Chapter 8
Eight
Sam pulled up in front of the Benoit mansion against his will, with his mom beside him.
He hadn’t wanted to pop in on Erielle like this, but his mom had been wanting to come bring her some food, and his parents had had another fight this morning, so he felt like he needed to get her out of the house. So he’d offered to bring her over.
The dumpster had been delivered, and sat kind of crooked in the driveway.
The front door of the house was open, and boxes sat at the top of the steps, leaving a narrow path into the house.
As he put the truck in park, Erielle appeared in the doorway, hauling a box, craning her neck to look over it as she staggered to set it down beside the others.
Forgetting about his mom for the moment, he hopped out of the cab and hurried up the steps to take the box from her.
“You’re going to hurt your back,” he chided, taking it and—hell, this girl was strong—setting it gingerly on the porch in a new stack, since the old stack seemed a little unsteady.
When he looked up, he saw the horror on her face.
“I didn’t hear you come up,” she muttered, and tried to backtrack into the house. “I’m not really ready for visitors.”
She looked past him to the truck, and he heard the door close as his mom got out.
“Mom just wanted to say hi, and bring you something to eat. Something you can heat up easily,” he added.
He watched frustration and indecision play across her face, her lips tightening before they spread in a smile meant to be welcoming. It didn’t quite meet her eyes, but at least she was being polite to his mom, who hurried forward.
“Sweet Erielle, it’s so good to have you back in town.”
His mom shoved the reusable shopping bag full of plastic containers at Sam, who caught it so his mom could grab Erielle and bring her in for a hug.
Erielle stiffened. “I’ve been working all morning and I’m a mess—” she protested, but that didn’t deter his mom, and after a moment, Erielle leaned into the hug, closing her eyes as she returned it.
Feeling like he was intruding, he moved through the narrow path into the house and to the kitchen. The women joined him as he opened the refrigerator and started loading the containers inside.
“This is working okay?” he asked Erielle.
She nodded, then knocked on the top of the table. “Like a trooper. Excuse the mess.”
“You don’t have anything to excuse,” his mom told her sincerely, having a seat at the table. “Tell me everything.”
“Ah.” Erielle pulled out a chair, too. “Samson, would you mind getting the pitcher of water out of there?”
He obliged, and palmed some glasses from the dish drainer on the counter to carry to the table. Erielle gave him a look he couldn’t read, and he poured a glass for each of them.
“Well water pretty good?”
“Yes, Daisy had it inspected, but I splurged and bought a filter anyway.” She motioned to the faucet.
“Should be fine. Your grandfather had it checked annually, even when he was in the home,” his mom said. She took a sip of the water. “But I will say, the filter helps. Maybe I should get one. Now, tell me everything that’s happened since the last time I saw you.”
Erielle laughed, a sound Sam hadn’t heard since she’d gotten here.
“That’s a tall order. I’m sure you know the highlights—I went to cooking school, got on the television show, opened a restaurant, opened another restaurant, went bankrupt, now I’m back here.”
His mom laughed. “Well, that certainly is just hitting the highlights. Tell me more. Did you love cooking school? Being on the show? Owning your own restaurant?”
Erielle considered a moment. Sam, who’d been planning to go empty those boxes in the dumpster, paused to hear her response.
“I did enjoy it,” she said, like it was a surprise to her. “I enjoyed the challenge, and the creativeness. I didn’t love the pressure, but I liked the challenge to improve, to be better, to get the critics on my side.” She sighed. “I miss cooking for people.”
“Why didn’t you get a job at the diner, then? Sam said you’re working at Rumrunners. That doesn’t seem to fit your skill set.”
“Oh, I’m fine, but no, the diner isn’t hiring, and I don’t think Hattie is a particular fan.”
“Oh, she just has to warm up to you. I know!” His mother snapped her fingers. “You can help her with the community cooking.”
“The what, now?” Interest sharpened Erielle’s tone.
“You know, we live in kind of a depressed area, especially since the factory closed. And Hattie does some cooking for people who might not otherwise be able to afford much. I mean, some people pay what they can, but others, especially the older people, they might just be eating canned soup and beans if not for Hattie. I’ve always wanted to help her, but I’ve kind of got my hands full with Mr. Guillory right now. ”
Sam strained his ears, wishing he hadn’t left the room because he wanted to see Erielle’s expression. What would her reaction be? Would she want to be part of the town? Contribute? Or did she prefer to stay here, hidden?
