Page 51 of Frosted Fakes

"Depends what it is."

"The cookbook. You're always working on it. Early mornings, late nights. What's the story?"

Elliott's expression flickered. "There's no story. I just want to write a cookbook."

"But why? I mean, you could work anywhere. With your talent, you could probably get a job at any restaurant in the country. Why a cookbook?"

For a moment, Julia thought Elliott wouldn't answer. She had that closed-off look she got sometimes, the one that said the drawbridge was up and visitors weren't welcome.

Then Elliott sighed.

"When I was seventeen and sleeping on Milly's couch, I used to read her old cookbooks." Her voice was quiet. "They were falling apart, held together with tape and hope. But they had these little notes in the margins. 'Add more vanilla.' 'Mum's favorite.' 'Made this for Sarah's wedding.'" She took a sip of wine. "I wanted that. Something that would outlast me."

Julia's chest felt tight. "That's beautiful."

"It's practical. I want to leave something behind on my own terms." Elliott shrugged. "So I work on it every day."

"You'll finish it," Julia said. "And it'll be brilliant."

"Maybe." Elliott's eyes met hers. "You know, you're not useless."

Julia laughed. "That's very generous, but…"

"I'm serious." Elliott set down her glass. "Don’t get me wrong. You’re useless at baking. Genuinely, impressively terrible. But this…" she gestured at the shop, at Julia's notebook, at the phone with its five-star review "This you're good at. Really good. You've just been forced into the wrong role your whole life. That’s all."

The words landed somewhere deep in Julia's chest.

"I flunked out of culinary school," she heard herself say.

Elliott blinked. "What?"

"First year. First month, actually. I set fire to the teaching kitchen. Twice." Julia stared at her wine. "The second time, they asked me to leave. My mother was furious. She'd pulled strings to get me in, and I'd embarrassed her in front of people she respected." She laughed, but it came out hollow. "That's when I became her assistant. It was supposed to be temporary, just until I 'got my head straight.' That was six years ago."

Elliott was quiet for a moment. "Julia…"

The kitchen door crashed open.

"EMERGENCY!"

Shay burst in, red curls flying, eyes wild. She was clutching her stomach with one hand.

"The door was unlocked!" Elliott said accusingly, glaring at Julia.

"I was carrying wine! I only have two hands! Also, I might have forgotten to close the shop. There was wine."

"I'm dying," Shay announced. "Actually dying. Tell my three lovers I loved them all equally."

"What happened?" Elliott cut in.

Shay collapsed onto a stool. "I made a terrible mistake."

"Which one? You make several daily."

"I double-booked." Shay groaned. "I just had dinner with Sam. A massive dinner. She took me to that Italian place in Bath, the one with the portions designed for giants. I ate approximately seventeen courses. Except I messed up. I double booked. And now…" she checked her phone and whimpered "…in forty-five minutes, I'm having dinner with Jo. At Jamie's restaurant. I can't cancel, they′ll think I'm not interested. But I can't eat another meal. I'll explode. Literally."

Julia was already reaching for her phone. "I'll call Jamie."

"You can't tell him about Sam and Jo! He'll judge me!"