Chapter One
Opal
I stare blankly ahead as I run the immersion blender through a berry compote I’m using in the lumberjack breakfast this morning. It’s a down-home kind of plate with bacon, eggs, sausage, biscuits, gravy, and a side of pancakes. I love cooking for the lodge, but breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I’m not sure why, though I figure it’s the nostalgia of childhood warmth. There’s something about the memories of big, weekend pancake breakfasts that please the little girl in me, and she could use some pleasing these days.
“I know I’m not supposed to interrupt you while you’re cooking, chef, but isn’t that Buck Dalton?” Agnes is the newest hire in the kitchen. I chose her because she has a way with words. You wouldn’t think that words were important in the kitchen, but they are. I’m great at all the technical stuff. I know how to find the perfect mushroom for the perfect tenderloin. I can fillet a fish in just over a minute, temper the perfect chocolate, and bake the perfect crust of sourdough. Ask me to encourage people, though, and I’m lost.
It’s not that I don’t care. I care a lot. I think it’s more about my people skills than anything. It’s that or the fear of confrontation. I’m not sure. I should probably read a self-help book or something.
Agnes, on the other hand, may take a minute longer to fillet a fish, but she’s great at team building, and she bakes cookies for the kitchen almost every night. So far this week, we’ve had snickerdoodle, oatmeal raisin, and white chocolate macadamia nut. The recipes aren’t anything fancy, but they’re easily the best cookies I’ve ever had.
“Earth to Opal.” Agnes widens her grin, showing off the weathered lines on her cheeks. “Buck Dalton, famous country music star and two-time grammy winner, is currently in our kitchen.”
“What?”
She readjusts her glasses as bacon sizzles in the oven behind us. “Where are you today?”
My stomach tightens. “Sorry, Buck Dalton. I can’t see him.”
She nods out through the open concept kitchen into the dining room where the country star is sitting. “What do you mean? He’s right there.”
My heart pounds hard as I glance toward him and away again. “No, I know where he is. I see him… but I can’t see him, you know?”
“No, honey, I don’t know what you mean. Why can’t you see him?”
I drag in a deep breath and start my immersion blender again, ignoring Agnes’ question in favor of blended berries.
Agnes pulls the cord from the wall and stares at me. “Honey, I know I just got here, and I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you’re gonna tell me now. You’ve got me curious as all hell.”
I know she’s being funny, but I’ve never told anyone about my time with Buck, mostly because they’d probably call me a liar.
“I don’t want him to know I’m here,” I say as I let out the air I’ve been holding.
Her heavy brows wrinkle. “Why not? Do you know each other?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at the pile of dishes next to the sink. The dishwasher doesn’t come in until twelve. Maybe I should change his hours. That space is a disaster.
“No. Well, yes. I mean, he probably doesn’t remember me, anyway.”
“Okay,” Agnes grips my hand in hers and drags me to the office, shutting the door behind her, “tell me everything.”
I lower down in the chair and let out a breath. “There’s nothing to tell. Buck grew up in Whiskey falls and so did I.”
“That’s it? Why would he know you? You’re what… twenty-five? He’s gotta be getting close to forty. Why would your paths cross?”
My eyes roll. “Last year, before he was like a mega big deal… before the Grammys, I ran into him at the diner on Main Street.”
“And,” Agnes presses with a grin.
“And… we talked.”
Now her eyes are rolling. “Girl, apparently I gotta beat this outta ya. I’m gonna need a nap when we’re done here. Why can’t you see that man?”
“We met on the worst terms ever.”
“Okay…”
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’d just broken up with Edwin.”
“The stupid boy who cheated?”
“How do you know that?”
“Honey,” she lands her hand on her thick hip and swishes forward, “I know everything about everyone… except for this.”
I make a mental note to figure out who the hell is spreading my business around. “This is why I don’t tell anyone anything.” I sigh. “Look, Edwin messed me up real bad. I was sulking in the corner booth at the diner, Buck felt sorry for me, and we ended up talking all night.”
“Talking,” she grins, “all night?”
“No.” I push my glasses up onto my nose and step around her on my way out the doorway. “It wasn’t like that. It’s embarrassing to see him again. I was a mess that night. The second it happened, I regretted telling him anything. Besides, I’m not his type. A guy like Buck could have anyone he wants, and I’m… a mess.”
She follows me down the narrow hallway back into the kitchen, where two of my chefs are working the breakfast line. “You’re not a mess. You’re gorgeous, but you can’t stop the story there. I need to know what happened. Did you see each other again? Maybe it’s fate that he’s here. You know this stuff is never a straight line, right? That’s the magic of it all.”
I laugh and tighten my apron. “Nothing happened. He went his way, I went mine, and it’s not fate that he’s here. It’s punishment.”
