When she replaced the lid, everything looked the same.
But it would taste different. Disgusting even.
She wiped her hands on her pants. There. Her job here was done. Anyone tasting it would know something was wrong.
People always blamed the cook when something tasted off. Never the ingredient.
By the time Mia realized what was wrong, it would be too late. The client would move on. And the rumors would take care of the rest.
And best of all?
No one would ever think to look at her.
CHAPTER 35
Mia was on an emotional high.Last night’s podcast had reached more people than she dared to hope, and by midmorning she’d already fielded several calls about menus and availability. Her phone buzzed again on the counter, and she let it go this time, smiling anyway.
Momentum. Finally.
And to top it all off, later she was seeing Caleb, who had been away for a couple of days. He asked if she’d stay over. He also mentioned Will was having a small gathering with friends.
“Can you bring something savory?” he asked. “We’re all bringing something.”
Of course she could.
Mia smiled as she tied on her apron. Savory was her specialty. Comfort food at its best. She didn’t need to think about it. Her hands moved on their own, reaching for ingredients she used so many times she could have measured them in her sleep. The simple rhythm steadied her.
Flour. Cold butter. Fresh rosemary.
Rosemary Parmesan Shortbread Crackers. One of her favorites.
The dough came together perfectly smoothly beneath her fingers. Rosemary scented the air, familiar and grounding. Her shoulders eased as she worked.
She rolled the dough thin, cut it into neat squares, pricked each one with a fork in tidy rows. The repetitive motions quieted her mind. She worked efficiently, sliding the pan into the oven without a second thought.
When the crackers came out, they were golden and fragrant, the kitchen filled with the warm savory smell of butter and cheese.
She let them cool on a rack before transferring them carefully into a shallow serving tin lined with parchment, then tucked a sprig of rosemary along the side. Presentation mattered even when it was just friends. Especially then.
She snapped the lid closed and glanced at her watch.
Caleb would be here any minute to drive them over. Her overnight bag sat by the door, already packed. Her father was settled for the evening. Roy would be around to keep an eye out for him.
Everything was handled. Life finally felt manageable. For once, she wasn’t bracing for the next thing to go wrong.
She let herself believe it.
They turneddown the dirt road and rolled to a stop in front of Will’s place. Mia had spent a lot of time in Will’s barn, gardens and greenhouse but had never been inside.
The white farmhouse was already glowing when they arrived. Strings of lights stretched across the wide porch dotted with rocking chairs. Cars were parked side by side. Laughter and voices came from the house. Music drifted faintly in the air,something easy and familiar. The sound wrapped around her, warm and welcoming.
Mia followed Caleb up the steps and into the house. Inside, the house felt as unpretentious as Will and Isabelle. The living room held the basics: a black leather sofa, a big TV and a couple of striped armchairs angled toward the fireplace. Pictures of the couple alone and with friends, the farm and greenhouse and Two Fishes Soap Works lined the walls. It looked lived in. Comfortable.
After hugs all around, Mia headed to the small dining room and placed her crackers on a solid wooden table already laden with food. Bowls of chips and dips, a half-carved ham, casseroles, rolls, platters slowly emptied as people grazed. The hum of conversation rose and fell around her, familiar faces, easy smiles. Someone laughed loudly near the kitchen. A glass clinked against another.
She uncovered the tin, and the scent of rosemary and butter drifted into the room. People moved in and out, topping off plates, setting drinks down wherever there was space.
The kitchen was bright and busy, the windows open to the evening air. The appliances were older, and Formica covered the countertops, but the space felt warm and inviting, filled with voices and the clink of glasses.
