Chapter Three
Oh, wow.” Regan said it on a whisper from the back seat of the black Lincoln Town Car that had been sent to pick her up from the train station. As the driver turned through an open wrought iron gate with a sign that read Black Forest Hills, she could see glimpses of the house she’d be staying in for the next eight weeks. Well. House was an understatement. It was more the size of a mansion, but modern. Like a high-end resort, all wood and glass, sitting at the top of a set of rolling hills. “Wow,” she said again.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” the driver asked. His name was Charlie, and he seemed to be a nice guy. He’d been waiting for her at the train station holding a sign with her name on it, just like in the movies. Kind of surreal.
“It’s magnificent,” she said, the awe clear in her voice. That wasn’t a word she used often, but it felt appropriate here. She met Charlie’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Am I the first to arrive?”
“You’re the third. Two are coming from the airport and one more arrives at the train station in about an hour.”
She nodded and turned back to the view out the window. The property was gorgeous, and clearly well-maintained. She wondered how many gardeners Liza Bennett-Schmidt had to keep things so pristine. It was spring, mid-May, and a long row of lilac bushes were in full bloom alongside the driveway. The scent wafted into the car, even with the windows closed, sweet and lovely. Then the trees ended in a clearing, and the driveway led them around in a circle to the front steps of the most gorgeous house Regan had ever seen. She sat there gaping, even after Charlie had cut the engine and gotten out.
He opened her door and held out a hand to help her out. She stood, still staring at three stories of chestnut-colored siding and windows that were bigger than the entire bakery she worked in. She wondered if there were similar windows in the back and what the view must look like with the rolling hills of Rhinebeck stretched out back there.
Charlie got her bags out of the trunk of the car, then held his arm out to let her go first up the wide stairs to the front door, which opened before she had a chance to knock.
The woman was not Liza Bennett-Schmidt, but her smile was wide and kind. She wore black pants and a white shirt, and her brown hair was pulled back in a rather severe bun. She held out a hand and grasped Regan’s.
“You must be Regan Callahan. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m May. I run the household for Ms. Bennett-Schmidt. Come in, come in.” She stepped back and allowed room for Regan to come into the most glorious…foyer? Entryway? Whatever it was called, it was straight out of a movie, with a grand staircase in front of her and ceilings that loomed higher than she could even guess at. The sunshine flooded in through the windows, and not a single speck of dust was visible. The place was grand, beautiful, and spotless.
“Let me show you to your room,” May said, with a nod at Charlie. He went up the stairs first, carrying Regan’s bags. To the left, down a hallway, and through an enormous wooden door that had to weigh hundreds of pounds. Inside, the bedroom was huge. Bigger than her entire apartment.
“Oh my God,” she said before she could catch it.
May seemed pleased by that. “I trust the room meets your approval.”
“And then some,” Regan said. There were two queen-sized beds, one on either side of the room. Straight ahead was a doorway to a bathroom. The room was decorated in what Regan would describe as modern ski lodge chic, with an old pair of snowshoes on one wall and a landscape painting of deer out in the snow on the other. A heavy-looking dresser of maybe oak seemed to anchor each side of the room, accented by matching bedside tables. Thick, fluffy duvets blanketed each of the beds in clouds of softness. Each bed had at least six pillows. “This is incredible,” Regan said, turning back to May. Charlie must’ve slipped out while she was gawking because her bags were next to the bed, but he was gone. “Thank you so much.”
May shook her head with a wave. “Don’t thank me,” she said with a grin. “Take some time and freshen up, get used to your room. It’s going to be yours for the next two months. There are two to a room, and your roommate will be here later.” May glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist, and Regan was surprised to see it was old-school and not a smartwatch of some kind. “Dinner is at six. Don’t be late. Ms. Bennett-Schmidt doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Regan nodded. “Got it.”
“Welcome to Black Forest Hills,” May said, then turned and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Regan turned back to the room. “Holy shit,” she said, and kept her voice down, despite how much she wanted to shout the words at the top of her lungs. “Holy shit,” she said again. And then she started to laugh.
She laughed and laughed until she fell onto the bed, still laughing, because holy shit, how had she gotten here? This was going to be incredible.
