by penny watson
“Just a minute. We’re not done.” Mr. Smith shouted above the noise. Everyone stopped and turned to see what he was talking about.
“I still have this check, remember?” He held an oversized check for fifty thousand dollars over his head. “But we have one last twist on this game. One last big announcement.” He waggled his eyebrows.
A sick feeling of dread crept into Sophia’s stomach. This was no time for twists. This was a time for celebration and relief.
Elliott stilled next to her. “What the fuck are they doing?”
Sophia didn’t answer, but the smile that Jenny sent her made her skin break out in goosebumps.
Mr. Smith continued, “We wanted to see how our chefs, both professional and amateur, would respond to being forced together into pairs for the challenges. If they could adjust, work together, and find a happy place for their creativity to blend and showcase the farm-to-table concept.” He wiped his forehead with his ubiquitous linen hankie. “Some pairs worked, some didn’t. But ultimately, we were still able to see the individual talents on the plate.”
Elliott’s grip was crushing her fingers.
“Sophia and Elliott were an impressive pair. But the producers of A Taste of Heaven knew, all along, that only one chef would win this competition.”
Sophia’s stomach dropped.
“Based on all the dishes prepared this week, including today’s meal and individual courses, the judges have chosen one winner.”
She looked up at Elliott’s face. He stared down at her, with a small resigned smile. “Tricky bastards, are they not?”
“Elliott.” She whispered his name.
Mr. Smith lifted the check over his head. “And the grand winner for A Taste of Heaven is Sophia Brown!”
“No,” she whispered. “Elliott.” Her body trembled in shock, but there was no sense of euphoria. Only a horrible sense of wrongness. The wrong man won. This was Elliott’s day, not hers.
And then his strong arms were around her, embracing her, comforting her. “You won, Sprite. Smile for the camera.”
“No. No. I can’t—”
“Smile for the camera, love. It’s all right.” Elliott’s eyes were shining.
“But Elliott. This is wrong. You know it is.” Her voice was ragged.
“Sophia, smile for the camera. Play this game to its conclusion.” Elliott gently pushed her forward toward the camera and the producers. Toward the judges who were hugging her and congratulating her. Toward the other contestants.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t argue with the judges or question Sophia’s win. The man from the first day of the contest would have yelled and screamed and forced a confrontation. But now he just stepped aside and let Sophia bask in her victory. He stepped aside for her.
The other chefs slapped Elliott on the back and teased him about the haggis. He grinned and chatted with them. All the while his eyes were locked onto Sophia, watching over her.
“Congratulations, Sophia!” Jenny crushed her against her bosom. “I’m so thrilled for you. You are such an artist with your cooking. And so talented.”
Sophia frowned. “Elliott is talented.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “You’re the one with the appeal, the presence in front of the camera. You charmed the heck out of us. You’re a natural.”
“But . . .” Sophia was interrupted by Mr. Smith.
“Sophia! We’re so proud of you!” He pumped her hand enthusiastically. “I sure hope you’ll consider doing some more programs with us. I honestly think you—and your daughters, too—would be a winning combination with the Creativity Channel. The three of you are fabulous on film.”
“Mr. Smith, thank you but—”
For thirty more minutes Sophia was touched and crushed and congratulated. She witnessed genuine enthusiasm on some of the faces and envious looks as well. Chef Baldwin hugged her, and his hands lingered just a little too long near her breasts. She was too shocked to move. Tarquin and Jonathan were gracious and kind. All of the cast and crew included Cady and Emilia in their celebration, and Sophia was relieved to see her daughters smiling and relaxed.
But her eyes kept darting back to Elliott, who was playing the game to perfection. He laughed at the jokes and accepted well wishes from the contestants. But the tension lines on his face were tightening as the minutes crept by, and he started to avoid her gaze.
Finally, the celebration drew to a close, and Sophia watched Elliott walk away from the set. Alone.
