Chapter 12Stella
Chapter Twelve
Stella
As I walked back to my booth, the sting of the needle lingered. With every flex of my fingers, I could feel the pull of the stitches on my outer palm—a dull, throbbing pain that echoed Aiden’s precise handiwork. Yet, it was more than physical discomfort distracting me. Aiden had surprised me. Not so much how quickly and effortlessly he’d stitched my hand—I’d always known he’d be a great doctor. It was more the unexpected tenderness he’d shown. The way he’d kept me talking and distracted while he worked.
His quiet confidence was not just in his profession but in the way he approached life, and it had a calming effect on me. I might be a woman who thrived on self-reliance, but I wasn’t immune to a comforting touch. Especially when a disarmingly handsome, tender, and competent man gave it. I frowned, unsure whether that was a good thing.
“Stella, you’re back! Let me see.” Grace reached for my bandaged hand with concern etching her features. Then her face smoothed after a close examination. “Very professional-looking. You all fixed up?”
The disposable gloves felt foreign as I slipped them over both hands, the latex sticking awkwardly to the gauze. “A few stitches. Nothing I can’t manage. Besides, we’ve got hungry mouths to feed.”
“Uh-uh, no knife work for you,” Grace insisted, her tone brooking no argument as she steered me toward the grill. “Felicia, you’re on chopping duty!”
From behind the counter, Felicia gave a hearty laugh and selected her knife like a seasoned warrior preparing for battle. “Got it.”
“All right, all right.” Conceding, I turned my attention to the flames before me. Cooking was so second nature, I lost myself in the rhythm of flipping burgers and charring corn on the cob, the sear of meat merging with the salty sea breeze.
“Smells incredible, Chef!” A guest who’d been a regular at Orchid leaned over the barrier with an appreciative sniff.
“Thanks,” I replied, pride filling me despite the day’s misadventures. “Try the blackened hamburgers—seasoning, not burned!”
“Bring it on.” He beamed, accepting the plate Grace handed over with a flourish.
I passed the next order to a waiting guest with care. “Here you go—Stella’s signature shrimp skewers. Watch out, they’re hot.”
My movements were slower, more deliberate, but the quality remained unaltered. Today’s hurdle hadn’t dampened my spirit, nor my determination to shine, even if it was just at a small-town beach festival. And my confidence had soared since settling into my new role. I still had moments when the spotlight of being on center stage brought forth butterflies, but I reminded myself that I wasn’t just a seasoned chef. I was a Markham, working at Calypso Key Resort’s own restaurant.
If this wasn’t fate, I didn’t know what was.
Amidst the sizzle and crackle of the grill, my gaze wandered across the festival grounds and the cornhole platforms now being collected. It landed on the medical booth where Aiden, with his dark-blond hair falling over his forehead, was gently placing an adhesive bandage on a young boy’s arm.
He must have sensed my observation because he glanced up, locking eyes with me. We both stilled, frozen in a moment that seemed to stretch beyond the mere seconds it occupied. His gaze didn’t waver, and those deep blue eyes pierced mine. Warmth spread through me, not from the grill’s heat but from the unexpected connection we’d forged over a simple injury. After a small smile, he bent back to his patient, and I returned to the grill.
“Another round of shrimp, please,” Grace called out.
“Coming right up,” I answered automatically, turning over several skewers while my mind continued to dance with thoughts of Aiden.
As the afternoon waned, the festival’s energy mellowed, and the crowds began to disperse. Guests returned to their cottages, and locals to their homes.
“So.” Grace bumped my elbow with a gentle nudge as I plated a blackened fish taco. “Is your hand holding up?”
“Yes. Surprisingly well.” After handing the taco to a waiting customer, I sighed at a break in the action, the hungry celebrants now sated. “It’s sore, but I can work fine. Aiden was… thorough.”
“And?” she prodded, her eyes sparking with curiosity.
“He asked me out.”
Her hand, poised to stack some paper plates, froze mid-air. “Really?” Excitement lit up her features.
“Sort of. Maybe.” Hedging, I rubbed my face with the back of one glove-covered hand. “It’s not really a date. He just invited me over to look at his sailboat. Maybe help with sanding the deck.”
“Stella.” Grace laughed, finally straightening the plates into a neat vertical tower. “That’s a date, girl. You’re going to be alone, on his boat, working on it together? That’s the kind of thing people write songs about. Just sayin’.”
