Chapter 11 Liza
LIZA
The incessant beeping of my phone alarm jolted me awake from a deep sleep full of dreams and visions of my future—the future I wanted.
Ty was a featured co-star, and I was sad to wake up.
My dream world was much better than my reality, where an alarm continued to blare.
I slapped at the screen, hoping to make the horrific sound disappear.
As I squinted against the morning sunlight, a stabbing pain shot across my forehead.
“Ugh. Not today.”
Groaning, I unplugged my phone and propped myself up on one arm to scan my schedule. Last thing I needed on a day like today was a migraine. My schedule was booked solid, which wasn’t out of the norm, and I didn’t have time to nurse a headache.
I was shocked, and more than a little disheartened, to see that my assistant had neglected to inform me that I had a new client. Cecily fucking Banks.
Hell’s fire. Not to say that she was my kryptonite, but if we were going with a superhero analogy, she was definitely at the top of the supervillain category.
There was no reason in the world this woman would hire me to prepare several dinners for her.
She had a live-in chef. This had to be a trick.
Even if I ignored the rumors—the shit she’d said about me that had made their way back to me thanks to everyone thinking I needed to know how she felt—she obviously hated me and cursed the ground I walked on.
I sighed. My head pounded, and my eyes only opened far enough to be two tiny slits, barely letting any light in at all.
This was not the way I wanted to interact with Cecily, with a pounding headache, and alternating which eye I kept closed to the light, but I couldn’t cancel on a new client, especially one with Cecily Banks’s money just because I had a migraine.
Even if I would’ve preferred to cater for anyone other than that spoiled bitch.
Rolling my eyes, I scanned a spreadsheet with Cecily’s many requests and requirements. She had more damn demands than anyone I’d ever worked for. What a delight this would be. Gluten-free, sugar-free, grade-A beef and pork. No chicken. No salt. No onion. Organic and free-range only.
I rolled out of bed, popped two aspirins, and showered. Feeling somewhat refreshed, I threw on my typical uniform of a black blouse and black chef pants.
There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to prepare me for a meeting with Cecily, but I decided to give the coffee a fair shot, anyway.
I poured a large cup of black coffee, added enough sugar to power a team of toddlers, then sat down to review my account.
Not surprisingly, Cecily’s payment had already been posted.
I didn’t blink twice at the hefty amount.
I was used to collecting large sums thanks to the number of rich clients I served in Presley Acres and the surrounding area.
They wanted the best, had demands, and to make sure they got what they wanted, they ponied up the cash, gladly handing over impressive amounts in the hopes that my food would impress their rich friends.
It usually did. My return business as well as word-of-mouth made it difficult to take on new clients.
By the time I left to start my workday, I felt a bit more human and could open both eyes at the same time, although the headache lingered.
My first stop for the day was the butcher.
Cecily had requested several different cuts of steak.
Luckily, I’d worked out a discount with Chad, the owner of the butcher shop.
We supported each other’s businesses, and in a town like Presley Acres, that was important.
“What’ll it be today, Liza?” Chad greeted me when I walked in the door. He was used to my random visits, though I knew to come early in the morning before he sold out of the best cuts.
“Hey, Chad. Let me have ten filets, six ribeye, and three T-bones. A couple Porterhouse, a few sirloins, and a tenderloin each of pork and beef.” I leaned over and peered into the glass case.
“Go ahead and throw in some bones, as well. I need to simmer some more bone broth for an upcoming luncheon.”
Chad quickly packaged my selections, handed me the invoice, and waved goodbye. The place was getting busy, and I had a lot to do.
I moved on to my next stop. The local bakery was owned by an older woman who’d been baking in Presley Acres since she was in her teens.
It was a small shop, sitting in between much larger buildings that had been erected years after she opened her business.
She was the best, hands down, so I refused to visit any of the newer and shinier bakeries in the surrounding area.
No one dared open another bakery in this town because of her.
The enticing scent of freshly baked pastries lifted my spirits.
Susan was known all over Texas for the lightness of her bread, and she had so many repeat customers from out of town who paid extra to have her bread shipped directly to them.
