“I’ll have Petra email everything to you.”
Julia frowned. “Who’s Petra?”
“My intern. Remember, I said I might bring one on?”
“No.”
Emily paused for a moment. “Huh, I was sure I did. She’s great. I don’t know why I didn’t do this before. I feel a little like Gordon Ramsay.”
Julia slouched down in her chair, mortally wounded. “So, you replaced me.”
“Oh, don’t even start.”
“Sounds like you don’t miss me all that much.”
“Desperately,” Emily said. “But I’d rather have you safe and bored than in a hospital, or worse.”
She wanted that, too, but her boredom was real.
“Listen. Hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to go,” Emily said. “I’m in the middle of a new recipe.”
“Let me guess. Fire is involved.”
“Absolutely. I’m trying Bananas Foster, and I get to flambé.”
Julia huffed a quiet laugh. “Does Alec know he married a pyromaniac?”
“Who do you think requested it? Love you, Jules.”
The call ended.
Julia stayed where she was, staring out at the stretch of palm trees behind the house.
The rain had slowed to a trickle, and the silence was unnerving. She couldn’t hear Leland’s voice anymore.
Suddenly, the door behind her slid open. She turned, letting out a sharp “Ow—damn it!” as she snatched her hand back, staring at her injured finger.
Leland was at her side instantly. “What is it?”
“Just a splinter.”
He crouched beside her. “Let me see.”
“I’ve got it—”
“Julia.”
She held her hand out. He took it, turning her wrist gently, focus narrowing with surgical precision.
“Hold still.”
She did. Felt the careful pressure as he worked the splinter free. Then relief.
“Got it.”
“Thank you.”
Their heads were close; neither of them moved.
