Chapter 11
Given my conversation with Mr. Hawthorne, I decided dinner tonight required something lighter.
I picked up some gorgeous rainbow trout in town, and prepared it with a lobster broth, topped with poached lobster, capers, parsley, and lemon zest. I threw together a crisp arugula salad with a citrusy vinaigrette to start, then finished with a classic crème br?lée.
The bonus of being alone in the kitchen meant I was able to create some content for my new Après Brie account.
People on the foodie side of Instagram went crazy for an artsy picture, so I paid special attention to the perfect lighting and background, opting for a close-up on the marble island.
Not enough to reveal anything identifiable about the kitchen, but very upscale.
“They’re very happy in there,” Ali told me after supervising delivery of their dessert to the table.
I wiped up a few spills from the counter while she dug back into her fish, still waiting, half-eaten, on the island. It had become our routine.
“Great. Glad they like it.” I began collecting pans to wash in the sink.
Doing dishes was my meditation. Simple, mindless work that let my brain wander. My cool-down time.
“Oh, by the way,” Ali said, still eating on her feet. I wondered if she slept standing up on a charging station as well. “Charles requested to meet with you.”
I dropped a sauté pan and it clattered in the sink, splashing me with lobster broth.
“What?” I said, alarmed. My pulse instantly started racing. “Charles, why?”
“He didn’t say.” She was fully consumed in her meal.
“When?” I wiped broth off my face with a paper towel.
“I suppose after dinner. He said he’d come find you.”
Good luck with that, I thought to myself.
As soon as the waitstaff came back with the dessert plates, I was furiously washing and scrubbing to get the kitchen spotless before Charles could track me down. With dinner done, I would be off the clock and could make myself scarce. If he thought I couldn’t hide from him, he was sorely mistaken.
“Are you alright?” Ali asked as I grabbed her plate and utensils out from under her the second every last bite was gone. I must’ve looked a little manic.
“Of course,” I said, taking them to the sink. “Fantastic.”
She gave me a troubled glance, then decided it wasn’t her problem. “Alright. Good night.”
After Ali left, I wiped down that kitchen like someone was chasing me, then practically sprinted back to my cottage. I planned to shower, then make myself a grilled cheese and soup, but first I tossed myself onto the couch to rest a minute. I shut my eyes.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, the gentle vibration waking me from a nap I hadn’t realized I needed. When I glanced at the clock, it was nearly 11.30 p.m.
Ali: Don’t forget charcuterie for Amelia and her guests tonight.
Holy shit.
I jumped off the couch. In my rush to leave the house before Charles could track me down, I’d totally forgotten to prep Amelia’s late-night snack.
I dashed back to the kitchen and pulled out all the necessary components to throw together a charcuterie board that, hopefully, didn’t look like it was composed at the last minute. Having no idea what time Amelia would be back, I simply worked as quickly as I could.
Around midnight, I heard the back door outside the kitchen open and shut, and the rustling sounds of someone discarding their jacket on the hook and kicking their boots off in the mudroom. Just before their shadow crept beneath the door, I placed the last bunch of grapes on the plate.
“Oh, you’re up late.” Amelia paused in the doorway, wearing just a pair of yoga pants and a baggy sweater. Her short blond hair was pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. “I thought I was being sneaky.”
“Your charcuterie is ready. I would’ve sent it out to you,” I said apologetically. Surely it was not a good look for the client to come hunting for their order. “Was no one around?”
“Oh, no.” Her expression turned regretful. “Our plans changed and I came home early. I didn’t even think to say something. And you went to all this effort. I’m so sorry.”
It was slightly annoying, but that was the nature of the job. What did Mrs. Hawthorne say? Be flexible. I couldn’t expect the family to run like a restaurant.
“No trouble,” I lied. “Can I get you anything else?”
Her smile turned shy. “I was sort of hoping there might be a sweet treat lying around?”
As luck would have it, I’d picked up some muffins at the marketplace this afternoon. I planned to bake for breakfast most days, but it was always good to have a backup.
“Blueberry or coffee crumble?”
Amelia’s ocean-blue eyes, just like her mother’s, perked up with delight. “Blueberry.”
I walked to the pantry and pulled two out. “Toasted?”
“Toasted?” she asked, baffled.
“It’s my favorite way to have them.”
I pulled out a frying pan and got to work. I scooped butter into the warmed pan, sliced the muffins and proceeded to place the halves into the melted butter. The sweet, fruity scent filled the kitchen. When they were golden brown, I plated the halves and pushed it toward her.
“Enjoy.”
Amelia inhaled deeply before blowing on the muffin and taking a generous bite. She hummed at the taste and fanned her mouth as she chewed. I went to the fridge and poured her a glass of milk.
“You’re right,” she said after a sip. “This is the only way to eat a muffin.”
I thought she might take her snack with her, but instead she remained at the counter, eating leisurely.
“I hope I didn’t ruin your breakfast plans,” Amelia said, nodding at the half-empty box of muffins.
“I’ve got lots of options. Any special requests?”
“Chocolate croissants are my absolute favorite,” she said. “But that’s probably a huge imposition.”
“Absolutely not,” I told her stupidly.
I didn’t know why those words flew out of my mouth. I guess it was my instinct to say yes. The client is always right and whatnot. But croissants were hugely labor-intensive. I’d be up all night.
“Charles loves them too,” she said, picking another bite off her muffin to pop in her mouth. “We used to eat our weight in them on vacation when we were kids. But he hasn’t been up here with the family in ages. I think it’d really make his day.”
Her voice turned wistful. Her eyes were a bit sad, even as she spoke of him fondly. I got the impression she’d missed her brother. And it meant a lot to Amelia that he felt welcome.
Maybe it was because Amelia had been so kind to me, but it suddenly became important to me, too.
“Do you see him often?” I asked, taking the frying pan to the sink to wash up.
She shrugged. “Not as much as I’d like. I spend most of the year in LA or New York and Charlie’s in Denver. He likes to make himself scarce, you know.”
I didn’t, but I couldn’t deny I was interested.
“Do you always get together for the holidays?”
“The family has been coming up here forever. Since back when my grandparents had a place here. My mom first learned to ski on this mountain.” She laughed to herself, a memory forming behind her eyes.
“When we were little, we’d spend the whole season building this massive snow fort.
And inevitably Charles’s friends would be goofing off, and would end up destroying it.
Taking turns sledding down the hill to smash into it.
Then he’d be up first thing in the morning rebuilding it for us. ”
“Sounds nice,” I said.
“Charles, though . . .” Her voice drifted off as I glanced back from the sink to look at her. “I don’t know. Grew out of it, I guess.”
“I can’t imagine outgrowing a place like this,” I said. As far as I could tell, it was perfect. “Did something happen?”
I regretted the question as soon as I asked it.
Amelia’s expression turned guarded. “No, nothing in particular. Anyway, I should get some sleep, it’s late.”
She abruptly finished her milk and picked up her plate to leave. I’d overstepped, and now it was awkward. Nice as Amelia was, we weren’t friends. She was, by extension, my employer. A certain professional distance was required.
Still, I didn’t have time to linger on it. I’d promised Amelia croissants. So, I put on a pot of coffee and pulled a bag of flour from the pantry to get to work. This was about to be a long night.