The oven timer dinged and she took out a tray of triangular scones sparkling with sugar crystals and studded with bright red berries.
She lowered the oven temperature, poured the whisked eggs into a baking dish that already held diced asparagus and bacon, then sprinkled on a mound of shredded cheese. I’d heard people talk about competence porn, but I’d never known it could be such a complete turn-on. She slid the casserole dish into the oven, tapped at the digital timer, then turned to me with a curious look on her face. “What’s in the bag?”
I’d forgotten all about it. “Canadian meat pie and butter tarts, courtesy of my grandmother. Although the meat pie was probably made by my aunt. My grandmother is more of a baker, and my aunt does most of the savory cooking.”
“They’re two very different skill sets. I’ve heard about meat pies but never had one. Tourtière, is that the French name?”
“Yes. Nice accent there. Are you hungry? Or did you just want to head home and veg while you’re still relaxed from your bath?”
“I could pretty much always eat.”
That sounded like a yes, and I was more than happy to have her stay. I pulled the pie and the tarts out of the bag. “You can eat tourtière warm or cold. Do you want me to heat it up?”
She shook her head and a few locks of hair fell loose around her face, making her look even sexier. “Cold is fine. I’ve managed to heat up your kitchen with the oven on for the past hour.”
That was definitely not the only thing heating up my kitchen. Or me. “Cold it is. If you like it, I’ll give you a piece to take home, and you can try it warm tomorrow. See which way you prefer.”
She turned and grabbed two plates as if she’d lived here forever. I pulled a knife from the butcher block and cut us each a wedge.
“Looks delicious.”
I handed her a fork and watched as she took a bite. “Oh, that’s good. Almost like a French pâté en croûte, but more rustic.”
“Exactly. They’re super popular in Quebec.”
She took a second forkful. “I can see why. Do you know what spices are in here? I taste sage and thyme, but is there cinnamon too? And nutmeg?”
“Yep. Allspice too, I think.”
“So good.” She eyed the butter tarts, and I held the box out to her.
She bit into one tiny tart, and her eyes closed. “I didn’t know they were maple. Oh my god.”
The throaty, sex-like moan nearly did me in. “They’re not always maple, but that’s my favorite kind.”
“It’s like pecan pie without the pecans and…raisins? Dates?”
“Could be either or both. She throws in whatever she has, and it’s always good. She’s even made them with chocolate chunks, but she mainly does that at winter holidays.”
“These pie crusts are fantastic, the savory one and this one. Think your grandma will share her recipes? Pie crust has never been my best event.”
“She’ll not only share the recipe, she’ll give you a personal lesson if you’d like. She and her sister are both very hands-on when it comes to teaching.”
“I feel like I’ve hit the lottery meeting you and your family.”
The feeling was mutual.
11
Phoebe
My phone was vibrating nonstop, and I nearly slipped on the slick bathroom tile as I wrapped a towel around myself and padded into the bedroom.
Ellie: OMG, I leave the country for two weeks and you become a viral meme?
Ellie: Are you all right?
Ellie: Want me to kill Drew?
Ellie: Probably shouldn’t have sent that via text
Ellie: Helloooooo
Ellie: Earth to Phoebe, I need deets girl. Are you at the bottom of a vat of Ben & Jerry’s or what?
Ellie was never one for subtlety. And was notorious as a multi-texter. I’d spent the past two days at Speakeasy, getting my purchase orders together for cookware and basics. I hadn’t realized Ellie was back in the States, or I’d have messaged her to catch her up. Now I had to get dressed for the solstice party, because Sam said he’d stop by to get me at six, and that was only twenty minutes away.
Me: Too much to text. Call if you can.
Seconds later my phone rang.
“How was your honeymoon?” I asked.
“Nuh-uh. I already know how my honeymoon was. I want to hear about you. What is going on? Are you okay? And why the hell didn’t you get in touch with me? You had the emergency contact info.”
