Mariah
I’ve seen the Bradshaw estate plenty of times on my television, but I gotta say, the camera doesn’t do it justice. This place is stunning.
It’s not a log home, but has a similar rustic feel. Dark wood, huge windows, lots of stonework. Rugged, but chic in a way that defies explanation.
It’s positioned in the most picturesque of ways, with snow-capped mountain peaks serving as a gorgeous backdrop and a sparkling body of water in the foreground. Every room probably has a breathtaking view, even on dreary, cold winter days like today.
There’s ample space in the circular drive for me to park my little SUV, so I just pick a spot and shut off the engine. After taking a few seconds to calm my rolling stomach with a sip of ginger ale and a cracker, I climb out and head for what I hope is the front door. It’s kind of hard to identify, because the house has a number of beautifully furnished outdoor living areas—also depicted on television—and I’m not sure which one is considered the main porch.
I take my best guess based on the size of the door, and ring thebell.
Meeting Deidre Bradshaw in the flesh is both exhilarating and terrifying. Even though we’ve met over Zoom a couple times during the surprisingly expedited hiring process, it’s still surreal to think I’m at the house of a celebrity.
And about to be responsible for feeding her adult son on a daily basis.
The door in front of me is tall and wide, sporting a large window that allows me to see into the foyer. It offers me a few final seconds to prepare when Deidre comes into view, her chocolate lab hot on her heels as she strides toward me.
I still gulp when she opens the door.
“Mariah.” Her smile is wide and welcoming. “Come inside where it’s warm, sweetheart.”
I step onto the gorgeous stone floor and pull in a deep breath of amazingly scented air. I should have known Deidre Bradshaw’s house would smell like a freaking five-star hotel. I take in the soaring ceilings and gleaming wood. “Your home is stunning.”
“Thank you.” She closes the door and wraps an arm around my shoulders, leading me through the house. “I know it’s a little isolated, but we really enjoy living out here.” She gives me a squeeze. “Hopefully you do too.”
I can’t imagine not enjoying it. I liked Moss Creek, Montana, and based on what I saw out my windshield on the drive here, it was strikingly similar to Willow Bend. The town is small but quaint, with a cute eatery or two and a coffee shop I can’t wait to visit.
“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” She directs me toward a kitchen that nearly makes me swallow my tongue. “Maybe sparkling water?”
I somehow manage not to choke at the sight of her matte black La Cornue range. “I would love sparkling water.”
Carbonation has been my best friend lately. Way nicer to me than coffee—which hopefully changes soon. I miss that particular steaming cup of goodness in the mornings. Tea is fine, but it’s just not the same.
“Perfect.” Deidre urges me into a backed stool situated along a ridiculously sized island, then goes to the double doored fridge built-in to her cabinetry. After pulling it open, she turns to me with an angled eyebrow. “What’s your favorite flavor? I have hibiscus, limoncello, peach pear, and cherry blossom.”
Of course Deidre Bradshaw wouldn’t have a simple lime or orange, and the chef in me wants to try them all. I’m dying to know the differences between her favorites. But I definitely can’t consume four different cans—plus that would for sure come across weird—so I go for the one I’m sure I will like. “Limoncello, please.”
Deidre beams at me. “Good choice. That one’s my favorite.” She pulls the can out and then goes to a cupboard, retrieving a gorgeous stubby-stemmed glass. It’s tinted a pale green and has an intricately cut design that reflects the light. After adding a few cubes of ice from some sort of magical undercounter maker, she slides both in front of me. “How was your drive?”
“Not bad at all.” I’d been a little worried, because the weather this time of year can be dicey, and while I do have four-wheel-drive, the snow and ice can still be treacherous. Thankfully, the total trip was under three hours, and not a single flake fell from the sky.
Hopefully that’s a good sign.
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Deidre goes back to the fridge. “Are you hungry? Can I get you a snack before we head over to where you’ll be working and staying?”
I don’t want to be greedy, but the opportunity to be fed—even in just a snacking capacity—by Deidre Bradshaw is too good to pass up. “If you have something on hand, but don’t go to any tr?—”
“It’s no trouble at all.”
Deidre starts pulling things out of the fridge and lining them down the counter. One item after another hits the marble surface. Cheeses, fancy cured meats, chutneys, olives, pickled vegetables. Then she moves to the cabinets. When it’s all said and done,there’s more food on her island than I probably had in my apartment total. And I feel bad that she’s going to put so much work into something I’m likely only going to pick at.
“I just love putting together a good charcuterie board, and it’s one of Ted’s favorite things, so I’m sure he will be happy to come in and help us eat it up.” She pulls out a gorgeous, reclaimed wood slab and pushes it toward me. “You start arranging. I’ll do the chopping.”
As if this whole situation couldn’t get any wilder, now I’m helping Deidre Bradshaw in her kitchen. I didn’t expect to be starstruck—that’s not what me taking this job was about—but I kind of am.
But it’s not just Deidre’s fame that has me feeling weirdly warm and fuzzy. It’s her kindness. The way she’s immediately treating me like I’m important. Like she cares.
My mother’s been gone for years, but she was never particularly motherly. The boss I left behind in Moss Creek was the closest I’ve had to the kind of affection I’ve seen other people take for granted, and I was devastated to leave that relationship behind. I don’t want to get ahead of myself—I have a bad habit of doing that and ending up disappointed—but maybe someday I’ll feel at least a little bit that way toward Deidre.
