Chapter 5
Alex
The sun is barely up and the terrace outside the kitchen is quiet.
It reminds me of Harbor & Ash at five in the morning, before the deliveries start and the prep cooks roll in and the whole machine begins to turn.
I've always loved this hour. The stillness before the chaos.
A cup of coffee and nowhere to be for another thirty minutes.
I'm leaning against the stone railing watching the fog sit low over the vineyard rows. Back home during this time of year the mornings are usually wet with that Pacific Northwest damp that gets into everything, and you can smell salt off the sound even when you're nowhere near the water.
Here, it's dry. The fog burns off fast and then it's just sun and dust and that baked-earth smell that Napa gets by mid-morning. But I fall in love with it more each time I come here. Something about California, like they say, and Napa Valley is the showoff of the bunch.
The kitchen door bangs open behind me with enough force to rattle the frame, and I turn to see Isabelle storming down the terrace steps toward the parking lot with the single-minded purpose of someone on a mission. She doesn't see me at first, too busy muttering something in rapid French.
She's wearing jeans and a white t-shirt and her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, completely different from her usual slicked-back chef's bun. She also looks absolutely furious, her jaw set and her eyebrows drawn together in a way that suggests someone is about to have a very bad morning.
"Hey," I call out, pushing off the railing with my coffee still in hand. "Where's the fire?"
She stops mid-stride and turns, and for a moment she looks startled to see me, which only lasts a second before the scowl returns.
"Morrison," she says, and she's pointing at me like I might somehow be responsible for whatever Morrison did.
"The lamb supplier. He's trying to back out of our agreement because he got a better offer from some restaurant in San Francisco, and now he's not returning my calls.
And if I don't have that lamb by Thursday the entire fourth course is ruined and I'll have to completely redesign a dish three days before opening. "
"That sounds bad," I say, walking down the steps toward her.
"It is bad. It's very bad." She's already walking again, heading toward the gravel lot where the estate vehicles are parked.
"So I'm driving out there to deal with it in person, because apparently that's the only way to get anyone to take me seriously.
Show up at his farm and refuse to leave until he honors our contract like a professional. "
I nod, falling into step beside her easily. "How far is the drive?"
"Two hours or so depending on traffic." She pulls a set of keys from her pocket and clicks the fob, and a black SUV at the edge of the lot chirps in response, lights flashing.
"I should be back by early afternoon if everything goes smoothly, which it won't, because nothing ever does.
But the team knows what they're doing today, Sofia can handle prep without me hovering, and Margot said she'd check in on them while I'm gone. "
"Want company?"
She stops walking abruptly and turns to look at me as though I've just sprouted a second head. "What? Why would you want to come?"
I take a sip of my coffee. "Because I've got about a decade of experience dealing with suppliers.
Farmers, ranchers, fishermen, foragers, the occasional weird mushroom guy who lives in a yurt and only accepts cash.
Some of them are great people who care about quality.
Some of them are pains in the ass. Either way, I know how to talk to them. "
"And you're offering this out of the goodness of your heart?" She crosses her arms, eyebrow raised.
"I'm offering this because if your pop-up tanks, your father hangs me out to dry and there goes my Seattle restaurant," I say honestly.
"So this is one hundred percent self-interest wrapped in a convenient favor.
I'm not asking to take over. You're the lead.
I'm just offering to be backup. Moral support. "
She exhales through her nose. "Fine. But I control the radio the entire drive."
"Deal," I say. "You can play whatever you want. French pop, death metal, whale sounds, audiobooks. I don't care."
"Don't tempt me," she mutters, already heading toward the SUV.
The first thirty minutes pass in relative silence while she focuses on the winding roads.
Her playlist is mostly French, stuff I don't recognize but don't mind, and I crack the window to let the cool morning air in.
It'll be hot by noon. Late September in the valley has mornings in the low fifties and by lunch the sun is hammering the back of your neck.
