Chapter 3Stella
Chapter Three
Stella
The clatter of pans and the sizzle of searing onions formed a song in Orchid’s kitchen, where I stood at the helm, orchestrating the afternoon preparations for dinner service. Our new prep worker, Matt, sliced a cucumber under the watchful eye of Tomas, who had been working for us for years. Tomas and I exchanged friendly nods, then he returned his attention to his apprentice, who was concentrating on his slices with his tongue parked in the corner of his mouth. My sous chef, Rea, with her pixie-like brown hair neatly tamped down, was a blur of movement beside me. After whisking up a passion fruit compote that smelled like tropical rain, she turned to a sprig of chives and took her knife to them with slow but steady precision.
“Stella, these chives okay for garnish?” she asked, holding up a bundle so fresh they could have still been nestled in the soil outside.
“Perfect.” Nodding, I stirred a large stock pot of crab bisque. I added a slice of lime, and the scent of buttery seafood mingled with the tang of citrus, anchoring me to the moment. After grabbing a squeeze bottle of olive oil, I arced a line directly into the pot from several feet away, a skill honed by years of practice, and something I barely noticed.
Rea laughed, even as her eyes became round. “Show-off.”
I froze in mid-motion. Flaunting my skills had been the last thing on my mind. Being in a kitchen was almost unconscious for me. After a moment’s thought, I made light of it. “Learn from the best, right?” I winked at her, but the reminder of a belated phone call I needed to make nagged at the back of my mind, a dull thud against the rhythm of our bustling kitchen. I sighed, ready to slay this dragon at last. “Keep an eye on things, okay? I need to make a call.” I peeled off my apron as I headed to my cramped office tucked away in a corner.
“Got it, boss!”
The room was a tiny cubicle that doubled as overstock for pantry supplies, but it was my sliver of quiet amidst the storm of stainless steel and shouting. I dialed the number, the phone pressed against my shoulder as I started to sort through paperwork.
“Dove Key Clinic, how can I assist you?” The receptionist’s voice buzzed through the line, professional yet warm.
“Hi, this is Stella Markham. I need to schedule a pap smear. It’s been a while—I’ve been meaning to do it for a while now.” I eyed our produce order absentmindedly, sure they wouldn’t have an opening for weeks. So I had plenty of time to work up to the horrible, awkward ordeal.
“Of course, Ms. Markham. Let me see when we can fit you in.”
As I waited, the sound of something hitting the floor in the kitchen punched through the thin walls, followed by a muffled curse. “Everything okay out there?” I called out as I wrapped my hand over the phone’s speaker, half-standing as if I could see through the wall.
“Damn spuds slipped! I’m on it!” Rea’s voice carried back to me, edged with frustration.
“All right, we have an opening—” As the receptionist started, another clatter sounded. This crash was louder, pulling my attention once more .
“Rea?” Anxiety pitched my voice higher as scenarios raced through my head—burns, cuts, scalds…
“Sorry! Butterfingers today, but nothing’s on fire, promise!”
“Okay, noted.” I forced a laugh, though my heart hadn’t quite received the memo to calm down.
“Ms. Markham, are you still there?” The receptionist’s voice pulled me back to the call.
“Uh, yes. Sorry about that. Kitchen chaos.” I rubbed my forehead.
“Understood. We all have our days. The good news is we just had a cancellation. Can you come in at nine fifty tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow morning?” I squeaked, glancing at my calendar. I winced at the blank square, knowing procrastination just went out the window. Maybe it was better to get the damn thing over with. “Yes, that should work. I’ll take it.” The crashing sound of glass breaking had me spinning toward the door.
“Great,” the receptionist chirped. “Dr. Nelson has retired, and the new?—”
“Sorry, I need to go,” I interrupted. “The new doctor will be fine. See you tomorrow morning.” I tapped the end call button before she could finish and set the appointment in my phone. “Everything under control?” I asked as I hurried back into the kitchen.
“Sorry! The potatoes took a dive,” Rea admitted, wiping her hands with a towel as a stainless-steel container of them rinsed in the sink. “Then when I gathered them back up, I dropped the bowl again.”
