“You want to talk about dirty tricks,” he snorted. “I’m now in half a dozen tween and middle-aged Korean ladies’ vacation photos. They all think I’m some famous vampire actor.”
“Wait, you actually took pictures with them?” Georgia asked, delighted by the thought.
“I didn’t have the heart to say no,” Cole admitted. “The tweens followed me out to the parking lot and demanded I take a selfie with them. And then I’m pretty sure some of the tour groupladies were snapping pictures of my ass while I was climbing into Martha.”
Georgia burst out laughing. “Somewhere on the island there are a bunch of tourists who firmly believe they just met Ian Somerhalder.”
“And some now even have pictures of his ass.” Cole grinned. “They’re going to be really disappointed if they ever find out those are just photos of a washed-up ex-scientist who rakes oysters for a living.” Cole turned the key in the ignition, and Martha’s engine roared to life.
“It’s a great ass, though,” Georgia replied teasingly, buckling her seat belt. “Ian Somerhalder would be proud.”
“Er, thanks.” Cole looked embarrassed. She thought he was blushing. They pulled out of the parking lot and wound up the hill out of Roche Harbor. Cole shot her a quick sideways glance. He seemed relieved. There was less tension in the set of his shoulders. “Okay, so now that you’ve heard my entire tragic life story, I have some questions for you,” he told her.
“That seems fair,” Georgia agreed. She reached down and grabbed the pickle jar, unscrewing it and finding another pickle. She took a big bite. “What do you want to know?”
“What happens if you don’t get your sense of taste back?” Cole asked as they drove past dark and silent Craftsman cottages and an old-fashioned gas station with a single gas pump.
“I don’t know,” Georgia confessed. “I can’t go back to my old job. Not after what I did.”
“What did you do?” Cole looked curious.
Georgia hesitated, staring out the window as they passed an avant-garde outdoor sculpture park set in a field near the grassy runway of the tiny Roche Harbor airport. A moment later civilization gave way to a jagged inky dark line of evergreens against a starry sky and the empty ribbon of road in theheadlights. There was not another car in sight. She felt a million miles away from that horrible night in Paris. How much should she tell him? Cole had just laid bare the biggest failings of his life to her. Was she brave enough to offer him the same level of vulnerability? She took a deep breath and confessed everything. To her surprise, it felt like a relief.
When she was done Cole said, “In my opinion, the sexiest chef in Paris sounds like a real grade A jerk. He had it coming.”
Georgia turned to him in surprise. “How do you know about Etienne being voted the sexiest chef in Paris?” she asked. She had not mentioned that detail.
“You’re not the only one who can google,” Cole admitted a touch sheepishly.
“You googled me?” Georgia demanded, then remembered she’d done the exact same thing. “I guess that makes us even.” She sat back, mollified.
“So what are you going to do now?” Cole asked.
“Go back to Paris and try to win the position of head chef,” Georgia said. “I can’t give up, no matter what. This is everything I’ve worked for. I’m so close. Tonight at Anemone, I remembered why I love to cook. It felt... fun. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed it that much. And not only that, but tonight my cooking seemed like it was helping people like it used to. At dinner a couple visiting from Toronto decided to elope in Vegas while they were eating the meal I served them. It’s been a while since that happened. That gives me hope that I’m on the right track. Ithinkit’s working. I think I’m getting my spark back. I’m trying so hard to not try. I’m attempting to just be present and open myself up to wonder and delight again. That’s what Star thinks I need to do.” She heard the vulnerability and hope in her voice. She so desperately wanted this to work. And today, for the first time since that first bitter bite of pastry in Phoebe’s apartment,something had shifted. The pickle was proof of that. The realization filled her with sweet relief. She rolled down the window in a rush of crisp air, sticking her hand out into the night and feeling the cool darkness trail between her fingers. She felt so light she almost believed she could float.
When they pulled up to the cottage, everything was silent and dark.
“Thank you for the ride,” Georgia said quietly, putting her hand on the door handle. “And thank you for making me cook today. I hated you for it, but I think it was exactly what I needed.”
Cole looked a little embarrassed. “Honestly, I was just trying to get a rise out of you.”
“I know.” Georgia gave him a wry smile. She could just barely make out his face in the dim glow from Martha’s headlights. “You can trust me with your secret identity, you know,” she said, sobering. “I won’t tell.”
He nodded. “I know. I try to keep a low profile. The islanders don’t care who you are. This island is full of folks with stories. Former CIA agents, writers, felons, even a celebrity or two. No one cares as long as you’re a good citizen here and work hard. It’s the tourists I worry about, like that guy we saw at the winery yesterday. I did know him. He works for a big biotech company in San Francisco. We ran in similar circles.”
“Why are you so worried about someone recognizing you, though?” Georgia asked. “You’re not a fugitive or famous. I mean, if you really were Ian Somerhalder, I’d understand, but does anyone really care about a research scientist? No offense.”
Cole scrubbed a hand over his face, over the five-o’clock shadow he seemed to always have. “I care,” he said at last. “I’m ashamed of who I was, of what I did to Amy, of what I let myself become under all the pressure. I left it all behind when I came here. Dr.Cabot Montgomery is dead and buried. I’m just Colenow. I don’t want any reminders of the mistakes I made. I don’t want anyone looking at me and seeing who I really am.”
“And is this all you want?” Georgia asked searchingly. “To work on the oyster farm and read German philosophy in your cabin alone every night?”
“There are worse things,” Cole said, his tone a touch defensive. “Is this all I want? It’s not the life I imagined, but it’s a good, honest way to live. And I can help Star. I couldn’t leave her, not now. So I guess my life is as good as it’s going to get.” He sounded so resigned.
Georgia found his answer terribly sad. She surveyed him for a moment. He was so much more complex than she’d assumed at first. A deep well, Star had called him once. And he was certainly that, filled to the brim with guilt and duty, grief and kindness, hating himself for a mistake that had cost him and the woman he loved so much. How could he forgive himself for destroying everything he cared about? Evidently, he could not.
“You said that your former life was one of your secrets,” she said. “Are there others?”
He smiled humorlessly, a brief turn of his lips. “None that are mine to tell,” he said almost gently. “I think you’ve asked enough questions for tonight. Time’s up.” He reached across her and opened her door. She got the message.
