet. “Thanks. It’s not a done deal yet. First, I have to come up with some new recipes. Dale doesn’t think I have enough, so that’s what I’ll be doing while I’m here.”
“Our kitchen is small, but it’s all yours.”
“You aren’t using it to make cakes?” We didn’t get much time to chat when I was catering the wedding, but she did mention that she’d made the wedding cake. I took a peek at it, and it was incredible—tall and glittering and perfect.
“I’ve done a few here and there, but…” She shrugs. “With my schedule at the bakery, there’s not really time to do a lot on the side.”
I feel like there’s more she’s not telling me, but maybe now isn’t the time to broach the subject. Besides, we have all summer to get into the details. And that’s good. Really good. Being here, it feels right.
Grating some cheese over my omelet, I then fold it over and plate it. “I actually won’t need our kitchen. I brought the truck.”
Marilee shifts in her seat, turns to face me fully. “Really? Are you going to open up shop here?”
I think of Dale’s words back in L.A. over a month ago. “What better way to test recipes than with a live audience?”
“Great idea.” Marilee drains the rest of her coffee and stands. “Won’t it take a while for you to get permits and such, though?”
“Already done.” I take a bite of my food. Hmm. A bit too salty, but still decent. “The second Dale told me to take the summer off, I got on the phone with the town council and started applications. In fact”—I peek at the clock over the stove for the second time this morning—“I’ve got a meeting at eight with Thomas Montrose to sign everything and get my truck set up in its new location.”
My sister brings her dishes to the sink and sets them down. Turning to me, she gives me another hug where I’m standing beside the counter. “I couldn’t be happier about this, Blake. I wish I could catch up more, but Marla’s expecting me at The Blackberry Muffin.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Go. I’ll clean up.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll do it when I get home.” She scoots toward the hallway, then turns. “It’s seriously so good to have you back, even if just for a few months.”
“Thanks.” I know not everyone will agree—Marilee’s roommate, for one—but if I can make a success of things here, then it’ll be worth facing Lucy’s wrath day in and day out.
The best thing I can do is play nice.
Just not too nice.