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A restraining order against him seemed to have solved the problem. In the weeks that followed, I didn’t see him. Still, fearhad broken me. I wanted only to get away, to feel safe and to grieve in peace.
Starting over seemed to be my fate. I’d had to do it after my mother died and I went to live with Aunt Biddie. Here I was again, twenty years later, doing the same thing. Only this time I had no family to take me into their nest and shelter me from the storm.
In addition, I was nearly out of money. I’d taken months off to care for Aunt Biddie and run down my savings. She had not owned her home, so there was only enough left to pay her medical bills. I was as vulnerable and lost as I’d been at eleven years old. Starting over. Without Aunt Biddie to take me in.
Was this job the right next step, even though the location was rural and remote? The answer seemed to travel through me like a boat moving in a swift current toward home. I’d lived in Seattle all my life, but it was time for a change. No one would find me here unless I told them where I’d gone. I could have a reinvention of sorts. Start anew. Get a good job. Make some friends. Fall in love with Montana.
Would I stay away forever? I didn’t know at this point. One day at a time was all I could handle. Today, I hoped to secure this position. If so, I’d check into the cheap motel in Bluefern. The only lodging besides the ranch itself, as far as I could tell.
Aunt Biddie had always said to treat life as a grand adventure and see myself as a brave heroine. Right at the moment I felt crushed, smashed to bits, not brave. That said, humans were resilient. I’d survived my childhood. I would survive this next chapter, too, even if I felt more like a doomed secondary character in the novel of my life.
No. That was a lie. This story I felt myself trapped in now was not the right narrative. I was not meant to be the victim in my own life.
As Aunt Biddie often said, today was the first day of the rest of my life. Let’s hope it ended with a job offer from the handsome Chef Caspian Moon.
3
ELLIOT
Afew hours after my flourless chocolate cake came out of the oven, I sliced a piece for Caspian, sending up a silent prayer that he would respond positively.
“Let’s sit at the table. I have a rule never to eat standing up. I have a place for the staff to sit for meals and breaks. Most nights, we share a meal before the dinner shift.”
“I like your rule and your table.” I brought the plate with his cake over to the table. I’d made a raspberry compote to decorate the plate and enhance the chocolate flavor, as well as whipped up some cream for the top.
Caspian grabbed a fork and gazed down at my creation with an aura of a critic rather than consumer.
I held my breath.
“Gorgeous presentation,” he said at last.
“Thank you,” I said, pleased.
Caspian knelt closer and shut his eyes briefly, sniffing. Then he poked the soft middle with the tines of his fork and lifted the crackly crust. Finally, he sliced his fork into the dense chocolate and brought a bite to his mouth.
I once again held my breath.
He put his empty hand to his chest and groaned softly.
Why did the sound of his throaty reaction to my cake send goose bumps up my arms?
I had to keep myself from giggling like a lovesick teenager.
“Elliot Young, this is a darn good cake, if you can call it that. The texture reminds me more of fudge or a truffle. Might be the best flourless cake I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” I asked, before replacing my initial joyful reaction for one I hoped more appropriate for a professional pastry chef.
“There’s something in it that I can’t place,” he said, eyes dancing. “Almost bitter.”
“Fine. You know what it is. And now you’ve spoiled all the fun of me holding it over your head.”
“I have no idea what you mean. I demand you tell me the secret ingredient immediately.” His blue eyes sparkled at me from across the counter.
“You’re too smart,” I said, laughing. “I’ve never had anyone figure it out before.”
“I’m very observant.” He tapped his temple. “Have to be to make up for other things.”
“What kind of things?” It was out of my mouth before I could think better of it.
