Page 54 of The Chef's Kiss
“Well.” Mrs. Peterson drew herself up straight. “Take care of yourself, honey. You’re no longer doing everything for just yourself.”
When they were gone, Jorgina deflated. “As if I could forget.” She stood. “Come on. We may as well get this over with. I don’t think the rain will let up any time soon.”
I followed her out from under our shelter. She seemed in no hurry to get back to my car, but we were already soaked through, so it didn’t matter much. By the time we reached it, we both shivered from the cold.
I cranked the heat and pulled out onto the main road that would take us to the edge of town. “Are those women always so …”
“Opinionated?” Jorgina asked. “Yes. At least with me. A lot of people think they’re just sweet old ladies, but they’re also very shrewd. Mrs. Chapman isn’t so bad when she isn’t around the others. Her granddaughter is Harper, Carter’s fiancé, so our families are connected.”
When we got to the meadery, it looked almost deserted. There were no workers out in the vast fields, nor cars in the parking lot save one. If it wasn’t for a flickering light inside the shop, I’d think the place was closed.
Jorgina showed no sign of wariness as she walked straight for the door. Inside, a woman with ash-brown hair pulled back in a series of haphazard braids and no makeup sat behind the long counter.
Jorgina cleared her throat, and the woman snapped her head up, recognition lighting in her eyes. “Jorgie?” She stood, rounding the counter. Her long purple skirt billowed as a gust of wind followed us in through the door.
“Aunt Rosalie.” Jorgina’s voice held a formality I hadn’t heard from her before.
“I’d heard you were back in town.” She smiled, her face kind. “My, you’ve grown. You’re beautiful.”
“Yes, well, we have business to discuss with you.”
The woman’s face fell. “Okay.” Her eyes shifted to me with interest. “Why don’t you two have a seat? Um, I’m afraid we don’t have much furniture in here; we tend to sit on whatever we can find.” She gestured around to the shelves, crates and window sills.
“Don’t you have an office?” I asked.
“Well, no.”
Jorgina turned to me. “Aunt Rosalie doesn’t believe in offices. She thinks business is best conducted in less formal settings.”
It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t question it.
Rosalie sent Jorgina a tentative smile. “I’m surprised you remember anything about me at all.”
“You’re my aunt,” Jorgina snapped.
Sadness grew in the woman’s eyes. “I have not been allowed to spend time with you since you were maybe ten years old.”
Ignoring her comment, Jorgina perched on a window sill. A door opened and the teenage girl I’d met before ran in. “It’s pouring out there, Mom.” She shook a hood from her head, letting dark reddish hair spill out. “We don’t need to worry about the northern parcel, but we might have some flooding in the south.”
Her mom waited for her to stop talking and gestured to us.
Emery turned, her hard gaze finding Jorgina. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Emery.” Jorgina’s voice was just as cold.
“Mom.” Emery gave her back to us. “Why are they here? I thought we decided to stay out of any business involvingthoseAshfords.”
“We did, Em.” She smiled, looking at me. “Emery told me of your visit before. Am I correct in assuming you’re the chef?”
I nodded.
“You want to offer our mead at your restaurant?”
“Yes, but not only that. You grow a lot of fresh produce here. I think we could help each other.”
She pursed her lips.
“You can’t be considering this.” Emery scowled. “She’s his daughter.”
