Page 42 of Cottage on the Bay


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Paul tied his apron more securely around his waist and joined her at the prep station. “Ready.”

They worked in comfortable silence, their movements synchronized from weeks of preparing food. Susan minced shallots while Paul reduced white wine for the sauce base.

The familiar rhythm of cooking eased the tightness in his chest.

“I’d forgotten what Michelle’s vegetable garden looked like,” Paul said eventually, his voice steadier now. “She grew heirloom tomatoes. Dozens of varieties.”

Susan scraped her shallots into a bowl. “Did she share your love of food?”

“Not at first. When we met, she was living on frozen dinners and coffee. But she was willing to learn.” Paul added the shallots to his reduction, the sizzle filling the kitchen with their sweet aroma. “By our fifth anniversary, she could make a decent coq au vin.”

“That’s impressive for someone starting from frozen dinners.”

“She approached cooking like one of her lesson plans. Step-by-step, with logical progressions.” Paul stirred the reduction, watching the liquid transform. “She never developed my passion for cooking, but she appreciated what food could do. How it brought people together.”

Susan began chopping fresh tarragon. “It’s important to understand why food matters, even if you don’t love the process.”

Paul nodded as he lowered the heat of the element. “After Sophie died, neither of us could eat. For weeks, we just went through the motions. I’d cook because it was the only thing I knew how to do, but I didn’t enjoy it.”

The knife in Susan’s hand stilled. She didn’t look at him, but he could feel her attention fully focused on his words.

“Michelle started eating again before I did. It was only small things at first. She’d cook toast and scrambled eggs. She said she needed to take care of her body even though her heart was broken. I remember thinking how brave that was.”

“It was brave,” Susan said quietly.

Paul added cream to his reduction, watching the sauce come together. “I never gave her enough credit for her strength. I was so consumed by my own grief that I couldn’t see how much she was suffering too.”

They continued working, the conversation ebbing and flowing around their tasks. Susan told him about a recipe her grandmother used to make. The peach cobbler required perfect timing and used intuition more than measured ingredients.

Paul described his first attempt at making hollandaise sauce, and how spectacularly it had curdled.

By the time they’d finished preparing some of the appetizers, the afternoon light had shifted to the warm gold of approaching evening. Their stations were clean, ingredients properly stored, and the timeline for Friday’s event reviewed one last time.

“Thank you,” Paul said as Susan packed her equipment. “For giving me the space to talk about Michelle. Or not talk, when I needed that instead.”

Susan shouldered her bag and met his eyes. “That’s what friends do.”

The word hung in the air between them—friends. They were definitely friends, but also something far more important, something they were still learning to navigate.

“Same time tomorrow?” Susan asked.

“Same time,” Paul acknowledged. “Drive home carefully. The roads are extremely icy.”

Susan hugged him tightly. “I’ll call you when I get home so you don’t worry.”

Paul nodded and walked her to the door, watching as she climbed into her truck. After she’d driven away, he stood in the doorway, breathing in the crisp December air.

Inside, the box from Karen waited on his office shelf. Tomorrow, he would complete the BioTech preparations with Susan. And the following week, they’d deliver their second lot of food parcels to people who needed help.

Life kept moving forward, carrying pieces of the past along with it. Michelle’s bracelet, her garden journal, and the lessons she’d taught him weren’t burdens. They were gifts, reminders of who he’d been and who he’d become.

After he’d set the alarm, Paul locked the restaurant door and headed home. His granny used to tell him to count his blessings, especially when life became too much to bear.

Today, he was grateful for the work that grounded him, the memories that shaped him, and the new relationship that was growing alongside it all.

Chapter 22

On the evening of Lynda’s bachelorette party, the bookstore was transformed into a magical winter wonderland.