Chapter 7
SEVEN
SARAH
Sarah stirred, stretching languidly across crisp linen sheets. She sighed softly as she rolled onto her back. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Right. The Hamptons. Nell.
She blinked against the morning light, unsure what time it was. Half expecting, or maybe half hoping, that Nell would be waiting for her with an itinerary for the day. Her stomach growled, breaking the silence with an embarrassingly loud rumble.
“Fine,” Sarah muttered to herself, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She pulled on a shirt and shorts, not bothering with much else, and headed downstairs.
When she entered the kitchen, she was surprised to find a woman already there behind the massive marble island.
She was wearing a faded NYU sweatshirt and denim shorts, her hair twisted into a messy bun that bounced as she bobbed along to music Sarah couldn’t hear.
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, twenty-two at most.
Sarah stood awkwardly in the doorway as the girl looked up, blinked in surprise, tugging one earbud out.
“Oh! Shit, sorry!” the girl said brightly, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into her waistband.
“You must be Sarah—the one with the shellfish allergy.” She grabbed a note card from her apron and flashed it in front of her.
There, scrawled in thin, elegant handwriting, was her name, along with the words SHELLFISH ALLERGY in all caps.
“I’m Emory,” the girl said, holding her hand out.
Sarah accepted the handshake. Emory was not what she’d pictured for Nell’s staff. “You’re . . . the chef?” she asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of her voice but not entirely succeeding.
Emory laughed. “Yeah. Kinda. I mean, technically, I’m a culinary student at NYU. I just work for Ms. Stanhope when she’s in town. Sometimes out here, sometimes at her place in the city, depending on where she’s at.”
Sarah blinked. Nell Stanhope, who could probably have hired some Michelin-starred, award-winning, Food Network-famous chef, had instead hired . . . a college kid?
Sensing her confusion, Emory beamed. “She mentors a bunch of us—mostly women and non-binary students. Sometimes it’s internships at her companies, or opportunities like this.
Honestly, this gig is insane. I only have to come out here a few weekends a summer, and what she pays me basically covers my tuition.
Plus, she’s been helping me with my business plan. ”
Sarah tilted her head, trying to process that. She couldn’t quite picture Nell walking around NYU campuses picking protégés.
“You’re not what I expected,” Sarah said, before she could stop herself.
Emory shrugged and began slicing an avocado. “Ms. Stanhope likes investing early. That’s what she says, anyway. Catch people before everyone else realizes how good they are. So, I take that as a compliment, right? Because that must mean she sees something in me.”
Sarah’s lips quivered into a small smile. Yeah, she thought. That sounds exactly like Nell.
“You hungry?” Emory asked, already reaching for another plate.
Sarah’s stomach answered for her. “Starving.”
“Sit. I’ll fix you something.”
Sarah pulled out one of the stools and settled onto it as she watched the younger woman move confidently around the kitchen, the space clearly familiar to her.
Sarah glanced toward the big windows framing the sprawling back deck and shimmering pool.
There was no sign of Nell yet, which made her a little uneasy.
She hated not knowing the rules. She wished she had asked Nell last night what the expectations for today were, but she had been a little distracted following their ride home from the party.
Emory slid a plate in front of her with a piece of thick sourdough toast heaped with avocado, tomato, and a crumbled cheese that smelled heavenly.
Sarah muttered her thanks and took a bite, savoring the creamy, tangy combo, closing her eyes in appreciation.
“She’s not really a morning person, you know,” Emory said, as she leaned back against the counter, sipping from a coffee mug.
Sarah opened one eye, curious. “Nell, you mean?”
“Yeah.” Emory grinned. “Especially on weekends. She says it’s the one part of her week she can pretend time doesn’t exist.”
Sarah chewed thoughtfully. The image of Nell, so polished and relentlessly composed, lounging in bed until noon on a Sunday, felt oddly intimate and human. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she said, setting down her fork.
“She’s totally not what most people expect.” Emory smirked.
Leaning forward, Sarah wiped her hands on a napkin. “What else should I know about her, then?”
Emory tilted her head, considering. “Well . . . she hates black coffee, but she’ll always ask for it and then pretend I don’t see her adding a ton of milk and sugar. She likes it really sweet.”
Sarah laughed as she pictured it. “Seriously?”
Emory nodded, delighted. “Seriously. Oh, and she’s terrible with plants. Did you see all those succulents in the living room?”
