“I’m flattered,” I stuttered. “And floored.”
He laughed and slapped his business card on the table. “Think about it. Everything’s negotiable. Just let me know when you want to go for coffee, and we can get things rolling.”
The little guy in the stroller was starting to fuss. Lizzie pointed to the jar of scones and, widening her eyes, said, “Nap time approaches, people. I’ll need some of those. And a half dozen of the Kitchen Sink cookies.”
Kai hustled to help me as I gathered Lizzie’s order.
She tore a bite off a chocolate chip and toffee scone. Closing her eyes, she said, “Don’t think too long about Mitch’s offer. This is delicious.”
I watched Kai bundle up the Shapiros’ packages and place them gently underneath the carriage of the stroller. We exchanged friendly goodbyes, Mitch taking one more appreciative look of my displays, and Kai and I watched as they made their way toward the cider, Lizzie’s hat bouncing with each step.
“That was awesome,” Kai said, lifting me off the ground when he hugged me. “You can’t help being famous, can you?”
I slugged him, but gently and punctuated with a loud kiss on his cheek. I caught a glimpse of the riot of orange and purple behind him. Turning us both toward the light, I said, “Look.”
We stood together watching the cashmere colors of dawn touch the fields and spread over the house and barn. Kai enveloped my hand in his, and we stepped forward into a slant of sunshine that had spilled onto the ground in front of us.
Lifting my face, I saw the morning light was gradually unveiling a pale blue expanse in the swath of sky right above us. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the building warmth of an autumnal sun, the feeling of Kai’s fingers entwined with mine, and the heady promise of the new days ahead.
Kai’s voice was soft and deep, just the kind of voice a girl could happily hear as perfect bookends to her days. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My head on his chest, I felt his heart beating through his coat.
“Me, too,” I said.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHORS are wise to admit that books aren’t created in a vacuum, that they are labors of love by many, not one. This is entirely true, but you should know that mostly I wrote this book while in my pajamas, pacing a room, yelling at the computer screen, and in dire need of concealer. I was alone, and this was best for everyone. Nevertheless, these people absolutely spurred me on, loved me, and, on occasion, were tactful enough to pass me a hand mirror before leaving my house.
Thank you to:
My Seattle advisory team, Jason Pace, Dawn Bilyeu, Laurel and Rick Ballinger, for their ready willingness to make Seattle into a three-dimensional home for Charlie.
My panel of culinary experts, Chef Robert Lewis and Chef George Formaro. Both of these gifted gentlemen are far too well adjusted and not nearly narcissistic enough to have worked in any of Charlie’s kitchens. Thanks to both of you for letting me peek behind the curtain. Also, please start following me around and cooking for me all the time.
The Nicoles (Frail and Mele), Brianna Scharfenberg, and the entire Skyhorse team. What a lovely process, working with you people! Thanks for asking me to join in the adventure.
Heather Gudenkauf, who is gracious and kind and very, very generous. You went out of your way to help me move into this next stage, Heather, and I am one grateful Iowa girl.
Valerie Gray, who saw what I couldn’t and then was kind enough to destroy the first version of this story. Thank you for pushing me to write the story I wanted to write and to do it with confidence. You gave me a tremendous gift.
The intrepid women of our writing group: Wendy Delsol, Dawn Mooradian, Carol Spaulding-Kruse, and Kali VanBaale. My writing has flourished, stretched, and grown under your care, as have the friendships we have built together. Each of you is dear to me.
Chip MacGregor, who is the definition of loyal and true. He’s also the definition of an unparalleled literary agent. And of a witty kilt wearer.
Ann, Deanna, Makila, Sarah, and Sarah for deep friendship and a willingness to enter in, no matter the cost.
Ryan, Betsy, Olivia, and Jonah Beach. My life is rich and beautiful and full of shimmying and interpretive dance because of you.
My extended family for buying my books even if you never read them. It’s okay. I barely read your Christmas letters, so we’re even.
My parents for assuming I can and then cheering like maniacs when I do.
My children, Ana, Mitch, and Thea, for loving good stories and for encouraging me to write my own. Also, sorry about the times I threw unsolicited hissy fits about how I did, in fact, have a “real” job and couldn’t help you right that second with the bagel slicer. I understand your confusion. It’s hard to take a woman seriously when she’s in her PJs.
My husband, Marc, who loves me with a tenacity I do not deserve and who still laughs at most of my jokes.
God, the Beginning and End of all the greatest stories and the Author of the kind of love that changes everything.