I knocked on the wooden screen door of Pete and Georgia Valentini’s picturesque white farmhouse at one in the afternoon for our business lunch. While I waited on the porch, I looked around. The house sat about a hundred feet back from the highway, on the west side but facing east toward the lake, and although I’d driven, I could easily have walked. The house itself appeared old but well-maintained—fresh white paint on the exterior, hanging baskets of flowers on the porch, comfy chairs on both sides of the center entrance.
To the left of the house were some birch trees, a baby swing, and some other toys scattered on the lawn. A giant red barn sat just beyond the trees, and another white one behind that. To the right of the house was a garage, and on the other side of that were smaller trees planted in neat rows. Apple, maybe? Beyond those was a dirt road, and just across it sat a massive old Victorian, abandoned by the looks of the peeling paint and overgrown gardens.
I was about to knock again when the blond woman I’d seen in the picture answered the door, a pudgy little boy on her hip. Her hair was much shorter, about chin-length, and her body much slimmer. “Hi. Georgia?”
She greeted me with a smile. “You must be Margot. Come on in.”
I entered the front hall and held out my hand. “Margot Lewiston.”
After giving it a firm shake, she shut the door and switched her son to her other hip. “Georgia Valentini. And this is Cooper. I’m just about to put him down for a nap.”
I smiled at the chubby-cheeked boy. “Sweet dreams, Cooper.”
“Go on back to the kitchen,” Georgia said, gesturing down the hall. “Pete’s just making us some lunch. Have you eaten?”
“No, actually. Not even breakfast.”
“Perfect. I’ll join you in five minutes.” She headed up the creaky stairs behind her and I walked back to the kitchen, where Pete stood at the counter, wearing an apron and slicing tomatoes at an alarming speed.
“Hi there.” I smiled when he looked up. “I’m Margot. Your wife said to come on back.”
“Of course. Welcome.” He set down the knife, wiped his hands on a towel, and came around the counter to shake my hand. “Pete Valentini, nice to meet you. Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” I slid onto one of the stools at the counter and looked around. “Nice big kitchen. Was this original to the house?”
Pete shook his head and returned to his vegetable platter. “No, my parents added this part about twenty years ago. And as you can see, it hasn’t been touched since.”
I laughed. “It’s not so bad.” The decor was a little dated, but I was used to houses where nothing changed for long periods of time. “When was the house built?”
“It’s about a hundred years old. How was your drive up?”
“Not bad at all. Less than two hours.”
“And you’re staying nearby?”
“Right across the street and down a couple blocks toward the lake. I got lucky. Someone had booked the cottage for the entire month of August and ended up canceling at the last minute.”
“That is lucky. This is our high season up here.”
I admired the confident way he moved around the kitchen. “Did I hear that both you and Georgia were chefs?”
“We were when we met in New York, but right now Georgia is managing a restaurant in town and I’m only cooking there two days a week because of the work here at the farm, plus taking care of Cooper. When we moved here three years ago, we were hoping to start a farm-to-table restaurant, but…” He sighed as Georgia came into the kitchen. “We haven’t gotten there yet.”
“We’ll get there, babe,” she said. “One thing at a time.”
I liked the way she smiled at him, which seemed to communicate more than just words.
While Georgia set the kitchen table, we chatted a little about the area, what shops and restaurants they recommended, and how they’d met Quinn. We were joined shortly by the oldest Valentini brother, Brad, who greeted me kindly but seemed more businesslike than his younger brother and sister-in-law. He wore a suit whereas they were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. I kept glancing at the back door, wondering when the third brother was going to make an appearance, but he still hadn’t shown up when Pete suggested we sit down to eat.
“Should we wait for Jack?” Georgia asked, glancing out the window toward the backyard.
Pete and Brad exchanged a look, and neither of them spoke right away. “I’m not sure he’s coming,” Pete finally said.
“And I have showings this afternoon, so it’s better for me if we don’t wait around.” Brad took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair before sitting down.
“Oh. OK.” Looking slightly defeated for a second, Georgia indicated a chair for me and filled four plates with slices of quiche and bacon and fresh vegetables. “Everything on the plate in front of you is from this farm,” she said proudly. “Eggs from our chickens, bacon from our pigs, veggies from the gardens.”
“Wow.” I smiled as I unfolded my napkin and laid it across my lap. “That’s really—”