I used to bake my own, but like the butcher, she’d given me a deal and hers was better. I stayed in my lane and bought hers.
After standing in a short line, I quickly scanned the case. “Can I get three loaves of white bread and two loaves of garlic bread, please? And an herb loaf, a cheese loaf, and a couple of bread bowls.” I wanted to serve soup.
Susan smiled and looked at me over the rim of her thick glasses. “Nothing for yourself today, Liza?”
“Nah.” I smiled in return. “No time for treats today.” Although I wished there was when I spotted a mighty delicious looking eclair in the case covered in chocolate and stuffed with a smooth custard filling. If only.
She scoffed. “There’s always time for a treat.”
Susan stuffed a few sugar cookies into my bag and winked. “Don’t forget to take a few moments for yourself today, dear.”
“Thanks, Susan.” My mouth watered. I’d probably eat the cookies the second I got in my car. I may have been working and focused on the job at hand, but one needed a specific sort of willpower to resist Susan’s goodies, and I didn’t have it.
Susan was just one of several local business owners who seemed to appreciate me and my catering business.
When I’d first started out on my own, I cooked for a lot of middle-class families in the area.
They continued to support me, and I loved giving back to the smaller businesses.
Now that I’d made a name for myself, it was only right to return their support.
My last stop was the Presley Acres Farmers’ Market.
I grabbed my canvas shopping bag from the backseat and began perusing the tables.
The market was filled with vendors in tents and booths who were selling homemade jams and jellies, pies and cheeses, homegrown produce from their gardens, and even a woman who created hand-selected bouquets based on each customer’s request.
I made my way over to my favorite vendor: a local farmer with the best tomatoes and vegetables in town. While I inspected one of the cucumbers, a man appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and stood a little closer than I would’ve liked.
Had he never heard of personal space before?
“Is it natural for tomatoes to be this big?” He held a tomato up to the light and twisted it slowly, as if he was trying to determine whether it was real.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, I thought the same thing when I discovered this booth a few months ago. Believe it or not, they’re all natural and just as delicious as they are large.”
When I glanced up at the guy, my breath nearly left my body. A very blond, light-skinned man stared down at me with icy blue eyes.
I hadn’t seen another blond wolf in Presley Acres during my entire time living here.
I was shaken.
He held out his hand. “I’m Stone.”
Reluctantly, I took his hand, trying to figure him out. “Hello.” He didn’t need my name.
Stone’s gaze darkened as he looked me up and down. I glanced around the market, wondering if anyone else was surprised by this light-featured stranger, but everyone seemed to be going about their business as usual.
He drew his gaze back up my body and settled on my eyes. “Are you from here?”
I wasn’t a share-my-life-story kind of gal, so if this guy expected me to tell him everything about myself, he would be sorely disappointing. I didn’t know this pale wolf from Adam. Even people I knew pretty well didn’t know everything about me.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He pointed to my hair, which was piled loosely on top of my head in a messy bun. I still had an ache behind one eye so I wouldn’t be tightening the bun. “You just don’t seem to fit.”
I recoiled. “Do you always speak so bluntly to strangers?” Who the fuck was this guy?
His eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.
I was just trying to point out that you’re different.
” A slow smile spread across his face, and it wasn’t wholly unattractive.
Actually, it was quite the opposite. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.
” He chuckled and pointed to his own hair. “Obviously.”
I was suddenly more uncomfortable than I would have preferred, so I quickly selected tomatoes, cucumbers, and several heads of lettuce.
“Is this all for today?” Joe, the farmer, smiled as he looked at my selection and hit some keys on his calculator.
“Yep. That’ll do.” I eyed the strange man as Joe bagged my produce.
I handed him my card, then loaded everything into my canvas bag. Stone just stood there as if he was waiting for me to continue our ridiculously awkward and somewhat insulting conversation. All I wanted was to get out of there.
Joe handed my card back to me. “I’ll see you next week, right?”
“You bet.” I waved goodbye to Joe, then turned to Stone. “You should buy the tomatoes. You won’t regret it.”
I made my exit a little faster than usual, not stopping to peruse the other vendors’ stalls. I could still feel Stone’s eyes on me. Where had he come from?