“No.” Sissy laughed. “The photo I took of you. It’s Insta slang.” She tapped and swiped, tapped and swiped. “Don’t worry, I deleted it.”
Greta didn’t know if she should be offended or grateful, but she suspected both. She grabbed a bottle of vinegar and sprinkled a dash atop the egg dish to brighten the flavors.
“So you know Ollie,” Sissy ventured. It wasn’t a question.
Greta knew anOliver. “A little,” she said instead, sprinkling a little more vinegar.
“He seems to have made a nice little life for himself here. Quaint, but nice.” Again she glanced toward the door. “Much quieter than my own, you know, with the endless travel and product reviews and events. It sounds kind of nice to wake up on the coast each day and just walk on the beach and plant flowers and… grow things.”
“He does a little more than that,” Greta said, pulling a tray of roasted potatoes from the oven. “Your brunch is about ready if you’d like to go join your bridesmaids in the dining room.”
Sissy was about as interested in taking the hint as she was about her brunch. She plucked a stem of basil from a mason jar on the counter and spun it distractedly between her fingers. “I’m actually not that hungry.”
Greta looked at the steaming dishes lining the counter. She looked at Sissy’s bored expression. Then she plucked the basil from Sissy’s hand, grabbed a knife, and chopped the herb to bits as Sissy looked on in alarm. “Garnish!” Greta said, dumping the crumpled greens atop the eggs.
“Anyway,” Sissy went on, “it’s been strange seeing him again, you know? Brings up a lot of old memories. As I may have mentioned, Ollie and I go way back.”
“So I hear.” The words were out before her common sense caught up. Greta turned quickly to the stove.
“You heard?” Sissy hurried around the island to face her. “Has Ollie mentioned me?” Her eyes were bright and round, her makeup perfectly applied; but it was the hunger in her expression that burned brightest. “Whatexactlydid he say?”
Reflexively, Greta’s jaw clenched. “Only that he knew you. The day you came in for the tasting.”
Sissy wasn’t buying it. “Are you two close?” When Greta didn’t answer, Sissy filled the silence. “I mean, you must be, working together in this cute little house, of course.” She leaned in, like they were old friends. “Maybe you can fill me in on something I’ve been wondering about. Do you know if Ollie is still single?”
Greta swiped a serving spoon from a drawer and fixed her attention on the potato dish.Whywas Sissy asking her these things? “You know, I really couldn’t say…”
Linus barreled into the kitchen. “Bridal brunch in five. Ready?” He halted upon seeing Sissy, his tone oozing withhoney. “Oh, good morning, Miss Sutton! Don’t you look lovely today.”
Sissy barely flicked her gaze his way. “Thanks.” To Greta she lowered her voice. “I was only asking because one of my bridesmaids is single, and…”
“Right.” Greta tossed the potatoes, adding salt, pepper, whatever was handy.
“Oh, look!” Sissy pointed to the window. “There’s Ollie now.”
Greta watched helplessly as Sissy flung the door open, waving wildly at Oliver, her diamond tennis bracelets catching the sun as she flew out to meet him. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t pull her gaze from them. The way Sissy stood on tiptoes to hug him. The way Oliver bent down to let her. She didn’t realize she was still tossing the roasted potatoes until Linus cleared his throat. “Uh, are those meant to be mashed?”
Greta set the spoon down. “Take them. And go.”
“Thank God. The M.O.B. has landed in the dining room and I’ve already served two rounds of mimosas. Those women are going to be pie-eyed if we don’t get some solids in their stomachs stat.”
“I said it’s ready. So go.”
“I can’t start the bridal brunch without a bride.” Linus glanced toward the window, eyes narrowed. “What exactly is the story there, anyway?”
“The one who got away.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, tinged with exasperation and sadness. Saying them, especially to the likes of Linus, made it even worse.
“Oh dear.” Linus exhaled. “And just in time for her wedding.” He turned to Greta. “I’m sorry.”
Greta stiffened. She and Linus were never very nice to each other and she wasn’t about to have it now. “Not a thing to be sorry about.” Looking to busy her hands, Greta filled the coffee maker with water and dumped in several scoops of grounds. “Did you know these beans remind people of Tuscany? Taste like monks, in fact.”
Linus blinked. “What?”
Greta didn’t care how crazy she sounded. She was bone-tired and sick of people. Of cooking for them. Of trying to please them. Of holding them at arm’s length, only to fall for them and then lose them.
All she wanted was to rip off her chef’s jacket, free her braid, and run down the hill to the bay. She wanted to submerge herself in the cold waves and scream underwater. Instead she took a deep breath and said, “Order up.”
Holly and the servers swept in. Maybe Greta could go home and try to squeeze in a nap before the rehearsal dinner. Maybe she’d go for a walk on the beach. But no—Linus had to come back in as she was cleaning up.
