As he approached the corner booth where Jacinda waited with her planning folder, Paul smiled. “Jacinda,” he said warmly, sliding into the seat across from her. “I’m glad you’re here today. Jenny said you have some ideas regarding your daughter’s engagement party.”
Jacinda’s face lit up as she began describing her vision for the party. Paul was drawn in by each detail she described. This was his life now. Instead of working long hours and focusing on impressing the restaurant critics that came through his doors, he was creating moments for his customers to treasure. And he couldn’t have been happier.
Chapter 3
Susan stood at her cottage’s kitchen window, watching the morning light paint silver streaks across Flathead Lake. Steam rose from her coffee mug, curling in the cool air that seeped through the old window frames.
She’d been renting Kathleen’s previous home for nearly five months now, and the routine she’d established still felt new enough to surprise her. The quiet mornings, this chance to simply be, was a luxury she’d forgotten existed during the frantic years she’d lived in Georgia.
Setting her mug on the counter, Susan reached for a container of cookies. A year ago, she wouldn’t have eaten a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast, even if it was filled with oats and honey. But her life was different now. She could do what she wanted, when she wanted. She wasn’t worried about the extra pounds she’d gained since moving here, or her craving for sugary treats. She was free to be herself, for better or worse.
As the gooey chocolate melted on her tongue, her mind drifted back to last night’s premiere—to the reporter’s questions, to Paul’s offer, to that uncomfortable feeling of standing at a crossroads without a map.
What’s next for you? Jennifer Walker had asked.
Susan had given the reporter a polite non-answer, but the question had burrowed under her skin. She was sixty-seven years old. She’d built a successful catering business from scratch and raised it like a child through its difficult phases. Then she’d sold it when the constant hustle had finally worn her down to nothing. She’d earned this peaceful retirement, hadn’t she? So why did it feel like she was drifting rather than resting?
The coffeepot simmered and Susan poured the dark liquid into her favorite mug—the one Kathleen had left behind. It was cream-colored with a chip on the handle that fit perfectly against her thumb. Everything in this cottage carried echoes of her friend’s presence, reminders of the community that had drawn her here.
Through the window, she watched a pair of ducks glide across the water. It was calmer here than farther around the lake. Protected by the curve of the shoreline, Sapphire Bay was safe, peaceful, and predictable.
The word made her frown.
Susan carried her coffee to the small dining table and sank into the chair. Her laptop sat closed in front of her. She’d been meaning to organize her recipe files for weeks, to create the digital cookbook she’d always talked about. But every time she opened the computer, she found herself staring at the screen, paralyzed by the question of why.
Why organize recipes no one would use? And why document a career that had already ended?
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. “You’re being ridiculous.”
But the feeling didn’t go away. For the last few weeks, she’d had a nagging sense that she’d traded one kind of exhaustion for another. In Georgia, she’d been physically tired, running from event to event, managing staff, suppliers, and demanding clients. Here, she was mentally restless, her skills and experience sitting idle while she taught cooking classes and catered for the odd charity event.
Not that there was anything wrong with teaching. She’d genuinely enjoyed watching her students’ faces light up when they mastered a new technique. But it felt like a hobby, not a purpose.
Susan took a long sip of coffee, savoring the bold flavor she’d finally perfected after weeks of adjusting to Montana’s altitude and water. Small victories. That’s what her life had become—a series of small, pleasant victories that added up to... what, exactly?
The sound of her phone buzzing broke her spiraling thoughts. She reached for it, grateful for the distraction. Isabel had sent her a text.
Morning! Coffee at 10? Lynda wants to show off her new scarf collection. She’s completely out of control.
Susan smiled despite herself. The easy friendship she’d found with Isabel, Lynda, and Kathleen was one of the unquestionable gifts of this move. She typed back: Wouldn’t miss it. Should I bring something?
The response came immediately: Just yourself. Though if you happened to have any of those cinnamon rolls from yesterday’s class...
Susan laughed. She did, in fact, have a container of cinnamon rolls in her refrigerator. With three friends who loved anything covered in sweet frosting, she always made more than she needed. I’ll bring them.
Setting the phone aside, she stood and moved back to the window. Until a few weeks ago, she’d been sharing the cottage with Lynda. But when another house came on the market, Lynda and Matt had quickly bought it. Now, after a whirlwind engagement, they were planning a Christmas wedding to celebrate the beginning of their new lives together.
She missed Lynda more than she thought she would. After years of living on her own, it was nice to wake up and go for an early morning walk with someone who understood her. Now, she was getting used to being on her own again.
With a sigh, she focused on the glorious view in front of her. A fishing boat puttered past, heading for the deeper waters of the lake. It was Mike Thompson’s old cruiser. He’d been at the premiere last night and had complimented her about the food. His genuine enthusiasm had made her remember why she’d fallen in love with cooking.
People enjoyed her food. They appreciated the care she put into every dish, the way she combined flavors and textures to create something memorable. That hadn’t changed just because she’d moved to Montana.
Paul’s offer echoed in her mind: Would you consider collaborating on some new dishes?
She’d asked for time to think about it, and he’d been gracious about her hesitation. But what was there to think about? The opportunity to work alongside a chef of Paul’s caliber, to create menu items that would be served in a restaurant, should have been an easy yes.
So why had she wanted time to think about it?