“Don’t worry, potatoes are resilient.” I smiled and examined the brightly colored baby vegetables. Though thin-skinned, I doubted they suffered any real damage. Just to be sure, I picked up one of the fallen tubers and inspected it for bruises. “You know how it goes—one potato, two potato…”
“Three potato—floor.” Rea grinned and we shared a short laugh that cut the tension. She picked up a chef’s knife and placed the brown vegetable on a cutting board, peering at it. With a sigh, she started cutting it, her hand moving with slow, unsteady motions.
“Let me give you a hand,” I offered, grabbing my knife. The familiar weight of the handle brought a comforting sense of order. I sliced the potato into even medallions, falling into a satisfying, peaceful rhythm.
“Damn, Stella. Your knife skills are unreal.” The whites around Rea’s eyes were obvious as she watched me work. “Think I’ll ever get there?”
“Keep at it, and you will,” I assured her, tossing the slices into a bowl. “It’s all about practice and patience. And being careful. Don’t ever rush cutting.”
“I do my best not to draw blood.” The corners of her lips turned up in a smile.
“Hey.” I nodded to her. “You’ve got the touch. The desserts you whip up? Pure magic.”
“Thanks, Stella.” Smiling, she started on another potato, while Matt and Tomas gathered several bunches of celery and started to work on them. Matt was slow but focused, exactly what I wanted to see in a new cook.
As I returned to my work, my mind drifted to the upcoming appointment. And the new fact that Dr. Nelson, the familiar face of Dove Key’s clinic and practically everyone’s childhood, had retired. Change was inevitable, yet it always seemed to come at the most inconvenient times. Instead of having a month to work up to the embarrassment of having my feet in the stirrups, I had to face it in a few hours. Maybe a new doctor would be a good thing. Sometimes it was easier to bare yourself to a stranger.
The clinic was a hive of quiet activity, a stark contrast to the morning stillness I’d left behind on Calypso Key. I settled into a corner seat in the waiting room, my gaze flitting over the sea of faces as patients leafed through outdated magazines or tapped on their phones. I fished out my own phone and started scrolling through my favorite cooking blogs. A new post on sous-vide techniques caught my eye, and I lost myself in the culinary possibilities.
“Stella Markham?” a woman’s voice cut in.
“Here.” I pocketed my phone and followed a pretty, dark-haired medical assistant down the hallway. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the low hum of hushed conversations from behind closed doors.
“Step on the scale for me, please,” she said, her tone professional yet friendly. Her nametag read Maria.
I complied, watching the digits flash before stepping off, and was pleased with the number. All that running paid off, keeping me trim despite being a chef. After seeing me into an exam room with white paint and seascapes on the walls, she wrapped the cuff snugly around my arm.
“Blood pressure’s good,” she noted, tapping the entry into my electronic chart.
“Good to hear.” I tried to sound nonchalant as I eyed the exam room, its ominous metal stirrups already out. I felt silly but couldn’t help myself. I should be used to this procedure by now, but it always made me anxious and slightly embarrassed.
The medical assistant took my vitals, typing away on her laptop, then closed it with a thump. “Go ahead and change into this, and I’ll come back in after the doctor introduces himself.” She handed me a paper top and drape with a practiced smile before slipping out.
Alone, I shed my clothes with mechanical movements, draping my T-shirt over the chair. I perched on the edge of the exam table, the paper beneath my naked butt crinkling in a stark reminder of my vulnerability. I folded my hands in my lap over the light-blue paper drape, desperately wishing for the comfort of my chef’s coat—anything to shield me from the clinical chill of the room. At least I left my socks on.
Closing my eyes, I envisioned the familiar expanse of Orchid’s kitchen, the sizzle of pans, and the whirr of mixers—a controlled chaos that soothed me. But here, in the silence, my thoughts churned like the ocean during a brewing storm.
Get a grip. You’re not a teenager.