“I wasn’t going to ruin your trip with my nonsense. I’m fine.” That was a lot truer than I would have thought it could be. I did feel fine. Better than fine. I felt…hopeful.
“For real? Because, damn, I watched that video, and I wanted to rip his nuts off.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“You sure? I got a new manicure and these babies could do some serious damage.”
I laughed. “I missed you. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before I left, but I got a new job and everything happened so fast.”
“A new job where? I thought you’d be chillin’ at your aunt’s house in Jersey or something.”
“Nope.” I scrunched my wet hair with one hand, in the mood for waves today. “Remember Audrey? You met her a few years back.”
“The blonde? Your chef friend?”
“Yep. She and her family are in Vermont, and they needed someone to start up a gastropub in their bar.”
“You, up in Vermont? Already?”
“I am. And I kinda like it.” A cool breeze drifted through the window, carrying the faint scent of flowers, which was lovely, but let’s be real—Sam was the main thing on my mind when I thought about how much I liked Vermont.
“Oh you kinda like it, do you? What’s going on? Have you already met someone?”
How did she do that? I mean, we’d known each other since we were kids, but how did she always manage to read my mind? It unnerved me. “Not really. The guy who looks after the cottage I’m renting is just super nice.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. As in super fine? What’s he look like?”
“Remember Sawyer from Lost? He looks like a cross between Sawyer and Jared Leto.”
“We talking Jordan Catalano Leto or Dallas Buyers Club Leto or what?”
We may or may not have had a few Leto binge-watch nights over the years.
“Catalano.”
“Imma need to see some pics.”
I laughed. “We’ll see. Now seriously, how was your honeymoon?”
“Ah-mazing. What can I say? I married well.”
“Speaking of which, I want to see pics from your trip.” I grabbed a short, summery dress. “I have to be somewhere in a little while, and I’m still in a towel.”
“Hot date with your mountain man?”
“No.” Not exactly. Sort of. Maybe? Oh god. I don’t know.
“Okay, well, you have fun up north. I’ll send you the pics, but then you let me know when we can Skype and catch up. And I wasn’t kidding about needing pics myself.”
Pics, or it didn’t happen. Maybe Sam was a figment of my imagination. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind having a photo of him. For reasons. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Glad you’re okay. I got really scared for you when I saw what happened.”
“I got kinda scared for me too. I’m just lucky things worked out the way they did, or I’d have been really screwed.”
“Sometimes the universe has a plan.”
Indeed. And sometimes it had a sick sense of humor. “Talk to you soon.”
“Bye, babe.”
I hung up and looked at the dress I’d laid out on the bed. Was that the look I wanted? What were you supposed to wear to a solstice party anyway? The floral print was summery, but honestly, it was the least “me” item of clothing I owned. Was it okay to wear all black to a party celebrating summer? And since when did I care what people thought of how I dressed?
Get a grip.
I headed back into the walk-in closet and slippe
d into a good pair of panties and a matching bra—not because I expected anyone to see either, but because they made me feel good. My sleeveless black handkerchief tunic seemed like a good choice. It fluttered around my legs when I moved, plus the V-neck made my boobs look pretty fabulous. Jewel-toned, harlequin-patterned capris and black leather sandals completed the outfit, so I didn’t look entirely emo.
My hair was still damp, so I scrunched it some more and caught it in a butterfly clip so I could do my makeup. I didn’t tend to wear much makeup when I was working in the kitchen because it melted right off, but I loved doing it up nice when I had the chance. A Wiccan solstice party seemed like a good time for some seriously winged black eyeliner. By some miracle it came out right on the first try. I swept on a sparkly gray eyeshadow and some deep red lipstick and then let my hair back down. The overall look was probably still too city girl, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.
I misted some perfume—another thing I didn’t do when working in a kitchen, because I wanted to smell the food, not my cologne—and walked through the cloud. Before I could get my necklace fastened, the doorbell rang.
Punctual as ever. “Come on in.”