She spent the next half hour unpacking a few of her things and getting them organized. The bathroom was just as impressive as the bedroom itself, with both a glass-enclosed shower and a large garden tub. The tub had a huge window next to it. “Nothing like soaking your troubles away while taking in the view and the wildlife,” she murmured as she unpacked her toiletries. There were two sinks, so she organized all her things near one of them, leaving the other for her roommate.
At almost five o’clock, she took a very hot shower, amazed by how much room there was. Way more than the tiny shower she shared with Kiki and Brian, where she basically had to become a contortionist just to shave her legs. She took her time, enjoying the space and the hot water and the view, which she could see from the shower if she looked toward the tub. She’d never been somebody whose goal was to be rich, but seeing how the rich lived was pretty eye-opening already, and she’d literally only been in three rooms so far.
She’d read all the literature that had come with her acceptance multiple times, signed all the required forms and turned them in, and packed accordingly. While there was no dress code for dinner, she wanted to look neat, so she stepped into a lightweight pair of yellow pants, then put on a white short-sleeved button-up. She’d made sure to have her highlights done before she arrived, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get back to her hair stylist for two months, and now she fluffed it up, checked it in the mirror. Her hair had always been a plain, boring brown, but two years ago, when she’d turned thirty and had a bit of an existential crisis, she’d found that putting some blond highlights in it made her feel a bit hipper, a bit younger. So now she did that regularly and really liked it. Her hair wasn’t long, just long enough to tuck behind her ears, a length she’d chosen because it was perfect with the oval shape of her face, and also because it was kept out of the way when she worked. Nobody wanted to find a hair in their tiramisu.
The bed on the other side of the room was still untouched, and no bags had shown up while she was in the shower, so she figured her roommate hadn’t arrived yet. A glance at her phone told her it was almost six, so she tucked it into a pocket, hung up her wet towel, then pulled her door open, and realized she had no idea where the dining room was.
“How hard can it be to find?” she murmured to herself just as another door opened across the hall and a gorgeous Black woman in white pants and a floral print top met her in the hallway. Behind her, Regan saw a flash of pink hair, along with a purple bandanna tied around her neck, and then another woman joined them in the hall. “Hi,” Regan said. “Are you guys here for the retreat?”
The Black woman nodded and extended her hand. “I’m Vienna. This is Maia,” she said.
“Regan.” She shook both their hands, then asked with a grin, “Any idea where the dining room is?”
Deciding they could likely find it, they headed toward the huge staircase together. “Don’t you have a roommate?” Maia asked.
Regan nodded. “Not here yet, I guess.”
Finding the dining room, as they suspected, proved to be pretty easy. They followed the smell of food and the gentle clinking of dishware until they came to a huge room with a table the size of a yacht.
Holy shit ran through Regan’s head for about the forty-seventh time that day, but she managed to keep the words locked in her head, thank God.
The table looked like it could seat about twenty people or more, but there were only three place settings on each side near one end, and then a place setting at the head of it.
“Welcome,” May said as she appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “I hope you’re hungry. Our chefs have prepared a virtual feast.” She indicated the table. “There are place cards for each of you, so go ahead and find your seat.”
As the three of them moved toward the table, two more women came into the room.
“Ah, welcome,” May said again, then gave the newcomers the same instructions, and soon, the five women were seated at their places, roommates across the table from each other. Vienna sat on Regan’s right, then a very petite woman named Paige sat on the other side of her. Across from Regan was an empty chair, then Maia, of the pink hair, then a woman with a super-friendly smile who’d introduced herself as Madison.
“So?” Madison asked. “Where are we all from? I live just outside of Chicago. Born and raised.”
“New Orleans,” Vienna said, using her fingers to give a little wiggle-wave.
“I’m from Portland, but live in San Diego now,” said Paige.
“Denver,” Maia said, raising her hand.
It was Regan’s turn. “I was born in Cleveland and my family’s still there, but I work in a bakery in New York City.”
“Oh, very cool,” Madison said.
