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“Two bedrooms over there, bathroom back here, and this is the living area.”
The space ran all the way from the front of the house to the back, the angled ceiling following the roofline. There was a compact kitchen on the back wall, a small dining table in the middle, and a long overstuffed couch in front of a fireplace surrounded by bookcases. The walls were a rich deep purple with matching velvet drapes at each window. All of the furniture was carved from dark wood, and the light fixtures were sculpted from wrought iron.
“It’s very… dramatic,” she managed at last, and he smiled.
“I enjoy playing the part. You should see what my father is doing to the castle in Transylvania.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. This place looked positively suburban by comparison. Would you like a drink?”
“Maybe just a small one.”
He opened a large, beautifully carved cabinet to reveal a fully equipped bar.
“Do you, err, entertain a lot up here?”
The look he shot her was a little too discerning, but he only shook his head.
“You’re the first person who’s been up here for quite a while.”
“Oh.” She tried desperately to think of something to say, but she suddenly felt tongue-tied and awkward. She stood there silently until he returned and handed her a glass. She took a sip, welcoming the sweet, fiery burn.
“Thank you,” he said again. “For coming to my—our—rescue.”
“You’re welcome.”
He took a sip of his own glass, giving her another thoughtful look.
“You’ve clearly worked in a kitchen before and you just as clearly have talent. What happened?”
CHAPTER 12
Wendy sighed and walked over to the French doors opening onto the balcony. Beyond it, the lights of the town cascaded down the hillside towards the river.
“My grandparents had a small family seafood restaurant. I spent a lot of time with them in the summers and I loved it, so much so that I ended up going to culinary school—much to my parents’ dismay.”
“They didn’t approve?” he asked as he came to join her.
“Not really. My mom also grew up helping out in the restaurant, but she hated it. My dad didn’t think I’d make enough money. But I went anyway, and after I graduated I ended up working at a high-end restaurant in New York.”
“And?”
“And I loved the food part, but I hated everything else. Fine dining is super competitive and super stressful. The head chef was an asshole, and most of the staff took their cue from him. He was always yelling and flinging insults.”
The memory made her shudder, and he put his arm around her shoulders as if to protect her from it.
“I only lasted two years and then I quit.”
“Couldn’t you have gone somewhere else?”
“I could, and it might have been a little better, but it would have been just as competitive. The staff in my grandparents’ restaurant were like family and that’s what I wanted. I knew I was never going to find it there. I think I was also just burned out.” She shrugged. “At least the pay wasn’t bad and I didn’t drink or smoke it away like a lot of chefs. I had enough money saved up that I could afford to take a little road trip. I started posting about the places I went and my blog just kind of grew from there. I’ve been doing it for almost three years now.”
“And you still enjoy it?”
“Most of the time. I have a lot of freedom, but sometimes I get tired of being on the road. I have an apartment in Greenville, but I’m hardly ever there.”
“You mean it doesn’t feel like your home?”
