Georgia bit back a smile.
She seems... great so far.
Georgia didn’t mention the hostile, hunky-looking Lands’ End model in the orange rubber overalls. Pulling her jeans back on, she splashed water on her face in the bathroom and took a moment to tame her unruly curls and reapply her signature red lipstick. There, she looked fairly presentable, though she still had dark circles under her eyes. She felt oddly refreshed by the nap, even after the long hours of travel. Maybe it was the sea air. Maybe there really was a touch of magic in it.
Shivering a little, she went back into the bedroom and unzipped her suitcase, digging around for her cashmere sweater. The day was fading and the air was chilly. She found the sweater, wrapped around a heavy, bulky item. She unwrapped it carefully, staring fondly at the big book with a turquoise cover and orange font. A vintage edition of Julia Child’sMastering the Art of French Cookingfrom the 1960s.It was the first cookbook she’d ever tried to make a recipe from. A tarte tatin that had managed to be both tough and disappointingly runny at the same time. It had been a failure, but she’d persevered nonetheless. It was the only book she’d taken with her from the ranch when she left, and she’d brought it with her on every move since. Besides her necklace, it was her most precious possession.
“I couldn’t leave you behind,” she murmured, caressing the cover. It had been ripped and taped more than once, and the pages were spotted with butter stains. She flipped it open to the first page, her eyes catching on the name scrawled there:Star Stevens. She traced the name with the tip of her finger. For so long, her mother had been just this, a name attached to a handful of hazy memories. Now, if all went well, she was about to becomeso much more. Feeling a little thrill of anticipation and nerves, Georgia set the book carefully on her nightstand and went to find her mother.
As she headed downstairs, she could hear Star’s voice and the deeper tones of a man coming from the kitchen at the back of the house. Curious, she tiptoed down the stairs and through the living room, pausing in the hallway and peering into the kitchen. Seated at the table facing her was the unfriendly oysterman, Cole. Georgia frowned. He was scratching Pollen’s head, leaning back on the built-in white bench comfortably. He was sans orange rubber overalls, wearing a pale blue chamois shirt rolled up to the elbows with a white T-shirt underneath. His dark hair curled over the collar of his shirt. Goodness, the man was easy on the eyes. Too bad his personality seemed sour enough to curdle milk. She studied his face for a moment, trying to recall why he seemed familiar. She came up blank.
“I don’t like it,” she heard him say with a frown. “It doesn’t sit right with me, Star.”
Star stood at the stove ladling chowder into bowls. She turned and shot him a pleading look. “You promised me. I need you to trust me and keep your word about this. I’ll tell her, just not yet. Please, Cole. I need more time.”
Georgia leaned forward intently. Tell her what? Why did Star need more time? Cole crossed his arms over his chest and opened his mouth to reply, then caught sight of Georgia in the doorway. He shot her a startled look that melted almost instantly into an expression of wary dislike. What in the world was his problem with her? And what had he and Star been talking about? Curious, Georgia met his look with an arched brow and walked into the kitchen with her head held high. Whatever issue Cole had with her, she had no intention of letting it get in the way of her reasons for this visit.
“Georgia!” Star exclaimed warmly, shooting Cole a cryptic look. “You’re just in time. You sit there.” She pointed Georgia to a chair directly across from Cole. The air was warm and humid and smelled like slightly scorched soup. Star set a bowl of chowder in front of each of them. Reluctantly, Georgia slid into the chair, careful to not bump knees with Cole under the table.
“Bonjour.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. After a second, he looked away, muttering a greeting in return. “Have we met somewhere?” Georgia asked him, tipping her head and considering him. “You look familiar somehow.”
Cole gave her a cool, disinterested look. “Not that I’m aware of.” He bent his head over his soup bowl, effectively putting an end to the conversation.
Star came over to the table holding her own bowl of chowder. “Now this is chowder made with clams from the bay right outside. Cole said he harvested them fresh today.”
“That explains the overalls,” Georgia murmured. Cole narrowed his eyes. He’d clearly heard her. She gave him a faux innocent smile.
