I no longer feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. I just feel… happy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fallon
The kitchen is quiet,save for thesnick-snickof my knife against the cutting board. I’m breaking down a side of pork, separating the loin from the ribs with a single, fluid motion.
It’s muscle memory at this point. I could do this in my sleep, though I prefer not to; I value my fingers too much.
The sun is just starting to creep through the high windows. It’s early, even for us. I came in to get a head start on the charcuterie board prep, wanting to experiment with a new pheasant pate recipe I’ve been toying with.
The bell above the front door jingles, echoing through the empty dining room.
I frown, glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s barely seven. We don’t open for breakfast service for another two hours, and the delivery trucks don’t usually arrive until eight.
I wipe my hands on my apron and walk out of the kitchen, ready to shoo away a lost tourist or an overeager vendor. When I step into the dining area, I stop.
A woman is standing just inside the door, shaking a light dusting of snow from her jacket. She’s not a tourist. She lookslike she belongs in a magazine spread, not on the snowy streets of Fox Hollow.
She’s wearing a wrap dress in a deep, sapphire blue that hugs her curves and accentuates her waist. On her legs, she has on a pair of sleek, knee-high black leather boots that click softly on the hardwood floor as she shifts her weight. A heavy wool coat is draped over her shoulders, and in her arms, she’s cradling a bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown craft paper.
She looks up, and I’m struck by how pretty she is. Large hazel eyes, chestnut hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and a face that is open and expressive, though currently pinched with a hint of nervousness.
“Hi,” she says, offering a tentative smile. “I know you’re not open yet. I’m so sorry to barge in.”
“No problem,” I say, leaning against the host stand. “We’re just in the back prepping. Can I help you with something?”
She takes a step closer, and the air shifts.
My nostrils flare. It’s subtle beneath the smell of the cold air and the floral perfume she’s carrying, but it’s there. Jasmine and rain.
I freeze. I know that scent. I smelled it on Eli two days ago, lingering on his collar like a ghost he couldn’t wash away.
This is her. The woman he’s been sneaking around with. The reason he’s been humming in the kitchen.
“I’m actually looking for Eli,” she says, clutching the flowers a little tighter. “Is he in?”
“Eli’s not in yet,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest. “He usually gets in around eight to start the dough. I’m Fallon, by the way. I work with Eli.”
Her shoulders drop slightly, disappointment flashing across her face. “Oh. I see. I’m Amber. I just… I wanted to drop these off. To say thank you. He did something really nice for me last night, and I wanted to return the favor.”
She holds out the bouquet. It’s a stunning arrangement—velvet red roses, sprigs of silver eucalyptus, and some bright yellow flowers I don’t recognize the name of. It’s wild and beautiful, much like the woman holding them.
“I can take them for him,” I offer, reaching out.
“Thank you.” She hands them over. As she does, she fumbles with a small white envelope tucked into the paper. She pulls it out, holding it against her chest for a second.
“I wrote a note,” she says, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. “It’s probably really cheesy. I almost didn’t include it.”
I grin. “He’ll love cheesy. Eli’s a romantic at heart.”
She laughs, a light, genuine sound. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I tap the envelope. “I promise I won’t read it. I’ll make sure he gets it the second he walks through the door.”
“Thank you, Fallon.” She pulls her coat tighter around herself. “I really appreciate it. I have to get to work, but… yeah. Just tell him Amber stopped by.”
“I will.”
