It was a lot to hang on one week’s worth of articles.
“Maybe while you’re at Jonathon Island, you’ll meet the perfect man.” Emily saluted her with her cup. “It certainly sounds like a place straight out of Hallmark.”
“Eh. You know I’ve given up on men.” She rolled her shoulders.
“Please. One rotten dude should not put you off all of them. Elias is not someone you should base your opinion of men on.” A car passed by on the street, its muffler loudly throwing out exhaust. “Elias Kemp is a terrible person. His name even sounds like a villain from an 1880s penny dreadful.”
“I thought Elias was the one. Who dates someone for years only to dump them for no reason?” She crumpled up a napkin, the fibers rough under her fingers.
“A rotten person.” Emily speared her with a look.
She sighed. “I can see now that he was just stringing me along. Using me. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he left.”After all, wasn’t that what her parents did too? She should stop relying on people to stay. “No more men for me.”
“Fine. I get it.” Emily held both hands in the air, palms out. “New topic. How was the cooking class?” She sat back in her chair. “Learn anything good?”
Ava’s face grew hot. “I know you think it’s silly that it bothers me so much, but there’s something so dishonest to me about criticizing other people’s work for something I never learned to do myself.”
“I don’t think it’s silly. You have integrity. I admire that.” Emily uncapped her cup and shook a few pieces of ice into her mouth.
“It went okay. I learned how to use a knife.” Zach’s arrogance flashed through her mind.
“Isn’t that pretty standard for becoming an adult?”
“I guess I missed that lesson because I had a hard time mastering the skill.” Her face felt as though it would light a forest on fire. “You’ll never guess who was there.”
“Judging by how red you are, I’m going with Brad Pitt.” Emily grinned.
“I think you’re the one who will be running into Brad Pitt.” Ava raised her cup to her cheek, the icy dregs of her coffee cooling her face. “Zachary Sullivan was leading the class.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Ava let out a long breath. “No. I guess not. I try not to talk about it.”
Emily rolled her hand in the air. “Come on. Tell me now.”
“Okay, but I might need another latte first.”
“Cut it out. Give me the tea. Spill the beans. Need more foodie humor?”
Ava held up her hands. “No. Please. My first time writing my Ava Harper Chows Down column was in Seattle.”
“That was when you were at theCourier?”
Ava nodded. “Yep. I was assigned to a new restaurant, Peach. Turns out it was Chef Sullivan’s baby. It was his first solo place.”
Emily leaned forward. “And it was this chef that was at your class last week?”
“He was leading it.”
Emily held up a hand. “Wait. Let me guess.” She closed her eyes. “You wrote him a glowing review, causing him to fall madly in love with you and beg you to meet him at the top of the Space Needle on New Year’s Eve, but you couldn’t go because you’d broken your leg in a car accident?” Her eyes popped open.
“Good guess, points for the movie reference, but you’re way off.” A strain of music filtered out from the coffee shop. The music group Miss Dahlia and Ariel sang about God bringing them to their destiny the long way. “The newspaper printed a bad review of his place.”
“What didn’t you like about the food?” Emily leaned in.
“That’s kind of the problem. I actually did like the food. It was delicious.” She could still taste the beef ragu in her dreams. “I briefly saw Chef Sullivan talking to another customer and thought he was arrogant, still do, by the way, much too pretty for his own good, but the food was amazing.”
“So why the bad review?”
