Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(9)

“I have to take Ellie up to Harbor Springs. She’s doing a private wine tasting at somebody’s vacation home, and she was planning to drive alone.”

“Tonight? There’s a huge storm coming.”

“I know. Believe me, I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen.” I explained who the host and hostess were and why Ellie was so determined to get there and impress them. “She’s convinced that somehow, tonight is going to change her life.”

My dad laughed. “Yeah, you can’t talk to a woman when she gets that in her head. Well, be careful. Leave early, go slow, and get off the road if it gets bad.”

“I will.”

“You give any more thought to that other TV offer yet?”

“Some.” I hesitated. “It would be a hard thing to walk away from.”

It was another cooking competition show, where experienced chefs would mentor attractive B-list celebrities who claimed to be clueless in the kitchen, and their meals would be judged by a panel of experts. It was called Hot Mess, and as ridiculous as the concept was, it would probably be a huge hit.

But the offer was to host the show, not appear as one of the mentor chefs or judges, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to move in that direction—away from the kitchen.

And contrary to what Ellie implied, I loved Abelard and enjoyed working here. I’d had a lot of input into the kitchen design, the hiring, the menu, and the methods. I was proud of the way it had turned out. But I’d never planned to stay forever.

I never planned to stay anywhere forever.

As a kid I’d been restless, never wanting to sit still or do what I was told. Fragile objects tempted me to smash them, rules dared me to break them, every hill had to be climbed and conquered—boredom was the enemy. As an adult, I still had that burning desire to go everywhere, do everything, fuck shit up. I never wanted to stop moving or settle down or even grow old. The question was always, what will my next adventure be?

I wasn’t positive another TV show was the answer, but I’d told Spencer, my agent, I’d decide on the network’s offer this week. For a second, I thought maybe I’d talk to Ellie about it on the ride to Harbor Springs. She was smart and ambitious too, so maybe she’d have some advice. Granted, she was likely to give me some shit about cutting out of Etoile early, but maybe she’d be so eager to get rid of me, she’d encourage me to take the gig.

Then she’d watch every single episode and lie about it, I thought with a grin.

“I agree, it would be hard to turn down,” my dad said. “But ultimately, is another show what you want to do? Is that the direction you want to take with your career?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “But I don’t want to waste time doing things that don’t matter. I like cooking for people, learning new things, coming up with new ideas. I don’t even think I’d be in the kitchen much on that show they’re pitching. I’d be the host. Fucking window dressing.”

“It’s a bitch to be so good-looking.”

I laughed. “Yeah.” I tried again to put my finger on what was holding me back and heard Ellie’s voice in my head. “Do you think it’s just bullshit? A joke?”

“Nah. People like to be entertained. Those kinds of shows are an escape.”

“So I have to decide if I want to be an escape or a chef.”

“Being an escape pays better,” my dad pointed out. “You could take the paycheck and do something more worthwhile afterward.”

“True.”

“When do you have to give them an answer?”

“Next week. And then I’d have to talk to Lucas and Mia about leaving Etoile before my six months is up. I’d have to be in L.A. by the first of April.”

“I’m sure they’d understand. And that’s almost three months away, but the sooner you tell them, the better. They’ll need the time to find someone to replace you.”

“I know.” I glanced out at Etoile’s kitchen, torn between staying and going. “I do like it here.”

“But it was always temporary, right?”

“Right. You know me—no standing still.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to get the phone calls from the principal anymore.”

I laughed. “Me too. Later, Pop.”

We hung up, and I looked at the radar again. Once more, the giant gray and white cloud heading our way gave me pause. But it was still a little ways off and likely wouldn’t be an issue on the drive there, as long as we left on time. And maybe I’d make those dumplings anyway, bring them with us tonight and offer them as an appetizer.

Setting my phone aside, I got to work.





By two that afternoon, my SUV was loaded with cases of wine, boxes of stemware, and an insulated cooler bag with the ingredients I’d need to plate the prawn and chive dumplings with sake butter I’d prepped. It meant I hadn’t had time to run home and grab a nicer pair of pants, but I figured we could swing by my apartment on our way out of town.

“Ready?” I asked Ellie, who stood at the back of my car looking over everything. She was all bundled up in her winter coat, mittens, and snow boots, as if we were walking to Harbor Springs, not driving.

“Yes.” She frowned at the cooler bag and pointed at it with one hand. “What’s that?”