Sarah thought of the immaculate little pots on the low glass tables. “Yeah?”
“She kills them. Every single one. Those are the third round this season. I keep replacing them for her.”
Sarah smiled, surprised at how easy the image was to summon—Nell frowning in frustration over a withered cactus. “The audacity of those plants to die under her care.”
“She tries. She really tries.” Emory giggled, and Sarah laughed along, the tension she’d been carrying easing with every revelation.
“She’s . . .” Sarah searched for the right word. More gentle than she expected? More reachable? “Different from what I thought.”
Nell had a reputation that preceded her, but behind the powerful presentation, that reputation didn’t match up with the small glimpses of the woman that Sarah had observed since her arrival.
Emory nodded knowingly. “Most people only ever meet her work self. Out here, she’s just Nell.”
Sarah toyed with her fork as a strange warmth unfurled in her chest. The more Emory spoke about Nell, the more intrigued she became, not just by the contradictions but by the woman behind them. She needed to know more.
“What about music?” Sarah asked.
Emory laughed outright. “You mean besides the classical playlists she pretends she listens to? She loves old-school R & B. Like, really loves it. You get a couple of glasses of wine in her, and she’s queuing up everything from Aretha Franklin to Aaliyah.”
Sarah’s mouth parted in genuine astonishment. “That’s . . .” Unexpectedly endearing?
Before she could say anything else, she caught a shift of movement in the corner of her eye.
Sarah turned. There, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, with a faint, amused smile playing on her lips, was Nell.
How long had she been standing there?
Her voice was the same velvety-smooth timbre as last night. “Learning all my secrets this early in the morning? Dangerous move,” Nell said, but the wink she tossed Sarah’s way let her know she wasn’t in trouble.
Emory paled slightly. Nell tsked, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment. “Emory, what have I told you about gossiping with the guests?”
Emory grinned, unrepentant. “Not to do it before you’ve had your coffee?”
“That’s right,” Nell said, her voice warm, in mock scolding. She pushed off the doorway and sauntered in, looking maddeningly relaxed in a linen shirt and loose shorts, her dark hair a little messy like she’d just rolled out of bed, which, given the conversation, she probably had.
Nell’s eyes flicked to her, lingering in an unreadable way. “Come on,” she said, tilting her chin toward the sliding glass doors. “Bring your food. I hate eating inside when it’s this nice out. Emory, please bring my coffee out with breakfast, black like always.”
Sarah grabbed her plate to follow, but only after she caught Emory’s eye and the See? I told you so! look Emory shot at her.
The lightness of the house gave way to morning haze and salted air, and the bay glittering beyond a stone retaining wall.
Nell dropped into one of the wide, cushioned lounge chairs and patted the one beside her. “Sit. Relax.”
Sarah obeyed, carefully balancing her plate on her knees.
She felt Nell’s attention like a tangible thing, buzzing beneath her skin, a slow heat spreading through her from their proximity.
She stole a glance at Nell, taking in the long line of her legs, the effortless way she lounged there like a queen holding court.
Sarah shifted in her seat, discreetly squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to control the warmth spreading through her, but it was no use. The ache was immediate.
Nell picked up a magazine from the little side table and flipped it open lazily, not noticing—or pretending not to notice—Sarah’s restless fidgeting, and soon, Emory appeared with a second plate, setting it down on the table next to Nell with a mock salute.
“Breakfast is served.”
“Thanks, Emory.” Nell smiled up at her.
“No problemo. I’m going to clean up and head to the store to pick up a few things. Any requests?”
“Those gummy-cluster things you always get, please.”
Sarah blinked. That was the absolute last thing she expected Nell to say.
“You got it, boss.” Emory saluted and retreated, leaving the two of them alone again, the morning settling into a golden hum around them.
“You like Nerds gummy clusters?” Sarah asked in disbelief.
“Only the Very Berry ones,” Nell said matter-of-factly, “but yes, they are one of my guilty pleasures.” Much like with Nell’s rules, Sarah couldn’t help but wonder what some of her other guilty pleasures included.
She forced herself to take another bite of her food, though this time, she barely tasted it. Nell was close enough that Sarah caught the faint scent of her—something expensive and clean, like linen, and underneath that, a hint of something warm and distinctly her.
She glanced at Nell as she idly flipped another magazine page without looking up. “You have questions.”