Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“What’s your blog going to be called?”
“I want to focus on plant-based recipes, so right now my favorite is The Veggie Vixen.”
I laughed. “I like it. You went to culinary school, right?”
“Yes. And I worked as a sous chef in Chicago for a couple years before veering sideways into food science. Which was interesting—I liked the test kitchen, and I learned a lot—but I missed being in a real kitchen, creating food from real ingredients that people would enjoy eating just for pleasure. Beyond that, I discovered that I don’t love working for a big corporation. I’d like to work for myself.”
I smiled. “I don’t blame you.”
“But that sort of means starting from scratch,” she said with a laugh, self-consciously tucking her straight dark hair behind one ear. “So here I am, age twenty-seven and living at home again, saving up money and trying to get a business off the ground.”
“I think it’s awesome,” I said. “And don’t feel bad. I still live at home too.” When I’d first moved back last year, my parents had let me stay in one of Abelard’s guest cabins, although my mother had reminded me daily how much that was costing us since it couldn’t be rented out to paying guests. Last fall, I’d moved back into my former bedroom in the main house, which I was trying to view as a smart financial decision rather than a backward move.
But it was so convenient—I worked a lot of late nights, didn’t have to drive home, and with my parents in France and my brothers away at school, I had plenty of privacy . . . not that I used it for anything fun. But a long dry spell was perfectly normal when you worked as much as I did, right?
“I told Felicity she could stay in the second bedroom at my place, but she turned me down,” Winnie said.
“Um, and listen to you and Dex going at it on the other side of the wall every night?” Felicity laughed and shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“It’s not every night.” Winnie blushed. “Just . . . most nights. But he and I could always stay at his place.”
Felicity poked her sister’s shoulder. “From the stories you’ve told me, I’d probably still hear you.”
I laughed—Winnie had fallen in love with the guy who’d moved into the condo next to hers last summer, and they were disgustingly crazy about each other.
“So will you work out of the kitchen at Cloverleigh Farms?” I asked Felicity. Their dad had been CFO at Cloverleigh Farms for as long as I’d known their family, and their stepmom’s family owned it. Like Abelard, Cloverleigh was a winery and an inn, although it was much bigger, with a large restaurant and bar on the premises, and soon they’d be opening a spa.
“In the beginning, yes,” said Felicity. “I have an arrangement worked out with Alia, the head chef there—I’ll use the kitchen during the hours between lunch and dinner at Cloverleigh for now, since I don’t want to step on Alia’s toes. But speaking of chefs, Gianni Lupo is incredible.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah. I know.”
“Kate is a huge fan of Lick My Plate, and she was dying when he came over to the table to chat with us.”
That was something Gianni did at the end of every night, and I found it a bit show pony, but customers seemed to love it. I had to admit, Gianni could charm the fuzz off a peach. Many of our best reviews raved about the way he took the time to talk with people and ask about their dining experience. In a place as tiny as Etoile, it was possible to greet each table personally.
“His family is still here, right?” Felicity asked.
“Yes,” Winnie said. “I’ll have to take you to his dad’s restaurant too, Trattoria Lupo. It’s so good.”
“So is Gianni back in this area to stay?”
I crossed myself. “God, I hope not.”
She laughed. “You don’t get along?”
“There’s some . . . history,” said Winnie with a grin. “Gianni was sort of a rascal growing up.”
“Yes, and since our mothers have been besties for a hundred years,” I said irritably, “I was forced to spend time with him.”
Winnie’s blue eyes gleamed. “And when we were seventeen, they spent seven minutes in a closet, but neither of them will admit what happened in there.”
Felicity’s jaw dropped as she looked back and forth between Winnie and me. “What happened in there?”
“We don’t talk about it.” I sniffed, carefully lowering another glass into the box before changing the subject. “How did you like the Pinot Noir Reserve last night?”
“It was delicious. And you were right—it paired perfectly with the mushroom risotto.”
I smiled, zipping up the last box. “Good.”
“Ell, what are you packing up for?” Winnie said, eyeing the storage boxes.