“And why would the world be punishing a sweet thing like you?” Agnes is from the deep south and while I don’t care for most accents, I love listening to her talk. There’s something so soothing about the way she relaxes all her words.
“I’m not a sweet thing, Agnes. I’m a pain in the butt. You haven’t been here long enough yet to see it.”
She grins and shakes her head before grabbing the sack of potatoes off the bottom rack of the pantry shelf. I admire that she continues to work as she harasses me. “I know you just fine, baby. Whatever happened with that man probably wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking it was. Did he call you afterward?”
“Yeah, he called me.” Dishes clank and the sizzling bacon is pulled from the oven by one of the girls on the line.
“Okay. So, clearly he didn’t think whatever bad thing you thought about the evening.”
“Or he did and I just didn’t give him a chance to tell me.”
She focuses on the potatoes, slicing them slowly. I hadn’t noticed until now that her hands shake when she works. “When did you hear from him last?”
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I transfer the berries to a bigger bin. “He called me last week.”
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops as she turns toward me. “Honey, what?”
I nod. “He’s called me every week since that day.”
“And it’s been a year?”
“Yeah.” I focus on the berries, marking the date on the side of the bin.
“And you don’t think he likes you?”
I shake my head and pop the cap back on the dry-erase marker. “I don’t think about it at all.”
“Honey, I’d think about that every single day of my life. Hell, I woulda had that man twisted up every which way to Tuesday by now. You’re young and you’re beautiful. Live your life before your life lives you.”
I turn back toward the fridge, sliding the berries inside. I get where Agnes is coming from, but she doesn’t understand the full picture, and the fact that she called me beautiful sort of invalidates everything else she said. I’m most definitely not beautiful. I’m average at best. “Well, I’m never dating again, so… there’s that.”
“Who said anything about dating? You’ve got fun to have. You’re still green as a gourd. You gotta live a little.”
“Green as a gourd?” I narrow my eyes and smile.
“Full of beans. Wet behind the ears. Knee-high to a grasshopper. You’re young, honey. Come on… live it up!”
I love the sentiment of being young and crazy, but the last time I trusted a man, I ended up with months of heartache, tears, and pain. To be honest, I’m still working on my self-worth. Deep down, I know Edwin did what he did because he had issues, and I know that I’m in charge of my self-worth, but try telling my body that. Anytime someone tells me I’m beautiful, I’m reminded how stupid I am for trusting anyone with my heart.
“I wish it were that easy.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scents of our lumberjack special. It’s warm and buttery, with sweet notes of cinnamon and coffee in the background. Someone needs to bottle this up and make a candle.
“Opal?” A deep voice resonates from beyond the kitchen and my heart stops.
Oh my God. My heart does the thing where it catches in your throat and the air that’s supposed to be flowing gets stuck somewhere in between. Thankfully, my stomach distracts me from that terrible feeling with one of its own—a gurgling tightness with a sharp left pain. Maybe I’ll die right here on the kitchen floor. I’m pretty sure that would be less embarrassing than having this conversation.
“I saw online that you were cookin’ here.”
I forgot Scarlett put everything on the website. If I’d remembered, the second Buck got here I’d have begged her to take it down, temporarily quit my job, and gone into hiding.
I lift my head and stare at him, focusing on his light blue eyes. “Hey. Yeah, I cook. I cook here.” Oh God. Where is death when you need it?
He grins. “I think you’re the one girl in this whole place that ain’t tried to lock me down for a conversation. You gotta minute? Maybe a couple? I’d like to take you out.”
I glance toward Agnes for a way out, but she’s no help. Her grin is wide and those dark eyes of hers tell me exactly where she stands.
“I’m actually really busy. We’ve got breakfast started here, and the kitchen needs me.” Okay, good job. I did it. I told him the things, now shoo.
He nods and tucks his hand into the pocket of his jeans. The man is exactly the same as he was when I left him. He’s big, tall, brooding, covered in ink, and he wears a Tennessee cap low. “I could meet you after work. What time are you finished?”
“Three o’clock,” Agnes interjects. “I’ve got the dinner crowd tonight. Opal is off.”
“Perfect,” he says as he nods toward me. “Does that work for you, Opal?”
I don’t respond right away, mostly because I’m trying to think of the perfect excuse. A sick cat that needs tending, a prior engagement, a flu I feel coming on, or maybe a stomach bug… but nothing comes out of my mouth.
Agnes pokes me in the side as though she’s reminding me to speak.
“Sure!” My voice is way too high. I never sound like that. What the hell? “Let’s make it four.”
I’m not sure why I have to set the time an hour later. I have nothing going on, and I could easily leave straight from the kitchen.
“Sounds good.” He nods and turns back toward the dining room, landing a hundred-dollar bill on the table before disappearing into a crowd of girls waiting for him outside the front door.
My heart hammers against my chest and my cheeks flush with warmth.
What the hell did I get myself into?
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