“You’re from all over the country.” A new voice chimed in. It was firm and authoritative, and it belonged to Liza Bennett-Schmidt herself. A collective gasp went around the table at the sight of her, as if all five of them had been surprised. Regan certainly was.
She did her best not to gawk, but it was so hard. After all, this was a woman she’d idolized for most of her adult life and a good portion of her teenage years, when she’d started to realize she might want baking to be some kind of a career.
Liza was fifty-eight but barely looked out of her forties. Kind of shocking for somebody who worked with—and one could only assume sampled—sweets all day. There was probably a trainer involved, along with hair and makeup. Living in New York City, Regan had seen more than her share of celebrities on the street or even in her bakery, just going about their day like normal people, and for the first year or two, it always surprised her how normal they all looked without their styling entourage following them around. How regular.
That was not the case with Liza. Not tonight. She looked incredible. She wore a flowing jumpsuit in ivory that flattered her smooth, flawless skin. A minimal yet elegant gold hairpin softly pulled back her auburn hair, and her jewelry—dangling earrings and a thin bracelet—was simple and elegant. A uniformed gentleman appeared out of nowhere and pulled her chair out for her, and Regan marveled yet again over how the staff seemed to materialize out of thin air.
Regan remembered watching Whisk Me Away on the Food Network for years when she was just out of high school and then in college. She’d attended a community college and planned her classes around episodes of Whisk Me Away until she was able to find them online and watch at her leisure. She’d learned so much from that show, from basic desserts like cookies and cakes to fancier stuff like soufflés and crème br?lée. For a baker who never had any kind of pastry schooling, Liza’s show was like a daily class, and Regan had soaked up as much as possible from the woman now standing right in front of her.
The five of them were mesmerized by Liza, that much was clear, and Regan felt better realizing she wasn’t the only one trying not to stare. I cannot believe I’m here ran on a loop through her head.
Liza seemed to take a moment to look at each of them, and Regan had to work hard not to squirm when it was her turn. “Welcome to Black Forest Hills,” Liza said. “It’s been my home for about five years now, and I’m so glad you’re here.”
Murmured thank-yous went around the table, and Liza paused to receive them before she continued. Another member of the waitstaff appeared then with a bottle of wine and proceeded to fill each person’s glass, emptying one bottle and uncorking another before he was finished.
“Tonight, we will dine and drink and get to know each other a bit. Tomorrow will be the beginning of your retreat. So don’t drink too much.” At that, she grinned. “I want you fresh as daisies in the morning.” She held up her glass. “To this year’s Bennett-Schmidt retreat and its participants. May it be memorable.”
They had to stand up to reach across the table and touch glasses, but they did it, laughing the whole time as they stretched, then sat down and sipped. Regan hummed her approval, as did Vienna next to her, and then salads appeared in front of them.
“So.” Liza picked up her fork and pointed it at them before stabbing a cherry tomato with it. “Let’s get to know one another.” The cherry went into her mouth, and her eyes landed on Regan. “You. Tell us about you.”
“Oh. Okay.” Regan felt a jolt of nervous adrenaline shoot through her veins as all eyes turned to focus on her. “Um, I’m from Cleveland.” She gave a weak fist pump. “Go Browns.” Then she closed her eyes. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I said that. Ignore me. The Browns suck. Um…” She cleared her throat.
Liza gave a soft chuckle. “No need to be nervous. We’re going to be spending the next two months together. These are going to be very close friends by the end of that time.”
“Right. Right. Sorry. Well, I’m from Cleveland, but I’ve been in New York City for the past ten years. I started in a five-star restaurant, and now I am the head pastry chef at a pretty well-known bakery. I love being creative, coming up with new ideas and new flavor combinations. I’m self-taught, so I’m used to experimenting.”
“And what are your goals?” Liza asked. “Let’s say for the somewhat near future. The next five years or so.”
“Oh, um…my boss is getting ready to retire, I think, and when he does, he’ll want to sell. I’d really like to buy—”
Before she could finish, the giant sliding wooden doors to the dining room—which had been closed at some point Regan hadn’t noticed—slid open with a rumble that she could feel in her feet. May and Charlie were both on the other side.
“Your sixth is here, Ms. Bennett-Schmidt,” May said and stood back to let the last attendee enter the room.
