Chapter Seven – Elliott
“Elliott. You’re here,” Matt announced as Elliott walked into the kitchen, his head still filled with the sweetest memories of yesterday’s shift.
It was sweet, his bear agreed. Seeing Oliver’s mom and grandma so happy with the dessert.
That wasn’t what I was thinking of, Elliott replied.
“So, do you have them?” Matt asked.
“Do I have what?” Elliott asked, frowning. Was his head so filled with thoughts of his mate that he’d forgotten he was supposed to do something?
“The herb trays.” Matt’s frown deepened when he saw that his brother was empty-handed. “Mom said she’d bring them down this morning when she picked you up.”
“She didn’t pick me up. I texted and said I’d walk since she and Dad were going over to the vineyard for lunch,” Elliott replied.
“And she didn’t mention the herbs?” Matt asked.
“Must have slipped her mind.” Elliott went to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “Is there anything here we can use instead?”
“No. I need the chervil for a seafood dish.” Matt shook his head. “She was growing it up at your place because it’s cooler than the courtyard.”
“Ah, I know where it is. I could go get it,” Elliott offered. “The problem is getting it in time.”
Jenny came through from the side station with a tray tucked against her hip. “I’d offer you a lift if I could, but I’m still without a car until Friday.” She looked between them. “Rachel’s got hers, though. She could drive you, Elliott.”
Rachel, who had just come in from the courtyard, stopped and looked at them each in turn. “Rachel could do what?”
Matt’s expression brightened. “Take Elliott to his place so that he can get the chervil. You’re the easiest one to spare for twenty minutes, and Elliott can show you where it is.”
Rachel shifted the basket to her other hand. “I’m touched by how flattering this has become.”
Jenny grinned. “What Matt means is that you are the most careful driver. The most reliable employee. So you will get there and back in time to save the day. Or the lunch.”
“Exactly that.” Matt nodded. “Please go before I plate the dish with optimism and a handful of chopped parsley.”
“And that would be like a death knell to his culinary career,” Elliott added.
“It would.” Matt placed his hand over his heart as if he had been mortally wounded.
Rachel fetched her keys with a sigh that was mostly for show. “Fine. Since this is obviously so important to you.”
“It is. In fact, I’d say it’s the most important job of the day,” Matt said at once, already turning back to the stove.
Elliott opened the door he’d only just closed and stepped back outside. This is an unexpected turn of events.
Most unexpected, his bear said. And most welcome.
We’re fetching herbs, that’s all, Elliott reminded his bear.
In her car. Alone.
Still just herbs, Elliott said.
Matt doesn’t see it that way, his bear said, sounding far too pleased.
By the time they were on the mountain road, the restaurant had fallen away behind them, and the smells of warm kitchens and deliveries had been replaced by pine, sunlight, and dust.
Rachel drove with both hands on the wheel and her attention fixed on the bends ahead. “I’m still not used to these mountain roads.”
“It takes time. And it’s good to be careful. You never know what might be around the next bend,” Elliott replied.
“And we need to make sure we get back safely with the chervil.” She glanced sideways at him and smiled.
“Lunch depends on it,” Elliott agreed.
“Is it really that important?” Rachel asked.
“It does make a difference,” Elliott said. “Matt’s not being dramatic.”
Rachel glanced at him briefly. “No?”
“Well, maybe a little,” Elliott said, not wanting to be unkind about his brother. “Chervil’s one of those things that can look small on the plate, but if it’s missing, you know about it.”
“So this is a rescue mission.”
“It is.” He smiled. “Though Matt would probably call it a culinary emergency.”
“That sounds about right.”
He settled back in the passenger seat a little. “There was a place in France where the chef used to finish everything with fresh herbs from the garden outside the kitchen door. He said if the food had been cooked properly, the herbs should wake it up, not hide it.”
Rachel smiled faintly, her eyes still on the road. “That sounds like something Matt would say.”
Elliott laughed. “I’ll tell him that. He’ll probably start saying it by lunch.”
After a moment, Rachel said, “So your mother’s really been looking after the place while you were away?”
“She has.” He glanced out at the pines sliding by. “The garden, the herbs, the inside too. She always has.”
“She wants to make sure it’s nice for when you come home.”
“She does.” He smiled wistfully. He knew it was Eleanor’s way of still being with him while he was away. “I came back to flowers in a vase and a casserole in the fridge.”
Rachel’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel, though her voice stayed even. “That was a lovely thought.”
“It was.” He paused. “She’s always been good at those little touches that say she cares.”
Then she said, a little more lightly, “Like growing chervil.”
“Exactly that,” Elliott agreed.
