Chapter 9: The Chef’s Welcome

I hesitated, then rang the doorbell. Maybe two minutes passed, maybe three—but it was only thirty seconds.

I counted the seconds, clutching my bag so tightly my knuckles turned white. My breath fogged in the air, and I could hear my own heartbeat.

The woman who answered was elegant and confident. Had Harrison gotten married?

She wore a crisp white apron and a warm smile, her hair pulled back in a neat bun. For a split second, I panicked, imagining Harrison with a wife and kids.

My face flushed.

"Sorry, I must have the wrong—"

I started to turn away, mortified. She reached out, stopping me gently.

She called after me, "You’re Riley, right? How did you get so drenched?"

Her voice was kind, not accusing. I blinked, surprised she knew my name.

I stopped, dazed, waiting for her to continue. She led me inside, chatting away:

"I’m the chef from Magnolia Table. I usually just cook for Mr. Caldwell, but he called just now, said he was entertaining an old classmate and needed extra dishes. I asked what to add, but he wouldn’t say—just told me to ask what she liked. Riley, what flavors do you prefer? I’ll prepare the menu."

She ushered me in, taking my coat and handing me a towel. The entryway smelled like fresh bread and rosemary. I felt the warmth seep into my bones.