“Cady, Emilia. I’ll be right back.” She hugged her daughters. “I need to speak to Elliott.”
“Mom, do you think he’s okay?” Emilia looked nervous. “I’m worried about him.”
Cady nodded. “Me too.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Sophia practically ran off the set, racing along the sidewalk on campus. She finally caught up with Elliott next to an enormous weeping willow near the dormitory.
She grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re not even going to speak to me?” Tears poured down her cheeks. “You know this isn’t right. I cannot accept this check when I know you’re the chef who should have won.”
“You won, Sophia. Not I.”
“Not because my cooking was better.”
Elliott ran a finger down her cheek. “I took a chance with the haggis. I wanted to showcase that Scottish specialty. I knew I was taking a chance, but my recipe is flawless. Too bad Jenny had a vote.”
“You knew she had a vote. But you did it anyway.”
“Aye, I did. What’s done is done.”
“I’m giving you the check.”
His expression turned grim. “You are not. I will not accept it.”
“Elliott, I don’t need that money. You do. For your restaurant. Please, take it.”
He shook his head. “No self-respecting Scot would stoop so low. I have my pride, woman. Spend that money on your sweet girls. They deserve it.” He pulled away from her grip.
“No. Listen to me . . .” She tried to catch her breath.
“I heard the producers talking. About you and the girls and a concept for a new show. It sounds lovely. The three garden sprites and some mashed tomatoes.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Do it. Take what they offer. This is a dream-of-a-lifetime. You said you wanted a fresh chance. Well, you got it. Don’t pass this up.”
“I don’t want it.” She blocked his path. “That’s not my dream. I don’t want a TV show.”
“Don’t be foolish, Sophia.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of people who would jump at this chance, but it’s not my dream, Elliott. I have dreams. Don’t you want to know what they are?” She waited for his answer. Would he ask her? Would she tell him? Did she have enough courage to tell him?
He shook his head. “Sorry, Sprite, I don’t have time. I have a lot on my plate right now.” He smiled at her. A small, sad smile. “Uh-oh. Bad cooking pun. I think Mr. Smith is rubbing off on me.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, allowed his lips to linger there for a moment. “I need to get back to North Berwick and get my business in order.”
“If they’re going to do a cooking show, you should be the celebrity chef. Not me. You’re the one with the talent.” Sophia slid her arms around his waist and held onto him, afraid to let go.
“I never told you. So I’ll tell you now.” Elliott lifted her chin with one finger. “Your amuse-bouche was spectacular. It shocked the hell out of me. I couldn’t believe that an amateur made that single bite. It was truly perfection. Heavenly. A taste of heaven, sweetheart. Every part of it. Even the flowers, love. Even the flowers.”
“Elliott . . .” She couldn’t stop the flow of tears now. He sounded so resigned to his fate. This wasn’t right. “Let’s talk about your predicament and figure it out. As a team. We can do this.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You are going to stay here with your girls, and I am going to head back to Scotland and take care of the mess I’ve made.�
� He kissed her again.
She reveled in the feeling of his thick beard grazing her chin.
“I know you think your life has been blown to smithereens with a big gaping hole, but I don’t see it that way. I spent time with you and your daughters, and all I saw was a tight, loving family filled with joy. No hole. You are blessed.” He grabbed onto her arms and physically lifted her away from his body. “Good-bye, Sophia. Congratulations.”
He walked away.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I thought you told me your mother was doing better? She looks like a ghost.” Mrs. Anderson’s whispered concern floated over the hedges into the dark corner of Sophia’s vegetable garden.
“She was doing better. But now . . .” Cady hesitated.
“She just needs some time, Mrs. Anderson. That’s all. Time will heal her.” Emilia’s voice was firm.
“Sophia has had time. Over a year. And she looks like death. I know you girls are in college, but I honestly think you need some help. An adult to oversee your care, and her care. Perhaps Sophia’s sister could come by for the rest of the summer.”