For a few moments after that, neither of them said anything. The silence was not awkward. There was only the sun through the windshield, the bends in the road, and the strange sense that even a drive up the mountain for herbs could start to feel like more than that.
Since yesterday, things had changed between them. Taken a step forward. And he wanted to take another and then another until there were no more steps to take.
The cabin came into view around the bend, half in sun, half in shade, the porch pale in the morning light.
Rachel slowed the car and pulled up in the clearing.
Elliott got out first and came around to her side, more from habit than intention. She got out of the car and stood beside him, taking it all in.
The porch. The rocking chair. The herb beds his mother had planted. The stacked wood by the side. The windows catching the light.
She likes it, his bear said, far too pleased.
Do you think so? Elliott asked.
I know so.
Elliott shut the car door. “The herb beds are just here. Mom used the wall because it gets the best sun and gives shelter from the prevailing wind.”
Rachel nodded and followed him a few paces, then stopped near the porch steps while he went to the side of the cabin where Eleanor usually left baskets stacked under the shelter of the overhang.
They were there, exactly where he had expected. He crouched to lift a long basket and glanced back at Rachel.
She was standing with one hand resting lightly on the porch rail, looking toward the front window as if she could almost see through to the kitchen beyond it.
How he wanted to show her the place. To give her the not-so-grand tour.
“I just need to grab some sharp scissors from inside,” he said. “Do you want to come in?”
She met his gaze.
For one brief second, he thought she might say yes.
Not because she looked soft or dreamy or any of the other foolish things his bear might have liked. Just because she looked curious. As if she wanted to know what sort of place he lived in and was annoyed with herself for wanting it.
Then the look was gone.
“No,” she said. “We should get back. Matt needs the chervil.”
Nice try, his bear said.
He nodded once. “Right. Won’t be a second.”
Inside, the cabin was warm from the sun. He went to the drawer, grabbed the scissors, and was back.
“Which is chervil?” she asked as he set down the basket next to the herb bed.
“This one,” Elliott said, pointing to a delicate, feathery plant with bright green leaves. “Chervil looks a bit like flat-leaf parsley, but more lacy. The leaves are more tender, too.”
Rachel crouched beside him, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the herb bed. For a moment, she did not speak. She only looked.
The chervil trembled faintly in the breeze, all soft green fronds and delicate stems, finer than the sturdier herbs around it. Rachel reached out at last and let her fingers brush through the leaves.
“It’s softer than I expected,” she said.
Elliott glanced at her hand among the greenery, at the contrast of her skin against the fresh green, and had to steady himself before he answered.
“It bruises easily, too,” he said quietly. “That’s why Matt’s fussing. Once it goes over, it loses that fresh taste.”
Rachel drew her hand back slowly, then rubbed her fingertips together and lifted them a little, testing the scent. “It smells…gentler than parsley.”
He smiled. “That’s exactly right.”
She looked up at him then, and something in her face eased. “I’ve seen it on plates a hundred times and never really thought about where it came from. Or how it looked before.”
Elliott began to snip carefully, gathering the feathery stems in one hand. “I think most people don’t. That’s part of it, really. People only see the plate in front of them, not everything that goes into it.”
Rachel was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “That sounds like something you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about.”
He gave a small laugh. “Probably too much.”
“No.” Her voice was softer now. “Not too much.”
That did something to him.
The morning was so still around them that he could hear the snip of the scissors, the birds in the trees, and the faint sound of Rachel’s breathing as she stayed there beside him. Near enough that he was already far too aware of her.
As Elliott cut the last of the chervil, Rachel’s gaze drifted to the plant beside it, woodier and darker, its scent sharper on the air where the sun had warmed it.
“And that one?” she asked.
Elliott glanced over. “Rosemary.”
She reached out and rubbed a leaf between her fingers, then lifted her hand to smell it. “I always think of roast potatoes.”
He smiled. “Most people do. But it’s good in cake too. Orange and rosemary, especially.”
Rachel looked at him. “Cake?”
“If you do it right.” He reached across and snipped a couple of large sprigs, laying them in the basket beside the chervil. “We may as well take some.”
Then he looked at her.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m glad it was you who came.”
The words were out before he could weigh them.
Rachel held his gaze for a second, then looked down at the basket between them.
“We should get this back to Matt,” she said.
But there was no sharpness in it.
Only something careful. Something that felt less like retreat and more like protection.
Elliott nodded. “Yeah.”
He rose and held out a hand to help her up.
She hesitated only a heartbeat before placing her hand in his.
Her fingers were cool from the herbs, but the shock of recognition coursed through him.
He closed his fingers around them gently, and for one small, suspended moment, neither of them moved.
Then she stepped back, and the moment was over.
But not gone.