Opening my eyes, the beach scenes on the walls did nothing to ease my nerves. At least Maria would be in the room too. Routine was a word that had always suited me. In the kitchen, it translated to perfect slices and satisfied diners. My career was my life. And now, sitting on a vinyl table while shrouded in paper, I braced for the intrusion of cold hands and colder instruments.
The muffled sound of movement outside the door snatched my attention. Then it stopped. A long pause lingered, heavy with anticipation. The door handle turned, almost in slow motion, before the plain brown door swung open.
And time stalled like a caught breath.
I’d thought I was tense before. Now I became brittle. Frozen at the sight of the man before me.
“Good morning.” His words were quiet and hesitant as our eyes met. He softly shut the door, leaving his hand pressed against the wood, as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
I stared at Aiden.
Aiden Mitchell.
My new doctor was my old boyfriend.
My first.
The one I’d thought was the one .
His face, once so familiar, now held the etchings of years gone by, lines carved by laughter or perhaps sorrow. His posture was rigid, the knuckles gripping his laptop bleached white. But it was the flush of color high on his cheekbones that betrayed him most, revealing an emotion he couldn’t completely conceal behind his professional fa?ade.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I was a statue locked in a tableau of shock, waves of numbness rolling over me. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above filled the void between us as I grappled with reality.
“Stella,” he finally managed, his voice a low rumble that resonated with memories I thought I’d buried deep. He took a deliberate step into the room. “I didn’t know if you were still in the area. And I wasn’t sure you’d want to use my practice…”
“Aid… Aiden ?” I asked, my voice quivering and breathy. I clutched the edges of my paper gown with trembling fingers, suddenly acutely aware of my bare breasts beneath. How utterly exposed I felt—not just in flesh but in history.
He took a deliberate step forward, his forehead deeply lined. “You look surprised to see me.”
“How the hell did you think I would feel?” I snarled quickly, erecting walls with my tone. My mind raced, scrambling as each emotion surged before being drowned by something else—embarrassment, anger, confusion.
Now Aiden’s expression changed to shock, his eyes opening wide. “You didn’t know I was the doctor here?”
“Know? How could I possibly—Get out!” My voice crackled with a mix of vulnerability and wild indignation. Gathering the shreds of my dignity, I vaulted off the exam table, using one hand to keep all my flimsy paper coverings in place. My feet slapped against the cold tile as I pushed past him, shoving the door open wide.
“Stella, wait?—”
“Out!” I hissed and let go of the drape to place one hand on his chest. The paper covering my lower body fell to the floor, causing me further mortification. At least Aiden kept his wide, shocked eyes on my face. I shoved hard, doing my best not to notice how firm the muscles under my hand were. He stumbled backward out of the room, and I slammed the door in his stunned, slack face. The thought of Aiden seeing me like this, after all these years, was too much. The heat in my cheeks rivaled the midday sun.
I grabbed my clothes and began pulling them on with frenzied urgency. My heart was a drumline, pounding erratic rhythms against my ribcage, threatening to break free. Fumbling with my shirt, I barely managed to slide it over my head. My fingers shook wildly. I scarcely noticed how my pants twisted as I pulled them up or how my sandal straps tangled around my ankles.
I stormed out of the exam room, eyes rooted firmly on the floor and my face aflame as I ran down the deserted corridor. I didn’t look up when I reached the waiting room either. When I finally emerged from the clinic, the bright sunlight outside was disorienting. I blinked rapidly, my mind replaying the awful encounter, each detail etching into my memory.
Aiden Mitchell.
After… I had to count… seventeen years! The boy who stole my heart and dashed it upon the rocks was here. My first love. Now a professional man in a white coat, holding the power to examine me in my most vulnerable state. The irony made my stomach churn.
The drive back to Calypso Key passed in a blur, the scenes around me out of focus. The Big House, with its stone foundation and windows reflecting the light, promised refuge—a fortress against the storm of embarrassment raging within me. After parking, I hurried through the door and ran up the stairs.
“Stella?” Maia’s voice cut through my turbulent thoughts as I stepped past the second-floor salon, the space awash in morning light.
