Chapter Eleven
Eleven
One morning, a few days after Alex and I had decluttered my condo, I sank into a seat at the galley table and hung my head in my hands, fighting off a wave of nausea.
“Good morning again,” Alex, who stood before the open refrigerator, said.
When I didn’t respond, the refrigerator door snapped shut and Alex was suddenly beside me. “You okay?”
I let out a slow breath. “Forgot to eat breakfast. Probably too much coffee on an empty stomach.”
I’d been fine when Alex and I carpooled to work that morning.
We’d arrived a few minutes early, so I’d disappeared into one of the bunks and called my sister.
Okay, Beth had said when I asked how she and Mark were doing.
She’d changed the subject quickly and asked about the girls.
I’d told her they were great. I was keeping them distracted.
And Beth had asked if they were talking about Samson.
After their meltdowns the first week, I could count on one hand the times Samson’s name had come up.
Whenever it had, I’d successfully steered the conversation to something lighter.
The girls still had their moments, but they were quieter now, more private.
As much as I don’t want them to be sad all the time, it doesn’t seem right that they aren’t talking about it either, Beth had said.
And then she’d started crying, talking about how our mother had screwed things up with us after Dad died and how she didn’t want to do that to Mia and Kitty.
In the end, she’d made me promise to talk to Mia and Kitty and ask how they were feeling.
The idea of a conversation like that (on top of not eating breakfast) had made me sick to my stomach.
Alex clapped his hands together. “Well, you’re in luck, because I just happen to be a very talented chef. Chocolate chip waffles are your favorite, right?”
I tried to protest, but the motion only made me feel worse, and besides, Alex had already crossed the galley and was plugging in the waffle maker.
Ten minutes later, he placed a stack of waffles in front of me. “Eat up. We’ve got work to do.”
“Thanks.” I took small bites until my stomach settled and tried not to think about Beth, or Mia and Kitty, or Samson.
As I ate, Alex zipped around the kitchen.
He pulled out the cutting board, his knife, and every fruit imaginable: a watermelon, a pineapple, kiwis, blueberries, strawberries.
“I meant to ask,” he said as he washed the blueberries and strawberries in the sink.
“How’s your list going? The picture of you from the Zefron-a-thon post was great, if I do say so myself.
You must have had an excellent photographer. ”
I paused, a bite of waffle between my teeth. My blog. Alex had read XO, Jo. Of course he knew about it, in a casual sort of way. But the thought of him actually reading it had never crossed my mind. “You’ve read the blog,” I said.
“My favorite is the kiss a stranger post, of course,” Alex said.
He carried the fruit over to the island and began nonchalantly slicing the pineapple.
“It’s good to know you don’t really think I look like a tourist. The skinny-dipping post seemed to be missing crucial information, but I’ll let it slide. ”
“I don’t really dream about you,” I said, my entire being burning in embarrassment.
“That surprises me,” Alex said. “Because I’m very dreamy.”
I stuffed another forkful of waffle into my mouth, because what else was there to do? The phrase pillowy lips popped into my mind, and I considered throwing myself overboard. I’d written that when Alex was basically a stranger. How was I supposed to know he’d become my buddy?
“Really, Jo, I like it,” Alex said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I know they’re just blog posts and don’t mean anything.”
“Yeah, exactly,” I said. “I didn’t really mean any of that.”
Alex continued slicing the pineapple, eyes on his knife. “How are you planning to go to five countries and sleep in a castle by the end of the summer?”
I prodded the waffles with my fork, happy to move on to a new subject.
“I hadn’t really thought about it. I keep telling the girls I don’t see how it’s possible, but anytime I bring it up, they insist we have to do all the items together.
I didn’t know they were coming for the summer.
They sort of . . . surprised me. I had it all figured out before that. ”
“What was the original plan?”
I leaned back in my seat. “You know how I have the next two weeks off?” Alex nodded.
“I had this big trip to Europe planned to knock out the last five countries. I even booked a room in a Scottish castle. But I canceled all that the day after Mia and Kitty showed up. As much as I’d like to finish the list, I can’t imagine it happening. ”
“I see.” Alex went quiet again. He’d finished the pineapple and moved on to the watermelon, staring down at it for so long I thought he’d forgotten I was there. Finally, he looked up at me and set down his knife. “Did you know there’s a castle in Miami?”