“We are just fine, thank you. We’re taking Mom on a big trip. All over the world. That will perk her up.” Cady sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
“I’m not sure she’s up for that, Cady. She looks like a strong wind would knock her over. A trip like that requires stamina—”
“Mrs. Anderson, it’s time for lunch. If you don’t mind, we need to talk with our mom. Alone.” Emilia was using her no-nonsense voice.
Would it work on the old biddy? Sophia wondered.
“Very well. But I’ll be back to check on you girls tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother. We’ll be busy packing,” Cady said.
Sophia finished her crown of violets and plopped it onto her head. She huddled in the corner of her garden with a bottle of Pinot Grigio, a cracked wine glass, and a wreath of flowers. The kind she used to fashion for the girls when they were little. She poked her fingernail into the skinny stem and threaded the next flower through until the blossom secured it in place. One after another, white violet, purple violet.
The garden fairy, drunk in the corner. The Big Winner. The big fraud. The lonely widow. Sprite. Beauty without her beast.
A trip around the world?
There was one place in the world she would visit. A little fishing village in southeast Scotland, twelve miles north of Dunbar. A seaside town with crumbling castles, lush beaches, and cramped townhouses overlooking the ocean. And somewhere, along the crowded streets, a restaurant on the brink of collapse, in a dark alley. With no light.
But with Elliott.
It was time to speak with her daughters about their itinerary.
❦
“What’s this? It smells delicious.” Sophia blinked at the bowl of soup in front of her.
“Cullen skink.” Emilia handed her a spoon.
Sophia smiled. “The Scottish soup? How did you know how to make this, Em?”
“Googled it.”
“When in doubt, Google that shit.” Cady nodded like a wise old woman. She placed a cup of hot coffee in front of Sophia.
“Coffee and cullen skink. Thank you, girls.” Sophia tasted the soup. It was wonderful, rich and creamy.
“Are you still drunk? We sort of need to talk,” Cady said.
Sophia sighed. “No. Not drunk. Just tired.”
Emilia sat down next to Sophia at their table. “Remember Plan B? The big trip around the world?”
“Yes. I was worried Plan B was electroshock therapy, but I’m relieved to hear it’s a travel adventure. Much better.”
“This isn’t a joke.” Cady’s lower lip trembled. “It’s not a joke!”
Emilia placed a comforting hand on her sister’s arm. “Cady, it’s okay. Mom, I don’t care what it takes to make you better. Therapy, travel, medication—whatever it takes we’re doing it.”
Sophia placed the spoon on the mat next to her bowl. She slipped out of the chair and kneeled before her daughters. “I know you’re not going to believe this, but I am feeling better. This is part of my better. I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself and pout in the garden for an afternoon. But my long-term grieving is over, girls. I will always miss your father. I will always have our memories. But I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to embrace the next phase of my life.” She rested her cheek on Emilia’s knee and her older daughter stroked her hair. Just the way Sophia used to stroke her baby’s hair twenty years ago.
“Mommy, are you sure? You don’t look so good.” Cady wiped away her tears.
“I miss Elliott. I feel guilty and confused and frustrated. I think I might be falling in love with the grumpy Scottish bastard.”
The girls laughed through their tears.
“We were wondering about that.” Emilia lifted her mother’s face.
Sophia smiled. “Yes, well, I’ve figured out a few things this past week. I’m finally ready to take some risks. Leave behind my quiet existence and take a chance on something big and bold and different. A new adventure. I loved my life with your father. But it’s time to start over. Thank you for having faith in me. Thank you for signing me up for that show. I know I grumbled about it at the beginning. But you were right. I needed something to jostle me out of my depression.”
“So are you okay to travel?” Cady asked. “We have a big list of possible destinations to discuss.”
Sophia nodded. “I am. But I actually have a slightly different idea for Plan B. It’s . . . a little bit crazy. And it might not work.” She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. “But I want to try. If it fails, it fails. But if it works, it could be astounding.”