I halted, turning toward her. “Hey.” The word stuck in my throat like dry dough. Like me, my younger sister had the dark hair and eyes of a classic Markham, and today she wore her long hair in a messy bun on top of her head. “Escaping from mommy duty?” I tried to use ordinary conversation to center myself.
She was lounging on the antique sofa, her feet tucked beneath her and a paperback in her hand. A smoke-gray cat with bright green eyes was curled up in an armchair next to her. Smiling, Maia put the book face down on her thigh. “Yeah. Wyatt’s watching Skye so I could do a little reading. It’s so peaceful here in the Big House, especially compared to our cottage.”
I tried to listen as I approached, but my mind still whirled .
Maia noticed and sat up straighter, worry etching her features. “You’re as white as your shirt. What’s going on?”
After picking up the cat, Pilar, I flopped into the armchair opposite her, my knees giving out as the familiar scent of candle wax and aged wood enveloped me. Pilar purred as I stroked her in my arms. “I have no idea. You won’t believe who’s back in town.”
“Who?” Her eyebrows knitted together.
“Aiden.” His name felt strange on my tongue, foreign, as if invoking a specter from the past.
Maia’s brow knotted further, then went smooth. Her eyes widened. “Your old boyfriend? From high school?”
“ Doctor Aiden Mitchell,” I corrected, the title leaving a bitter taste. “He’s the new provider at the Dove Key clinic. And guess who didn’t know that until she was sitting mostly naked on the exam table waiting for a pap smear?”
“Shut up!” Maia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, honey, that’s just… ugh, I can’t even imagine.”
“Neither could I,” I mumbled, the heat rising to my cheeks again.
Maia leaned forward, her eyes sympathetic. “Are you okay?”
“Not really. I’m embarrassed. Angry. Humiliated.” Each word thudded dully in the room. Pilar must have picked up on my mood because she squirmed in my arms until I gently set her on the floor. She padded out of the parlor, presumably to a quieter destination. I turned back to Maia. “It’s like I’m eighteen all over again, and he’s the center of my universe. Except this time, it’s my adult dignity he’s trampled on.”
She reached out, her hand covering mine. “What are you going to do now?”
Her question hung in the air between us, mingling with the faint sound of waves from outside. I stared at the delicate pattern of the rug underfoot.
“I don’t know, but it looks like I’ll need to find a new doctor. There’s a clinic in Marathon.”
“That’s certainly understandable.” Her delicate eyebrows arched. “I wonder why he came back. Maybe he wants to see you again.”
I snorted and rushed a hand through my hair. “He’s probably married with three kids by now. Who knows why he returned? And it doesn’t matter anyway. Aiden is a chapter I closed long ago.”
She nodded slowly, snapping her book shut and setting it on the end table next to her. “But sometimes the past has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it.”
“Maybe so.” I watched a tern glide effortlessly above the waves. “But that doesn’t mean I have to read that awful story again.”
“Stella, look at me.”
I turned my face toward hers. Maia might be several years younger than me, but she had been through her own romantic travails.
“You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re a successful chef, a businesswoman, and a force to be reckoned with.”
“You’re right.” I squared my shoulders. “Aiden might have been my first love, but he’s not my last. And… well, he can stay a footnote in my history book. An asterisk with mistake after it.”
“Good.” Maia hugged me, her embrace warm and unwavering. I allowed myself a moment, just one, to lean into her support.
“Let’s go downstairs,” I suggested. “I’ve got a restaurant to run and a life to live—without any unwanted plot twists.”
Maia laughed, looping her arm through mine as we stood and headed for the staircase. “That’s the spirit. Besides, Orchid needs its fearless leader.”
“Speaking of which,” I added, “I think it’s time to try out my new seafood medley recipe. What better way to wash away the taste of awkward reunions than with the flavor of success?”
As we stepped into the bustle of the manor’s main floor, that sense of dislocation slipped away, and I became filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Aiden Mitchell had once been my everything. But now I was my own anchor, completely focused on the career I had at last achieved.