Whatever Regan had been saying flew out of her head at the sight of the tall brunette standing in the doorway.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, somewhat breathless, her cheeks flushed pink. “I missed my train because my boss had me working today, and I had to catch the next one, but it had some mechanical difficulties and…” The woman let her voice trail off, maybe realizing that her excuse meant very little. She glanced down at her feet as her cheeks flushed. “I’m very sorry.”
Liza waited a beat, and Regan wondered if that was intentional to make her stew, and holy crap, how uncomfortable. A heartbeat later, she blinked and stood. “No worries at all. You can’t control the trains, right?” She waved at the empty chair across the table from Regan. “Please. Sit. You must be famished.” The woman murmured a thank-you and came into the room where the waiter pulled the chair out for her.
“Ladies,” Liza said, “our last attendee. Ava Prescott.”
Ava smiled uncertainly, clearly embarrassed. She got herself situated at her seat and looked up and around the table, giving a slight nod to each woman. When her eyes stopped on Regan, they went sightly wide in what looked like shocked surprise.
Regan looked back at her but didn’t smile. She had no smiles for this woman. None. Three words kept playing themselves in a loop through her brain.
Ava Fucking Prescott.
* * *
Excited.
Frustrated.
Furious.
Proud.
Embarrassed beyond belief.
Flabbergasted.
Ava had been feeling all of those emotions on a running loop for the whole of that day. She couldn’t seem to make her brain understand how what should have been the most amazing day of her adult life could also be one of the absolute worst. How was that even possible?
Luckily, she’d only missed the salad portion of dinner. She wasn’t happy that she hadn’t had a chance to freshen up first. She was pretty sure she had hat hair left over from what was supposed to be her half day at work—Goldie had asked her to come in and work a day shift in place of the evening shift she was going to miss—that had turned into closer to a full day. Thank fucking God she’d had the smarts to bring her bags to work, just in case Goldie did exactly what she’d done. If nothing else, Ava knew her boss well.
She’d gotten through dinner with a minimum of additional embarrassment, and she’d even managed not to dwell too much on the fact that Regan Callahan was seated directly across from her. It had been years, but she’d never forget those blue eyes…or the way they could throw daggers. Very sharp, very slicey daggers.
Dinner finished, Liza suggested they all head up for an early night, being they’d all traveled and the retreat would begin in the morning.
“I trust you all will sleep well. Also, there are gifts in your rooms. Bring your recipes with you. Also, I have a full fitness room off the kitchen. Feel free to use it at any time. If there’s something you’re missing, don’t hesitate to ask May.” Liza gestured to the woman standing in the corner dressed in black and white. Ava hadn’t even realized she was there. With that, Liza stood and exited the room through the door behind her seat where the waitstaff had come through.
May moved toward the table. “Breakfast will be right here at seven sharp. Sleep well.”
Clearly dismissed, they all pushed their chairs back and stood, voices low. They filed out of the dining room and up the grand staircase that Ava had only had time to glance at when she’d arrived. Her bags were gone, Charlie having told her he’d take them to her room, but she had no idea where that was. At the top of the stairs, she watched as the girl with pink hair and the Black woman headed into the same room. Then the super-cheerful one and the tiny one headed into another. That only left Regan.
A sigh. “Yeah, you’re in here with me, I guess.” Regan didn’t wait for a response, just opened the door to her room.
Ava stood in the doorway. Her bags were there next to the bed up against the right-hand wall. She stifled her own sigh.
Well, hell.
White chef’s coats hung at each of their dressers, their names embroidered in red on the left pocket area. Ava crossed to hers and ran a hand over it, feeling a surge of pride well up in her. When she glanced over at Regan, she looked the same way—soft smile on her pretty face, puffed-up chest.
She stood there for a moment until Regan turned and collapsed onto the bed on the left, then reached for her phone.
Releasing a quiet breath, Ava shut the door behind her. They were in here together for the night, whether they liked it or not.
