Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
IN WHICH ELISE’S CAREER ARRIVES AT THE WORST POSSIBLE TIME
T he ocean looked unreal in the early morning light.
Silver-blue waves crashed against the volcanic cliffs below the restaurant while low fog drifted across the water in soft ribbons. Somewhere farther down the mountain, gulls cried over the shoreline.
Elise sat wrapped in one of Stenrik’s oversized wool sweaters on the deck outside the restaurant with her laptop balanced on her knees and three pages of production notes scattered across the table beside her.
Or at least they had started as production notes.
Now they mostly contained variations of charred rosemary sequence, close up on plating, Stenrik’s hands, absolutely do not include Gryla threatening tourists or Torfi’s impromptu dance routine.
The problem with filming while emotionally compromised was that her footage had become alarmingly romantic. Not intentionally.
She took another sip of coffee and scrolled through clips from yesterday’s dinner service. Stenrik moved through the kitchen on screen with sharp, controlled focus, broad shoulders tense beneath black fabric while firelight flashed across silver runes under his skin.
God.
Even recorded footage of him ruined her concentration now. The worst part was that viewers would absolutely notice. The chemistry was practically visible on camera.
Her phone vibrated across the table.
Theo.
Elise stared at the screen for half a second before answering.
“Well,” Theo said immediately, “good to know you’re alive.”
She winced slightly. “I texted you yesterday.”
“At three in the morning Iceland time with the words ‘busy, not dead.’”
“In my defense, both things were true.”
Theo sighed dramatically. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. Are you trapped in a volcanic cult?”
Elise looked out over the mountain thoughtfully.
“…Possibly.”
“That was not reassuring.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
The sound startled her slightly.
She’d been laughing more here.
Theo went suspiciously quiet. “Why do you sound happy?”
“I always sound happy.”
“You usually sound caffeinated and mildly sleep deprived.”
Fair.
Elise tucked one leg beneath her and leaned back in the chair. “What’s going on?”
The line crackled briefly before Theo answered.
“We got an offer. ”
Her stomach tightened automatically. “What kind of offer?”
“A big one.”
That got her attention fully. Theo rarely sounded serious about industry conversations. He treated most executives like mildly inconvenient pigeons.
“Elise,” he said carefully, “NorthStream wants the show.”
Silence. The ocean crashed below the cliffs. She sat very still, barely breathing.
NorthStream.
Not some niche food platform or small travel network. NorthStream. A real channel with international distribution and significant syndication.
Her throat suddenly felt dry.
“They want the back catalog,” Theo continued. “And they want new seasons produced directly through them.”
The world tilted slightly sideways.
Elise looked down blindly at the production notes scattered across the table.
When she’d started filming food reviews online, she’d begged restaurants to let her visit and been turned down more often than been accepted. Now a major network wanted her show.
“This is…” Theo let out a disbelieving laugh. “This is huge.”
It was.
She should have been ecstatic. Instead, her gaze drifted automatically toward the kitchen entrance behind her. Toward the warmth glowing through the windows. Toward him.
Theo kept talking, words tumbling faster now. “The money alone changes everything. Travel budget, production team, actual distribution. They’d want more episodes immediately. Bigger locations. Expanded international coverage. This is literally the dream.”
Yes, it was. Or at least it had been.
Her chest tightened painfully. Because suddenly the image in her head when she thought about happiness wasn’t New York anymore.
It wasn’t airports or premieres or constantly chasing the next restaurant opening across three continents.
It was flour dust in the kitchen, family dinners with loud voices, Stenrik touching her as they cooked in the kitchen, the sound of laughter in the home cave.
Home.
The realization settled heavily in her chest.
“Elise?”
She realized Theo had stopped talking. “I’m here.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
That hurt a little because she knew exactly how excited she should sound. The old version of herself would have screamed. Instead she stared at the ocean while panic and longing tangled together painfully beneath her ribs.
“I am excited,” she said quietly.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. She had worked for this. Sacrificed for it. Built everything herself from nothing. Long nights editing footage alone in hotel rooms. Sponsorship negotiations. This was what all of it was supposed to become.
“So what’s wrong?” Theo asked gently.
Elise closed her eyes briefly. How was she supposed to explain this? Sorry, Theo. I accidentally fell in love with a volcanic troll chef who emotionally destabilized me with cinnamon rolls and competent knife skills.
“I just…” She stared out toward the Atlantic again. “I didn’t expect my life to change this much this fast.”
“That sounds suspiciously emotional.”
“It’s been a weird week. ”
“Did the volcano seduce you?” Her silence stretched one second too long. Theo inhaled sharply. “Oh my God.”
“It’s not?—”
“You got hot-chef syndrome.”
“That is not a real condition.”
“It absolutely is. Happens constantly on cooking shows.”
Despite herself, Elise laughed again. Then her gaze drifted once more toward the kitchen windows.
She could picture Stenrik inside already preparing for service. And suddenly the thought of leaving him felt unbearable in a way flying across the world never had before.
Theo’s voice softened. “Hey.”
Elise swallowed hard.
“What if I can’t do both?” she whispered before she could stop herself.
The question hung between them. The ocean roared below the cliffs. Inside the restaurant, someone laughed—deep and familiar enough that the bond stirred warmly beneath her ribs immediately.
Stenrik.
Theo was quiet for several seconds.
Then, carefully, “Do you want my professional answer or my friend answer?”
Elise stared blindly toward the horizon.
“I don’t know.”
And for the first time in years, that terrified her.