Should she tell Gray about it? The reporter’s line of questioning didn’t sit well with her, but Gray might misunderstand. He’d been clear in his desire to keep his distance from her. She decided to let it be. Gray was an intelligent man and far more sophisticated than she was about dealing with the press. If Dickie Shuster came after him, he would know how to handle it.
But a part of her feared there was more trouble coming where Luke was concerned.
Gray vowed that today would be the first day of his new life. It didn’t matter that he was skeptical down to the marrow of his bones. It didn’t matter that half his heart was still back in Cuba with Luke, and the other half mourned Annabelle’s losswith an ache that might never fully heal. If he was to make a life in America, it was time to settle down and get married.
Caroline swore she had found the perfect woman to help him “move ahead with his life.” Samantha Riley was the thirty-year-old widow of a senator from North Dakota. Her husband had died almost two years ago, but having sampled the comforts of Washington, she had no desire to return to the barren flatlands of her native state. Which meant Samantha was as eager to get married and settle down as he was. She was intelligent, attractive, and a skilled hostess.
“And you’re so painfully bad at that,” Caroline had told him the previous day when she’d nudged him into this dinner invitation. “You need someone who can pull you out of your shell.”
Maybe she was right. He hadn’t looked at another woman since Annabelle and was never comfortable mingling in society. The only reason he’d met Annabelle to begin with was because she had barged into his office in search of him. It still hurt to remember the day she had brought him that charming spice map, but he couldn’t let the catastrophic end of their relationship warp him for the rest of his life.
Which was why he’d invited Caroline and Mrs. Riley to his favorite restaurant in Alexandria. Only yards from the harbor, it boasted an exceptional variety of fresh seafood dishes. While it didn’t have crystal chandeliers or a connoisseur’s wine cellar like the finer restaurants of Washington, he liked it here. The food was good, the atmosphere relaxed, and the picture window overlooking the harbor was spectacular.
Mrs. Riley seemed a little less than thrilled with the dining. She poked skeptically at her parmesan-crusted cod served over a bed of sautéed spinach and artichokes. “What a shame when cod is overcooked. It turns rubbery so quickly.” She went on to recount the time she had served pan-seared cod for a crowd of one hundred during election night. “The chef must alwaysbegin the sear with the skin-side down, then a quick finish on the other side with a splash of lemon. It will be perfect.”
Only a few months ago, Gray would have agreed with her. The codwasa little overcooked, but Mrs. Riley’s critical eye was a disappointment after Annabelle’s fresh enthusiasm for everything around her. Perhaps it would just take time to become comfortable with Mrs. Riley. She had high standards, but he did as well. He’d sunk a fortune into developing cold-press brewing for vanilla extract because of the slight difference in the flavor profile. He ought to appreciate Samantha Riley’s insistence on fine food.
He flagged down a waiter, gesturing him in close to speak quietly. “Let’s exchange the cod for three plates of lobster salad,” he whispered. He’d dined here enough to know that their lobster salad, with plenty of feta cheese and a rich oregano dressing, was always exceptional. He tried to be discreet, but Mrs. Riley noticed.
“My mother always said any establishment should be given two chances to make a good first impression, because none of us are perfect,” she said.
He raised a glass to her. “Here’s to your mother,” he said. “She sounds like a font of wisdom.”
“Ha! Maybe when she wasn’t tippling in the hayloft. Mother could outdrink a crew of sailors any day of the week.”
He met Caroline’s gaze with a quirk of his brow. Samantha Riley’s fussy palate wasn’t a problem, but jesting over the failings of her own mother before a virtual stranger was.
It turned out the lobster salad wasn’t to her taste either.
“Kalamata olives completely overwhelm the flavor of the lobster,” she said as she used her fork to delicately separate the olives and bits of bacon from the rest of the salad. “Lobster is such a delicate meat. It can’t be dumped in with this avalanche of flavors.” She shook her head in disappointment.
It was time to see if there was some way to salvage this disastrous dinner.
“Mrs. Riley, is there anything I can do to make this evening more pleasant for you? It appears I have failed on all fronts.” He had to hold back a smile as he spoke. He wasn’t angry with her, and he truly wanted to know.
She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth with a lump of lobster. After a moment, she set it down and had the decency to blush. “Forgive me. I thought a man of your sophisticated palate would be looking for a lady who shared it.”
She seemed horribly embarrassed, and he did his best to set her at ease. “I spent most of the last twenty years on a ship, eating canned food and hardtack. If a meal is hot and fresh, I’m usually over the moon.”
She returned his laugh. “And I actually love bacon,” she said, stirring the pile of bacon back into the lobster salad. She dropped the pretension and ate with gusto.
Maybe they could work something out after all.
Ever since their experiment with the vanilla pear cake, Elaine had become obsessed with cooking. She checked out braille books from the library on all aspects of the culinary arts and regularly presented Annabelle with recipes she wanted to try.
Today’s recipe was a rhubarb chutney. It wasn’t the sort of dish Annabelle imagined she would enjoy, but Elaine was adamant.
“I’ve heard that the combination of sweet and sour fruitiness is the perfect combination to accompany a nice sharp cheese. Perhaps a cheddar or an aged gouda.”
Annabelle didn’t know what to make of such extravagant food combinations, but these experiments in their kitchen always cheered Elaine, so Annabelle dutifully bought the rhubarb, red wine vinegar, onions, and dried cherries to prepare the dish. It filled the kitchen with an odd scent as Elaine stirred the mix over a low heat.
Annabelle worked on mincing the onions while, on the other side of the kitchen, Elaine kept sniffling. Which was odd, because Annabelle was the one cutting onions.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Elaine’s back was to her, but the sniffling continued, and Elaine shook her head.
Annabelle dropped the knife and went to her sister’s side. “What’s wrong?” she asked, for Elaine was tense and her breathing ragged.