The door squeaked open, and I heard Sam’s footsteps. Something about having him in my bedroom made me jittery—not that I didn’t trust him, I didn’t trust me—so I stepped into the living room, still struggling with the lobster-claw clasp.
Sam gave a low whistle when he saw me, and my cheeks heated. I gave a little twirl, so my handkerchief hem danced. “You like?”
“You look amazing. Need some help with that?” He came up behind me, his spicy aroma as intoxicating as ever.
“This clasp always gets stuck.”
“Here.” His hands slipped over mine, warm and gentle.
I gathered my hair out of the way to give him better access. He hooked the necklace in a second, but his fingers lingered a moment longer against my bare neck, and I shivered.
“You cold?”
“No, I’m good. Ready to go?”
“Absolutely.”
Walking felt good. I was used to walking everywhere in the city, but the past week I’d spent more time in a car than I did in an average year.
Sam pointed at a quaint house that was barely visible through the trees. “Remember the friend I mentioned? The one with the bakery in Maine? That’s the house he grew up in. It was the first place I was allowed to walk to unsupervised.”
An image of young Sam flashed into my mind, so clear it was like a memory. “Does his family still live there?”
“No, they moved years ago, right after we graduated high school. But you see that treehouse?”
I squinted and then saw it—blue paint behind all the leaves. “Did you play there?”
“We built it and slept up there almost every warm weekend for a few years.”
“It’s like something out of a TV show. The closest I ever came to camping out or a treehouse was rooftop parties.”
“Those are fun too.”
I stepped on an uneven bit of pavement and wobbled, my arm knocking into Sam’s. The feel of his skin against mine sent tingles racing through me, but I brushed it off. Just adrenaline from nearly wiping out.
The incline picked up as we followed the curve in the road. Cars lined the street on both sides. Sam wasn’t kidding when he said half the town turned out for this event. Up ahead were colorful streamers and wind spinners.
“I take it that’s your grandmother’s house?”
“Yep. Looks like a good turnout.”
There were enormous wooden bins at the end of the driveway and a young couple carrying a tiny baby placed two large paper grocery bags inside one of them.
Sam must have noticed me looking puzzled, because he explained, “A little food drive is part of the solstice tradition. Everyone brings canned or dried goods. I’ll drive them over to the town food bank in the morning.”
“That’s a really great idea.”
The driveway was long and winding, lined with luminaria bags. Someone was playing classical guitar, and kids were scampering in the front yard trying to tag a woman in a long peasant dress with a full-length apron on.
Sam gestured to her. “The pocket lady is always a huge hit.”
“Pocket lady?”
“Yes. Not sure how far that dates back, but that apron has tiny pockets all over it with little coins and plastic toys in each one. When you catch her, you get to pick a prize.”
“I’ve never heard of that. I got prizes like that out of the little quarter machines at the drugstore.”
“We have those too. But the chase adds to the fun.”
The house came into view. Victorian, much like Sam’s, but larger, with more flower beds surrounding it and several enormous rose-quartz boulders.
Nothing in the front yard prepared me for what was out back. Long tables on one side were covered with huge platters of food and glass beverage dispensers, a brick barbeque grill was loaded with skewers of meat and veggies, and another set of tables held crafts with flowers, candles, and crystals. In the center of it all was a pile of wood that appeared to be all set for a bonfire.
“Wow.”
“This is why everyone comes.” Sam gave me another of his heart-stopping smiles.
“Sammy! You made it.” A woman rushed toward him, quickly embracing him. Her silver hair was short and streaked with lavender, and she wore a crown of roses and daisies.
“Aunt Iris, this is Phoebe. She’s Puck’s new best friend.”
Silver-blue eyes just like Sam’s held mine, and she studied me before her whole face blossomed into a smile. “So nice to meet you. Puck has excellent taste in women. That’s how he found me.”
Sam shrugged, and she gave him a playful smack on the arm.
