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“I hope this isn’t overstepping, but I’m curious. What made your family turn the place into a dude ranch?”
“Mama had a choice. Lose the ranch that had been in her family for generations or change the way she did things. It was actually my genius older brother who thought of the idea. He’s like that, always coming up with entrepreneurial ideas. This is essentially a camp for adults and families. People come here for the horse rides, hiking, sitting around the campfire at night, and my food, but most of all to unplug. That’s what everyone tells us when they arrive and when they leave. Not that I’ve lived anywhere else, but seems to me folks crave that these days.”
“Are your guests mostly people staying here at the ranch?” Elliot asked.
“No, surprisingly, we get customers from all over, not just our guests. I’m proud of that.”
“I would be too.”
We shared another smile. For a moment it was only the two of us in the world. Dare I say I felt understood and less alone than I had in a long time? As strange as it may have sounded had I said it out loud, which I never would, this woman felt like a kindred spirit. It was not often I could say that about anyone except possibly my family. Although I was still the odd man out, they loved me without trying to change me, even if I made nosense to them half the time. There had only been one family member who had not been that way, and he was dead. I could still see his cold eyes staring at me, though, mostly when I closed my eyes at night. His voice came to me then, too, criticizing me, calling me names no one would say if they were decent and kind. My real father had been neither of those. Pop, though? When he looked at me I saw only love and support. From the beginning, he and I had bonded over our love of food and cooking. The way he treated me had made up for my real father. Most of the time, anyway. It was strange how a negative, critical voice stayed with a person so much longer than it should. I was a grown man with a thriving restaurant, and still my father’s voice could cause me to momentarily freeze when I closed my eyes at night.
“You met my mother already. My two youngest brothers run the business. Thad’s our hospitality guy, and Soren runs the ranch.”
“Your whole family works here?”
“No, I have two more brothers. Rafferty’s a doctor in Bluefern, and our oldest brother founded a tech company. He’s recently retired and moved back home.” I gestured toward the east, where Atticus had built a gigantic house on the other side of a batch of trees. “Built a home here.”
“Do you live on the land too?” Elliot grimaced, a flush deepening the rosy pink of her cheeks. “Is this too many questions? I’m too curious for my own good sometimes.”
“Not at all. If you’re going to take the job, it’s best you know what you’re getting yourself into. Thad, Soren, and I all share the house we grew up in. You may have noticed it driving up.”
“You live there? I thought there were guest rooms inside. It’s so nice, with the flowers in the pots and all.”
“No, just a bachelor pad at this point. You can blame Thad for the flower boxes.”
“They’re really pretty. Like a storybook.”
“Pop used to flip houses, so he updated ours over the years. Now he and Mama live not far from here, but when we were kids, we all lived there together.”
“It must be so nice to have a large family. I’d have loved that as a kid.”
“Was it just you and your aunt?” I asked. What had happened to her mother and father? Had they died or left?
She looked away, but not before I saw a flicker of pain in her eyes. “Yeah, just the two of us. Until I lost her too.” Her dismissive tone warned me against following up further.
“Is there anything you need before you get started?” I asked.
“Yes, could I trouble you for a coffee or espresso? It was a long drive from Seattle.”
“You got it. I’ll make it myself. Latte or cappuccino?”
“Just two shots of espresso, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Absolutely. But first, let’s go check out the kitchen. The guys, Leo and Ralph, are already here prepping for dinner. Leo’s my sous-chef, and Ralph does whatever we ask of him. Dishes, prep work, or even busing tables when we get really busy.” I’d once heard a professional actor describe what it was like to be on stage and suddenly not know what to do with his hands. Other times, he said it was as though he was outside his body, hearing himself talk, fearing it was nonsensical or that he’d forgotten the correct line. This woman had beguiled me in a way I suspected was similar to his descriptions. In the last few minutes, I’d found myself questioning everything I said. Elliot Young had made me lose my composure, and we’d only spent a few minutes together.
Hiring her might be a terrible idea.
Or the best one I’d ever had.
When did I ever use logic to make decisions? I was all about my gut, and right now it was telling me this was the pastry chef for me. Or, forus, since she would be working on a team. Notjust me, I reminded myself. This was work. Not my pathetic social life.
2
ELLIOT
Ifollowed Caspian out of the kitchen to the bar, where a shiny chrome Italian espresso machine waited. He meticulously filled the portafilter, leveling and tamping the finely ground coffee beans with what appeared to be perfect pressure. I knew from experience that one must not pack the grounds too tightly. The machine whirred to life as he twisted the metal filter into one of the heads. An aroma of richly brewed coffee wafted into the air as two dark, syrupy drops blossomed into a steady caramel-colored stream. Soon, I had a small cup of espresso with a lovely golden crema on the surface.
“Aren’t you going drink it?” Caspian asked.
