Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
I drowned her out as I walked over to survey the incoming tickets. Every summer morning at The Moose was busy, but the weekends were particularly brutal.
“That gets a mint garnish,” I called to a passing server.
“Eggs, Chef,” Nina called, plating the perfectly prepared poached eggs.
“Perfect, thank you,” I said, still carrying my pan of sauce and whisking it to keep it fresh.
“These have to go out within thirty seconds!” I called as I poured sauce onto each plate. “How much longer on those biscuits?”
“Three minutes, Chef,” a summer intern named Marcus said.
“Get the baskets prepped so you can load the biscuits into them as soon as they come out,” I said.
“Yes, Chef.”
He was a college student, eager to learn everything he could here. During our busy times, I didn’t have time to teach anyone, but I always made time after the breakfast and lunch rushes.
“Shea,” Natalie called, “The Lord wants to see you.”
I groaned inwardly. I didn’t have time to chat with Keller Strauss, the ultrarich Beard resident the kitchen and waitstaff here referred to as The Lord. He was treated like a divine presence everywhere he went, but he also poured millions into our little community, so I guessed he deserved it.
Busy or not, when The Lord called, we ran.
“Got this?” I asked Nina.
“Yes, Chef.”
She’d been my sous-chef for two years now, and I adored her. Nina wasn’t just an excellent chef. She knew all my quirks and was the best support person I could ask for. We weren’t just coworkers but friends.
I took off my apron and hung it on a hook near the door before heading out to the huge dining hall. The ceiling was vaulted and covered with cedar planks, and the wall looking out to Lake Karlsson was all windows. It was a sunny day, and light sparkled on the gently lapping waves.
Keller always sat at the same table, and I smiled when I got close and saw who was there with him this morning.
“Who’s in charge around here?” my brother Grady asked, looking gruff. “My toast was burned.”
“You get what you deserve,” I said lightly.
“Hey,” my brother’s fiancée Avon said, standing up to hug me. “Everything was amazing as usual.”
Grady, Avon and Keller all wore casual summer clothes—T-shirts and shorts for Grady and Avon and a polo and shorts for Keller. Keller spent a lot of time here in the summer, but when we were neck-deep in snow during the winter, he often went to one of his homes in a warmer climate.
“The biscuits were especially good today,” he said.
“You probably got them within five minutes of them coming out of the oven,” I said. “We’re down an oven right now, so we cook them nonstop during breakfast.”
Keller was in his midforties, and he still had a full head of dark hair. He was known for being particular but also very generous.
“Hey, when are you coming to work for me?” he asked for at least the tenth time. “I’m not sure if you heard, but I pay well.”
He wanted to hire me as his private chef, which sounded incredibly boring to me. The kitchen here was sometimes stressful but never boring. I didn’t want to cook for just Keller and his cronies, no matter how much he paid me.
“You can eat my cooking here anytime,” I said, smiling.
“I’d rather eat it in my dining room. Did you know I just bought a place in the Maldives? My chef travels with me.”
Visiting the Maldives was a dream of mine, but not as anyone’s personal chef. Fortunately, Grady must have sensed my discomfort because he jumped in to save me.
“We’re talking about the new youth hockey complex. Holt got into town yesterday and we’re catching up with him at lunch today.”
My stomach somersaulted at the mention of Holt Sellers. I’d heard he was staying here while his new home was being built, but I’d forced myself not to check on the dates he’d booked.
I was a thirty-one-year-old woman—too old for a crush. Hopefully, Holt had lost most of his teeth playing pro hockey, and I was also pulling for a receding hairline. The less attractive he was these days, the better.
“Avon,” I said, walking over to my future sister-in-law. “We need to get together soon for some wedding menu planning.”
“I trust you,” she said with a smile. “But I’ll never say no to sampling your cooking.”
My brother had found his perfect match in Avon. She was smart, beautiful and, most importantly—strong enough to stand up to Grady when he was being difficult.
“I have an idea for a chocolate cake with raspberry filling,” I said. “But I want each of the three tiers of the wedding cake to be a different flavor.”
“I love that.”
Grady gave me an offended scowl. “Doesn’t it matter what kind of cake I want?”