The corners of my mouth threatened to curl into a smile, but I held my ground. “We’ll see.” I turned back to the grill, but inside, my heart fluttered at the possibility.
Grace leaned in, her voice lowered. “Give him a chance, Stel. I know he hurt you, but Aiden’s not the same kid who left all those years ago. People change.”
I glanced over at the medical booth, where Aiden was examining a crying child’s face. The intensity in his focus was visible even from here. I remembered that same concentration directed at me earlier, his hands steady as they sutured my skin. And the softness of his voice as he tried to distract me.
“Maybe.” I placed a patty on the grill, telling myself it was the heat from the grill warming my face. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Thinking about it?” Grace echoed with a playful huff. “Stella Markham, you’re going on a date. Admit it.”
“Fine,” I said, the word escaping me like steam from a pressure valve. “It’s a… tentative date.”
She grinned, triumphant. “That’s more like it.”
As I handed out the last couple of dishes to the dwindling line of festival-goers, I couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing Aiden outside the context of an emergency had a certain allure. I was curious about who he’d become. The glimpses I’d had so far hinted at a man I wanted to know better.
The clink of plates and quiet chaos filled Orchid’s kitchen, creating a sound that always energized me. It was Monday evening, and the dinner rush was like a well-rehearsed dance—steady but not overwhelming. I moved between the various stations, ensuring every entree and appetizer was being lovingly tended to before settling at the stove. Rea’s laughter echoed as she seared a steak. Luis, our experienced sous chef, orchestrated the stoves with a conductor’s precision, his good mood infectious .
“Table seven’s chicken cordon bleu needs another minute,” I called out to him, checking the chicken’s sear.
“Got it, Chef!” he responded without missing a beat.
I was about to turn back when the shrill ring of the wall phone cut through the buzz of activity. All calls to the kitchen came from the hostess station. Luis wiped his hands on his apron and answered it. “Kitchen. What’s up, Suze?” A pause, then a glance in my direction. “It’s for you, Stella.”
Curiosity piqued, I took the phone from him as he moved to take over my chicken dish. “This is Stella.”
“Hey, it’s Aiden.”
Just hearing his name sent an odd tingle down my body. “Hi. Is everything okay?” I was relieved to find my voice more composed than I felt.
“Yeah, everything’s good. I don’t have your number, so calling you at work seemed the most obvious choice. I just wanted to check in about your hand. Make sure you’re doing all right.”
I couldn’t resist a smile at his concern. The cut on my palm flared slightly beneath my glove—as if reminding me of the incident. “It’s less painful every day. I’ve been keeping it clean and dry, just like you ordered. Thanks for checking in—that’s very thoughtful of you.” The disposable gloves crinkled as I flexed my bandaged hand. The kitchen’s clamor faded into the background.
“Of course,” he replied. “Take care of it, okay? Infections are no joke.”
“Will do, Dr. Mitchell,” I teased lightly, though I warmed at his protective tone.
“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow when you come by.” Aiden paused, the moment drawing out. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”
“We are,” I replied, my smile widening with the suspicion that this was the real reason he’d called. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll meet you at the marina entry gate, so you don’t need to worry about finding the boat.”
“Oh, I figured it would be the one half-sunk in the harbor. ”
He laughed. “I promise. She floats just fine. See you at five?”
My hand gripped the phone tighter at the sound of his laugh. At the warmth and relaxed tone within it. I’d missed that, and only now did I realize it. “Five it is.”
“See you then, Stella. And… take care,” Aiden added, almost hesitantly.
After the line went dead, I replaced the receiver and turned back to the controlled chaos of Orchid’s kitchen. The scent of seared scallops and citrus zest filled the air, grounding me once again in the here and now.
With a renewed focus, I approached the pass, surveying the dishes lined up like an edible art gallery. Each one was a testament to our team’s skill, an explosion of flavors waiting to delight our guests. As I checked the seasoning on a velvety lobster bisque, my mind momentarily wandered to the marina’s salty breeze and the gentle sway of sailboats.
I wiped the rim of a bowl, ensuring the plating was perfect. But as much as I tried to concentrate on the present, thoughts of Aiden lingered. A question burned brighter than any prospective romance. I wanted explanations—needed them. But that was going to be a tricky conversation, fraught with emotion. I’d wait for the right moment, under a canvas of sky over the marina.
That’s when I’d ask Aiden Mitchell why he left me behind.