“Now Georgia May, I forgot to ask. How long can you stay?” Star asked, spooning soup into a dish for Pollen and setting it at the foot of her chair as she sat down.
“Um,” Georgia hedged, picking up her spoon. “I’m not sure. Right now I’m on a break from the restaurant where I’m the sous-chef, so my schedule isn’t firm. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, though.” She stirred her soup and stalled having to take her first, bitter bite. She’d decided on the plane that she would not mention her loss of taste or the situation back in Paris to anyone. It made her feel vulnerable, and no good could come of it that she could see. Besides, she was hoping that with some rest, a change of scene, away from the pressure of Paris, she’d regain her ability to taste while she was on the island. If all went well,this lapse could soon be an unpleasant but brief memory and no one would have to know it had happened at all.
“Stay as long as you like,” Star insisted. She turned to Cole. “Georgia’s a chef inParis.” There was a note of pride in her voice.
“You mentioned that,” Cole replied. His tone was flat. He bent over his bowl and ate silently. For someone so undeniably good-looking, he certainly knew how to dampen his own charms, Georgia thought with a frown. What in the world had she done to annoy him? Was he just antisocial? Or was he offended by her in some way? She’d never had a stranger react to her so negatively before. Puzzled and a little miffed, Georgia managed to get a few bites of the soup down, although it tasted, predictably, bitter and awful. To be fair, it smelled a little scorched and the texture was lumpy, so even if she’d been able to taste it, she had a feeling it wouldn’t have been much better. She definitely hadn’t gotten her culinary talents from Star.
“I was thinking I might stay a week or so, if that’s okay?” Georgia asked tentatively.
She didn’t want to intrude on Star’s hospitality, but she didn’t yet know how long she’d need to be on the island to accomplish all she hoped to, or when she would need to return to Paris for Michel to make his chef selection. She’d had no word from him since they’d parted ways at his villa. She planned to stay a week and see how it was going. She could always extend her visit if need be.
“Stay as long as you like,” Star urged her. “We’re happy to have you.”
Cole put his spoon down with a clatter. He’d emptied his bowl in record time. “Excuse me.” He stood, muttering, “I’ve got to check the oyster seed.”
Without looking at her, he scooted out around the far edgeof the bench. “Star, thanks for the chowder.” He shot Star a long, indecipherable look. She met his eyes, and her own look was almost pleading. He shook his head and sighed, but it seemed more like acquiescence than denial. Georgia looked from one to the other, trying to figure out what she was missing. Did it have to do with the exchange she had overheard when she came down the stairs? What did he not like? What was Star asking him to trust her about? Did Star have a secret? Without another word, Cole left out the back door, the screen door banging behind him.
“Did I do something to offend him?” Georgia asked, setting down her spoon. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.” That was a polite way of putting it.
Star sighed, but her expression was fond as she looked in the direction of Cole’s retreat. “Cole’s a good man, but he’s carrying a big burden,” she said. “He doesn’t take kindly to strangers, even beautiful chefs from Paris. Give him time. He’ll come around.” She scooped up a spoonful of chowder. “Pollen and I are glad you’re here.”
Hearing her name, Pollen thumped her tail on the floor and grinned, licking the last of the chowder from her jowls.
“Thank you for the soup,” Georgia said politely. She laid down her spoon, hoping she’d eaten enough to not be rude.
“Oh, you’re welcome. Makes me nervous, cooking for a trained chef.” Star laughed a little bashfully.
“Home cooks are some of the best cooks in the world,” Georgia replied. Star definitely did not appear to be in that category, but she didn’t want to be rude.
“I never was much of a cook,” Star confessed. “Justine did most of the cooking around here. When she got sick, I had to make do for the both of us, but it still doesn’t come easy for me.” She shook her head regretfully. “When you were little, I triedhard to learn to cook for a year or two. You and I would watch that Julia Child cooking showThe French Cheftogether in the afternoons after your nap. I’d write everything down in a notebook and try so hard to make the recipes right. They never turned out the way Julia made them, though.” She gave a grunt of amusement. “You showed more promise in the kitchen as a three-year-old than I ever did as a grown woman.”