He supposed if she wanted to stay here, he couldn’t blame her. The place was a mess and needed a lot of work. But she was a chef, and a talented one, according to the internet. Why wouldn’t she put those skills to good use?
“I’ll go talk to her,” Erielle said finally. “If she’ll let me.”
“Just tell her I sent you,” his mom said, her tone confident.
Sam wasn’t sure that would make much of a difference. Hattie had her favorites, and he didn’t think his family was among them.
“What about you?” Erielle asked. “Are you holding up okay, taking care of Mr. G? How long has it been since his accident?”
Sam took that as a sign he needed to get to work.
He didn’t need to hear his mom complaining about his dad.
He knew the toll her role was taking. His dad was feeling well enough to want to do things around the house, but still wasn’t capable.
That disparity frustrated both of them. The frustration and constant companionship led to shortened tempers, which led to fights.
Sam had had to move to the cabin in the bayou because he triggered far too many arguments, especially when he took his mother’s side.
He pushed that out of his head as he started tossing the boxes of books into the dumpster, the noise as the bindings hit the metal deafening.
“What are you doing?” Erielle demanded after he’d tossed three boxes inside.
“This is what you were doing, right?” Oh, hell, what if these books were some she’d planned to keep, not toss? Well, he supposed he’d be climbing into a dumpster, then.
“I was, but that doesn’t mean you need to do it.”
Her defensiveness had cooled, a bit. She sounded tired. He looked closely at her. Maybe the late nights at Rumrunners were too much for her, though she swore she was used to long, late nights in restaurants.
Maybe she was just overwhelmed. He would be, if he had this whole big house to clear out.
“I’m here. May as well put me to work.”
She shook her head, this time her shoulders more square. Ah, the defensiveness was kicking in. “It’s my problem, I’ll take care of it.”
He looked past her to see his mom standing behind her, arms folded, looking at a painting on the wall, lost in thought. He turned back to the stack of boxes.
“Let me just toss these, and you can get a fresh start. I’m presuming you have more.”
She rolled her eyes at him and stepped past him to start throwing the books in a handful at a time. He put his hand on her forearm after she reached for a second batch.
“Go talk with my mom. I’ve got this. I don’t mind.”
She hesitated, then dropped the books back into the box, which he picked up as a whole and heaved toward the dumpster. She gave an indelicate snort at his show, and walked back into the house, collecting his mom out of her reverie on the way.
Erielle needed to work up the nerve to talk to Hattie, which was crazy, really. She’d worked with people who didn’t like her before, but she also didn’t have to live in a place where she saw that person every day.
But beyond missing cooking, she missed the companionship of the kitchen.
The shared frenzy and frustrations and triumphs.
She wasn’t in contact with any of the people she used to work with because, well, she had been the boss.
And before that, the people she’d worked with had been her competition, not her friends.
She’d been too busy building her career to nurture the friendships she had formed in school, and they’d all moved to different parts of the country, anyway.
So yeah, she missed cooking, but she also missed the connections one made in a kitchen.
Looking for pointers on how to approach Hattie, okay, really, just killing time, she walked over to Allison’s shop.
Again, it was empty. Even Allison was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she shouldn’t leave the door open if she wasn’t going to be in the shop.
Wasn’t she worried about people stealing from her?
She didn’t even have a security camera, that Erielle could see.
“Hello?” she called, and still jumped when Allison stepped out from behind the curtain to the back, moving silently. She heard the other woman set something down before she stepped fully into the shop.
Creepy. Or maybe Erielle was just a little on edge.
“Hello, Erielle. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I just….had a question about the town? Like, had you heard that Hattie cooks for the community? Mrs. Guillory told me, and I was just wondering if it was common knowledge?”
Allison’s expression softened a bit. “Do you need some help?”
“No! No.” Well, once the credit card bills started coming in, she might. “I wanted to help, actually. I wanted to see if she’d let me cook, but I don’t think we got off on the best foot. I just wanted to have my facts straight before I went over to ask her.”