“You know it’s true. It was the solstice party six years ago. That’s how he got his name. Midsomer festival, like Midsomer Night’s Dream. He’s my spritely fairy cat.”
I had wondered why the cat was named Puck. Now it all made sense. “He’s very charming.”
“All the men in the family are.” Her eyes flitted between me and Sam, whose expression I couldn’t quite read. She took my hand. “Come, let me introduce you to my sister. She’s been waiting for you.”
She has?
“Rose. Rose, Sam and Phoebe have arrived.”
I trailed behind Iris, who was still holding my hand and moving surprisingly fast for someone who had to be at least in her mid-seventies. She stopped at the base of the back porch stairs just as a woman descended the steps. Her long, white hair flowed down her back, and her headpiece was made of dark twigs intertwined with gold and green ribbons that twirled down among the waves of her hair. As the sunlight hit, I noticed green and amber stones twinkling among the tiny branches.
Iris patted my hand. “This is my sister, Rose. Rose, this is Phoebe.”
Rose reached the bottom of the steps, her green and gold dress floating around her, and raised her arms to pull me into a hug. “How nice to meet you in person. Oh, my, you look just as I pictured you.”
She held me at arms’ length for a moment, then grabbed my hand and gave me a twirl. My hemline swirled with me. “Love, love, love the dress. Sam, she fits in perfectly.”
Sam smiled and leaned in to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “Everything looks great as usual. Need help with anything?”
“Nope. I’ve got Otto manning the grill—he owes me for a variety of reasons—and Chuck and Lottie are supervising the kids’ crafts. You two just enjoy.” She hugged Sam tightly. “I’ve missed having you here the past few years. It’s wonderful that you’re home.”
The emphasis on the word home touched something deep in my heart. Something about this place felt like home, even to me. As different as it was from anywhere else I’d ever been, there was something about it that felt familiar and peaceful in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before. It was comforting and unsettling all at once.
“Go, show Phoebe aro
und. She needs a floral crown and you two must eat. We have so much food. Go. Enjoy.”
She waved us away, then both she and Iris disappeared into the crowd.
Sam quirked an eyebrow at me. “You heard her. You need some headgear. Shall we?”
“Lead the way.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done any sort of crafting that didn’t involve plating food or folding napkins into fancy shapes, but twenty minutes later I had a floral crown of carnations and daisies with long red and gold ribbons. Sam placed it on my head and studied me.
“Forgot one thing.” He reached down and picked up a strand of copper wire with tiny quartz pieces strung on it. “Hold still.”
I did as he asked and could feel him weaving the thin wire through the flowers.
“Perfect.”
I couldn’t tell if the smile on his face was one of amusement, attraction, or both. “Men don’t wear these?”
“Uh, no.”
“That seems unfair.”
“It does a little.”
“I’d be happy to make you one…”
He grinned. “Maybe later. Let’s get you some food first.”
That sounded good to me. Dozens of people milled around, holding plates, eating, drinking, talking. Someone had given all the kids bubbles, and the air was filled with glittery popping spheres. A harpist had taken over for the classical guitarist. We made our way to the buffet tables, and Sam handed me a plate. Every single dish had a hand-written card in front of it, naming the item and listing the ingredients. It was chef heaven.
Tiny asparagus bundles wrapped in bacon. Artichoke mini tarts. Skewers of multi-colored melon balls and berries, tiny rosemary teacakes studded with plump golden raisins, wooden skewers threaded with marinated pork and peppers. A separate table held lavender cookies, strawberry shortcakes, and giant glass jars of honey lemonade, sun tea, mead, and sangria. I dug my phone out of my pocket and snapped pics. Ellie needed to see this, and I was considering borrowing a few ideas for Speakeasy’s menu.
“Easing back onto social media with food porn?”
I shook my head. “No, just want to show my bestie what life in Vermont is like. Actually, would you mind?” I offered him my phone. “She’ll never believe I’m wearing a floral crown without photographic proof.”
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