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“I can follow up with her anytime if we have anything,” Miles offered.

“I appreciate that. Sorry, I’ve really gotta go. Bye, Miles,” Cam said, and tried to turn her attention back to her errand. But as she wheeled the cart to Birdie’s Volvo, she heard Ada’s voice. “Find it,” the ghost had said. Was that what she wanted Cam to unearth? A draft of Stormy?

When Cam arrived back at the cafe kitchen, the place was almost unrecognizable. Francine had lined the wall that would be the primary camera backdrop with lightweight panels wallpapered in a funky ’70s geometric pattern. It might have looked garish, but the terra-cotta and brown color scheme combined with rustic accessories, like potted succulents and artfully stacked classic cookbooks, gave an overall impression of a cool, chic home kitchen.

Cam joined Francine and Izzy, who were standing back and admiring it.

“I’ll bring more props tomorrow for the shoot, in case the camerapeople think we need them,” Francine said.

“I don’t want it to look cluttered. It’s perfect just the way it is,” Izzy said. “You really nailed my vibe.”

And that was about as close as Izzy Jones came to saying thanks.

“Not that I doubted you, Francine, but I can’t believe this transformation,” Cam said. “We really appreciate it.”

A tiny flush rose in Francine’s cheeks. “Okay, I’m off to hunt down a few options for tea towels,” she said. “I’m thinking an earthy green would be a nice contrast. Anyway, I’ll see you here bright and early.”

Cam walked Francine to her truck, and as she hugged her goodbye, she realized how much her new friend had come to mean to her. Her life here in Silver Cove—surrounded by people she cared about and who cared about her—was so different from her solitary existence in Brooklyn. And as hectic and crazy as things had been between the fete and Ada and this video shoot, it felt for the first time in a long time that she had a real purpose. It was nice to really matter to people.

When she got back to the kitchen, Izzy was peering at her laptop with the recipes pulled up onscreen.

“These look ready to me,” Izzy said. “We should probably send them right away.”

Cam almost laughed. Like she would know.

“I said I would have them to the editorial team by Monday morning. I just need to go over all the instructions again,” Cam said. “I like to add really clear visual cues so people aren’t confused.”

Izzy squinted at the screen. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“See here, in the recipe for the roasted vegetables,” Cam said, pointing to the text. “Instead of just saying ‘roast them for thirty minutes,’ I say ‘roast them for thirty to forty minutes or until they’re a deep brown.’ Not just ‘brown.’ You have to give people a picture in their minds that they can match up with what they’re seeing in their own kitchens. And I tested it about five times to get the right range of cooking times because not everybody’s ovens are the same.”

“Huh,” Izzy said. “I had no idea how much work went into this.”

Before Cam could say something sarcastic, Izzy’s phone buzzed for the umpteenth time that day. “Gotta take this,” she said, and disappeared into the dining room.

Late that night, Cam found herself unable to sleep, her mind still churning with to-do lists and going over for the hundredth time every step that she and Izzy had practiced. After tossing from side to side and scrunching her pillow half a dozen ways, she finally went downstairs, fearing she would wake Avery with her restlessness. Maybe chamomile tea would quiet her thoughts.

When she entered the kitchen, she saw a figure she guessed to be Izzy silhouetted in the moonlight pouring in through the windows. Hearing the floorboard creak, the woman turned around, and Cam stifled a scream. She was holding a large chef’s knife, and her face was covered in a white mask with slits for eyes like the guy from those slasher movies.

“Ohmigod,” Izzy said, flipping the mask up to reveal her face. “You look so freaked out. I’m sorry. It’s just an LED face mask. It’s anti-aging. And really good for dark spots. Helps with overall skin texture. We sell them on my website. I can get you one, if you like.”

“No, that’s okay,” Cam said, laughing at the momentary fright. “But, ah, what’s with the knife, Jason?”

Izzy looked at the utensil in her hand. “Oh, I was just practicing, like you showed me,” she said, looking almost sheepish. “And watching a few more YouTube videos.”

Cam was impressed by Izzy’s efforts. Clearly, this shoot was important to her.

Izzy put down the knife and swept the mask off its spot atop her platinum hair. “Okay, here’s my confession,” she said. “Since I got into the whole lifestyle brand business, I haven’t done any acting—not anything real, just a cameo or two here or there. And not that this shoot is a movie or TV role, but it’s kind of like that. And I’m remembering that acting—the thing that got me to where I am—is the one job I can’t outsource.”

“Right, but you’re talented,” Cam said, her usually combative attitude toward Izzy softening. This was as vulnerable as she had ever seen her superstar client. “I mean, you won an actual Oscar.”

“People think that acting ability is just something that you either have or you don’t have,” Izzy said. “And maybe there’s something to that. There’s probably a part of it that’s innate, just like it is for you and cooking. But just like with your job, the rest of it is work. Preparation. Concentration. Training. I busted my ass for every part I took.”

“I think I read that you actually learned to play the piano for that period piece you did a while back. Was that true?” Cam asked.

“Yeah, I trained for months,” she said with a wistful smile. “The director said she could just use a double and fake it with edits, but I knew that, if I didn’t, the movements wouldn’t be right.”

“Impressive,” Cam said.