Regan continued to scroll on her phone, not looking up, so Ava took the opportunity to glance around. It was a sizable room—it had to be to fit two queen beds, two dressers, two nightstands, and two desks. She crossed the room to peer into the bathroom. Expensive and gorgeous, and Ava figured she could fit four, maybe five, of her own bathrooms inside this one. She looked longingly at the enormous soaking tub but reminded herself she was there to bake, and there likely wouldn’t be any time to soak. But who knew? Maybe there would.
Hauling her suitcase up onto the bed, she said, “I’m gonna take a shower, if that’s okay.” Why? Why was she asking anybody—Regan Callahan, of all people—for permission to shower?
As if privy to her thoughts, Regan lifted one shoulder in a shrug and didn’t look up from her phone.
Yeah. Taking her toiletries and pajamas into the bathroom with her, Ava shut the door tightly, locked it, and blew out a long, steady breath, one she felt like she’d been holding all day long.
What a fucking disaster today had been. She was spent. Exhausted. Frustrated. She had nothing left. If Goldie showed up in front of her right now, Ava would punch her in her stupid fucking face. As it stood in that moment, she was reasonably sure she wouldn’t have a job when she returned, and she honestly didn’t know how she felt about that.
A sure sign of her exhaustion.
She took the hottest shower she could stand, wanting nothing more than to wash the entire day off her skin, out of her hair. She soaped and scrubbed and shaved until her skin was red from the heat and she’d grown sleepy. Once out, she brushed her teeth, slathered lotion on what would end up being very dry skin after such hot water, and dried her hair. Then she put on her pajama pants and T-shirt and finally exited the bathroom, the wet heat following her out.
Regan, now in boxer shorts and a tank that Ava assumed were her pajamas, pushed off her bed with a muttered “About time” and went into the bathroom, clicking the lock behind her.
Oh, yeah, this is gonna be awesome.
Ava shook her head and took the moment of solitude to unpack and put her things into the dresser drawers. A glance across the room told her that Regan had not done the same. Her suitcase lay open on the floor, a mess of fabrics and colors spilling out of it like paint. Instantly, she had a flash of flour on the floor and trails and drips of chocolate ganache along the counters. Apparently, some things never changed.
By the time the bathroom door opened and Regan came out, Ava was tucked into bed, sitting up and reading. She watched over the rim of her glasses as Regan crawled across her own bed, pushed under the covers, and picked her phone back up. Then she grabbed a small white case from the nightstand, pushed AirPods into her ears, and lay down.
Okay. Good talk.
Which was fine. Ava didn’t really know what to say to this woman, so she was perfectly fine letting it all go. For now. Because there was no way they could live like this for eight weeks. No way. It crossed her mind to ask Liza tomorrow if she could switch rooms with somebody, but she’d already shown up late for the retreat and been late for dinner on top of that. She’d pretty much used up any good graces Liza might’ve had for her. She’d have to earn some back.
And so she would. Simple as that.
Switching out her Kindle for her phone, she sent a quick text to Courtney.
You’re never gonna believe this. Guess who my roommate is.
The gray dots bounced, telling her Courtney was typing back. Cate Blanchett.
Ava gave a quiet snort. “I wish.” No.
I give. Who?
Ava looked over her glasses again, but Regan was all hunkered down, so all she could see was her golden brown hair. Remember Regan Callahan, the one who worked with me a few years ago?
Courtney typed back, Aww, that cute one? The one you fired?
Ava sighed. Hey, *I* did not fire her.
Except you did, tho…
Ava gave her head a shake, not wanting to debate semantics. Whatever. But, HER. She’s my roommate.
Courtney sent a string of emoji, most with some kind of surprised face.
I know, right?
The dots bounced. You can’t really ask to switch. You’re already on the shit list for being late.
Ava nodded, even though Courtney couldn’t see her, appreciating that she got it. It’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out. But what a small world, huh?
The tiniest. Just don’t kill her in her sleep.
Ava grinned, typed, No promises , and sent a knife emoji, then said good night. Setting her phone back on the nightstand, she gazed across the room at Regan.
It would be fine. They were adults. This wasn’t high school. She wasn’t there to play games. She wasn’t there to make friends. She was there to learn and become even better at her craft, so that was what she was going to do.
Regan Callahan be damned.