Sophia looked at her daughters’ expectant faces. They both reached down to her and squeezed her shoulders.
“What’s your Plan B, Mom? Tell us,” Emilia said.
She told them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They stood at the top of North Berwick Law and gazed down at fields of brilliant yellow rapeseed. Like a carpet of gold spreading out to the sea. The wind tugged and pulled and pushed them. Whipped their curls across their faces, obscuring the view of the town and somewhere in the distance, Elliott Adamson.
Bass Rock rose up from the harbor, a lone chunk of volcanic rock. Not unlike Elliott himself. The lone rock, surrounded by choppy waters, stubborn and isolated and eerily beautiful as the sun set to the northwest.
Sophia lifted her arms and welcomed the wind. She felt battered, but she embraced the rush of air, pushing and tugging, leading her onto a new path. It was violent and exhilarating at the same time. Next to her, Emilia and Cady raised their arms in solidarity, and the three Brown women laughed into the wind. She imagined the currents stole their voices and carried them down the hill, across the golden fields, and into the narrow streets of the town.
❦
“Are we ready?” Sophia took a deep breath. The sign read S-one Soup. Even the sign was wrong, missing the “T,” looking dingy and gray and sad.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Cady said. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Emilia laughed. “He’s going to pop an aneurysm when he sees us.”
Sophia turned to her oldest daughter. “Remember when you said he needs us?”
Emilia nodded.
“You were right.”
❦
Elliott was seated at a table in the middle of the room. He was smoking. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and he didn’t even bother to turn around when they entered. An old man stood next to the bar and held a weathered cap in his hands.
“I’m sorry, ladies. We’re closed today. Got some business to attend to.”
Sophia nodded. “Are you Uncle Rory, by any chance?”
The old man smiled and shot them a near-toothless grin. “Aye, I am. And who are you, bonny lass?”
Elliott’s shoulders tensed. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and smashed it into an ashtray on the table.
“O
h, Sophia, you chose the wrong day to visit, love.” He still refused to turn around.
“Why is that, Elliott?” she asked. The restaurant stank like smoke and fish. It was small, cramped and dark. One of the most unwelcoming places she had ever seen in her life.
Elliott’s shoulders hunched over. The beast looked withered and defeated. She wanted to wrap her arms around him from behind and ease his self-doubt and pain. Make him strong and arrogant and fearless again.
He let out a long, weary sigh. “Today is Death of a Restaurant, love. I’ve sold the place. Game over. You should have called first. I would have told you to save your money and go to Disney World instead.”
“But I don’t want to go to Disney World, Elliott. I wanted to come to Scotland. It’s so irritating that you keep trying to tell me what I want, what I should do, what I ought to do.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not a child. I can make up my own mind about things. Anyway, you didn’t give me your phone number.”
He barked out a laugh and finally turned around. When he saw Emilia and Cady at her side, he raised a brow. “Family trip? How cozy.”
Sophia realized he was nursing a whisky already. At eight o’clock in the morning.
She walked over to the table and lifted the glass. “Uncle Rory, I think Elliott has had enough of this. Do you mind clearing the glass while I speak to him?”
Rory nodded. “You’re the lass from the show, aren’t you? Elliott told me about you, but he didn’t tell me how bonny you are.” He glanced at the girls behind her. “Are these your bairns?”
“Yes,” Sophia answered. “Cady and Emilia.”
“What a sweet family you have.” He frowned at Elliott. “Don’t mind my nephew. He’s in a foul one today.”
Sophia sat at the table. She ran her fingers down the side of Elliott’s face, along the tough skin and thick beard, and along his lips. He nipped her.
“What do you think you’re doing, love? This isn’t the time and place for a seduction.” He laughed. “Are you going to seduce me? I could use a spot of fun. This hasn’t been the best week of my life.”