“No,” I said. I waited for him to explain himself, but he seemed lost in thought. “Care to explain, Chef Alex?”
He rapped the counter with his knuckles. “Coral Castle,” he said, and picked up his knife again.
“Coral Castle,” I repeated. Was this a joke? I’d spent the last seven years in South Florida. Surely, I’d know if there was a castle an hour and a half from my condo. “Sorry, but what is that?”
“It’s a little sad, really. I need to preface this by saying it isn’t a castle in the sense you’re thinking. It’s hard to describe. This Latvian immigrant single-handedly built the entire thing from limestone. And I mean giant slabs of it. No one knows how he did it.”
I set my fork down, intrigued. “What’s sad about that?”
“He built it as a monument to the love of his life, who left him one day before their wedding. The guy spent twenty-eight years building this thing, and she never even saw it.”
“That is really sad.”
Alex shrugged. “It’s probably not the kind of castle you were looking for, but I know the event planner. I catered this psychic event when they were in a pinch, and I bet she’d let us stay on a night they don’t have anything going on. If you wanted, that is.”
I pulled out my phone to look up the place.
Essentially, Coral Castle was a giant courtyard surrounded by towering limestone walls and filled with strange limestone sculptures.
It was . . . weird. Florida weird in the truest sense.
And Alex was right, it wasn’t what I’d envisioned when I added this item.
But then again, almost nothing this summer had turned out like I’d planned.
It would certainly make for an interesting blog post.
“Why the hell not? It’s not like I have a lot of options here.”
Alex looked up from the cutting board. “Really? You’d be into that?”
I showed him the photo of Coral Castle on my phone. Giant limestone statues of moons and planets filled the frame. A creepy filter outlined each statue in a purple glow. “What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to spend a night here?” I said.
“I’ll call the event planner, then.” Alex nodded to my plate. “Feeling better?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, taking stock of my head, then my stomach. “Actually, I am. Thank you, Chef Alex.”
“You’re very welcome, Stewardess Jo.”
“What’s this?” a voice said. We turned to find Nina at the galley door, papers clutched in her hand. She gestured to my empty plate. “This is work, you know, not a diner.”
“I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Wasn’t, which means you are feeling well now. We’ve got a fun charter today, so there’s a million and one things to do.”
A fun charter could only mean one of two things. “Child or animal?” I asked.
“Animal.”
“Pomeranian or bichon frise?”
“Bichon frise.”
Alex and I groaned in unison.
Nina shot Alex a dirty look. “What are you complaining about? You only have to cook for it. We have to pretend to love it as much as the primaries do.”
Nina placed three sheets of paper on the island counter. I stood to join her and Alex. At the top of one sheet of paper was a photo of a dog with a bow on its head. “This is Bitty,” she explained.
“Bitty is on a low-carb, grain-free diet,” I read aloud. “Her favorites include lavender-infused water, gluten-free biscuits with blueberry compote. Her owners request a special birthday lunch of foie gras.” I looked up at Alex. “Can dogs even eat foie gras?”
Alex shook his head. “My plan is to make faux gras. With lentils. Fools them every time.” He scanned the sheet again. “That is a definite no-go,” he said, pointing to beef carpaccio. “No way I’m getting blamed if Mistress Bitty gets E. coli.”
“You know a lot about what dogs can and cannot eat for someone who has never had a dog,” Nina said.
Alex shrugged. “Comes with the job.”
“And they want us to throw the dog a birthday party?” I said to Nina.
“Bitty is turning ten years old,” Nina said. “Why wouldn’t she have an extravagant birthday party with a price tag equivalent to an entire college education?” Nina pointed at Alex. “This will be the true test. Is Chef Alex as unflappable as he seems? Dog charters bring out the worst in everyone.”
“I don’t mind dogs,” he said. “They can’t complain about the cooking.”
“Oh, Alex,” Nina said. “You’ve got it all wrong. The dogs are never the problem. It’s the people.”
“You’ll make a birthday cake, right?” I said to Alex.
“I’m thinking peanut butter and blueberry cupcakes.”
“That sounds good, actually.”
Alex’s knife flashed in the light as he sliced through strawberries. “I’ll be sure to save you one.”
Alex grinned at me, but a moment later his face transformed into a wince of pain. He jumped back from the counter with a hiss, cradling his hand against his chest. Blood ran thick and fast over his white chef’s coat, and I was on the other side of the island before I could think.