We take the Silverado Trail north at first, the two-lane road curving along the foothills with vineyards spreading out on both sides like some tourism board's fantasy of California.
The valley fog is just lifting off the ridgelines and morning sun is coming through in long shafts, lighting up the vines.
Green leaves starting to turn red and yellow in long tidy rows, and a few hundred yards off the road I can see a harvest crew working a block under portable lights left over from the overnight pick.
"Listen.” She clears her throat. “I'm sorry I've been so snappy with you.
I swear normally I'm a reasonably pleasant person to be around.
It's just my father is breathing down my neck about every detail, vendors keep ignoring my very clear and reasonable instructions, and you're here as a spy, which I know you claim you aren't, but I still have to assume you might be. "
"You don't need to apologize." I turn to look at her. "I wouldn’t be thrilled with me being here either, if I were in your shoes."
"Yeah, well. You're not that bad. As far as unwanted surveillance goes."
"I'll take it," I say. "High praise."
"Thank you, by the way," she says. "For the compliment about the halibut dish the other day. I think I was a bit rude, but I actually appreciated it. It’s one of the dishes I’m most proud of."
"You should be proud. The whole menu is strong.
I went through the course plans before I flew out and spent most of the time annoyed at myself for not thinking of half the pairings you came up with.
The halibut was particularly impressive.
I cook with it a lot since it's native to Washington, and you managed to do something I hadn’t thought of before. "
The corners of her mouth curl up slightly. "I had a coworker at one of my dad's places who was from Washington, and he always raved about the fresh food you guys get up there."
"It's incredible. Seafood, berries, mushrooms, apples, cherries. The whole Pacific Northwest bounty." I glance at the vineyards passing by. "You ever been to Washington?"
"No, never. I don't really know anything about it other than fish guys at Pike Place Market, Sleepless in Seattle, and that the house from Practical Magic is in some town up there."
"San Juan Island," I say. "That's where they built the Practical Magic house. Or where it was before they tore it down after filming."
"You've watched that movie?" Her eyebrows go up.
"Of course I've watched it. I had a massive crush on both Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman when I was a teenager." I grin. "Plus it’s a classic. I’m pretty sure everyone has seen it."
She laughs. "I would have thought a girlfriend showed you that movie or something."
I shake my head. "I love movies, so I'll watch everything. And witches always kind of did it for me. The mysterious powers, the confidence."
She gives me a sideways look. "Of course they have."
"What, no fictional crush types for you?"
"I didn't say that. I've definitely got my own list." She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "And I get it, witches are very appealing. I always wish I was an Owens sister when I watch that movie."
I laugh. "Alright, so who's on your list then?"
She glances at me, something almost mischievous in her expression. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Then she turns back to the road, a small smile playing at her lips.
I settle back in my seat, thinking I might be enjoying this car ride a bit too much.
We drive in silence for the next several miles, the road climbing now as we head into the hills, and the vineyards gradually give way to oak forests and open meadows with cattle grazing on distant slopes.
"Can I ask you something?" Isabelle says, breaking the comfortable quiet.
"Sure, I'm an open book. What do you want to know?"
"You have this amazing restaurant in Dark Water that everyone raves about—"
"Dark River," I correct, laughing. "Dark Water sounds like a place where people get murdered in horror movies. Dark River is more like a Hallmark town."
She waves a hand without taking her eyes off the road.
"Right, Dark River. Anyway, I looked up your restaurant.
It gets insane praise. And you built it from nothing with your brother, which I'm more than a bit envious of, by the way.
" She shakes her head. "Yet you want to leave it?
Just walk away? That makes no sense to me. "
I consider how to answer that, watching the road unspool ahead of us.
"Well, I love the restaurant, and I'm proud of what Theo and I built.
But for years I've been thinking about opening a place in the city.
I had enough saved to make it work, but I never wanted to leave Theo holding the bag when things were still so unpredictable. "
She glances over. "And now things aren't so unpredictable?"