Alaskan Holiday
Page 13
“So how are you using your education?” I asked.
She smiled, having anticipated this question. “I’ve been writing novels under my maiden name, Angela Wellington.”
The name sounded familiar to me, until it hit me. “Angela Wellington?” I repeated softly. My eyes rounded. “I know you! You write historical fiction. I’ve read two of your books.” I was stunned. Speechless. My mouth must have been hanging open, because Angie burst out laughing.
“The thing is, I would never have considered a writing career if I wasn’t married to Steve and living in Ponder.”
I had no idea that I’d been living in the same town as renowned author Angela Wellington. “How did you even get started writing?” I asked.
“It just happened. I read a lot the first winter that Steve and I spent in Ponder, and was inspired by a book I’d read, wishing there was a sequel to it. Steve was the one who suggested I write my own story, which I did while I was pregnant with Mason. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than I was when a publisher accepted my manuscript. It usually doesn’t happen that way. A lot of writers submit manuscripts for years before they ever sell one, but my first manuscript was accepted. A writing friend of mine told me that it wasn’t fair—I hadn’t suffered enough!”
I laughed.
“I’ve written three books in the last four years and am working on my fourth now. It’s harder to get in writing time as the boys have become more active, so I write during their naps and early in the morning before they’re awake. My days, though, are theirs. My husband and sons are my focus.”
The few times I’d met Angie, I’d liked her. That feeling grew stronger as we talked over the pot of tea. “I had no idea you were an author.”
“I don’t advertise it. I love being a writer and storyteller.” She looked away for a second before making eye contact with me. “I would love it if you and Palmer got together. I’ve never seen him happier than he has been these last six months since you arrived. He’s a different person.”
“I don’t think I could make a life here, Angie,” I confessed. “I’ve always lived in Seattle and there’s so little here in Ponder.”
“There’s Palmer,” she reminded me. “You love him, don’t you?”
I couldn’t deny it. “I do, but I have a job waiting for me. I signed a contract.”
“Then go. I did. I finished school. You need this time away, and Palmer does, too. If what you have is real, you’ll know in time. This isn’t a decision you need to make this minute. It won’t hurt to put some distance between the two of you for a while.”
Angie was the voice of reason. While I had an important decision to make, she was right—it didn’t require an overnight answer. Palmer had accepted that I was leaving and, in fact, had helped me find a way to get to Seattle. He understood that I needed to do this. I was the one who was putting pressure on myself.
It made sense. Once I was home and settled in to my job, I’d have a better understanding of what was best for both Palmer and me. Still, one problem concerned me. From the earliest time I could remember, all I’d ever wanted to do was become a chef. I’d worked long and hard to get this far. I wasn’t sure I could give up everything I’d hoped to achieve. I wasn’t sure I could find a way to use my talents in Ponder, like Angie had. There were no book deals for me, and no exciting career opportunities were going to present themselves to me here.
* * *
—
The rest of the morning sped past. It seemed like we’d been chatting only a few minutes when I realized it was time for lunch, and Angie mentioned she had to put the boys down for their naps soon. I hugged her good-bye and started back to the lodge.
Jack found me on the return trip. “I see you were at Angie’s place,” he said, coming to walk alongside me.
“We had a great visit.”
I was about to thank him for getting the two of us together when he interrupted.
“What’s for lunch?”
“There’s plenty of caribou stew left,” I reminded him. “I froze it for you to enjoy after I’d left. And I really shouldn’t be using the Brewsters’ kitchen to be cooking for you.”
“I agree,” he said, surprising me. “Think you should come to my cabin to cook, then. You gotta eat. I gotta eat. I’ll gladly give you whatever provisions you need in exchange for a home-cooked meal.”
I eyed him suspiciously, unsure what the state of his kitchen might be.
“What’s the problem?” he grumbled. “It sounds like a fair enough deal to me.”
“Show me your kitchen first.”
“Sure. No problem. I was thinking elk spaghetti for tonight.” Jack hunted wild game and his freezer was full of it, along with salmon, halibut, and other treasures from the Alaskan waters.
I sighed. “You ever heard of plain old beef?”
“Sure, I’ve heard of beef, just never seen a cow in the wilderness of Alaska. Would gladly eat one if I did. You coming or not?”
I nodded my head. There was no debating with the man.
After following Jack to his cabin, I was pleasantly surprised to find it clean and his kitchen well supplied and organized.
“Why do you look so shocked?” he asked.
“I can’t imagine,” I joked, and rolled up my sleeves.
Cooking for a man who appreciated his food was a pleasure, I had to admit, and the two of us had a wonderful evening. I was going to miss this, and so much more.
CHAPTER 7
Palmer
The steel blade I’d so carefully crafted had developed a crack. I groaned when I saw it, sick that I’d spent weeks working on this replica Civil War sword, polishing it to a fine sheen. Now I would be forced to start from the beginning. I threw back my head and groaned. I’d wanted to finish this project well before Christmas, but now that would be pushing it.
If I had anyone to blame, the fault would fall squarely on Josie’s shoulders. She occupied far too much of my thoughts. I’d made the mistake of checking out the great Chef Anton online, and now I was riddled with doubts. The guy had it all. He was successful, and his restaurants were highly touted. I had to assume he was wealthy, and to top everything off, he was single and good-looking.
I wanted to dislike the man, which was unfair and unlike me. My overriding fear was that Josie would fall for him. They’d be working closely together day in and day out. It would be only natural that two people with shared interests and who worked side by side would fall in love. I know, it was crazy. I was insanely jealous of a man I’d never met and, frankly, one that I hoped never to meet.
For three days after Josie had missed that last ferry out of Ponder, she avoided me. For some screwy reason, she blamed me. This time apart made me realize that I had to do everything in my power to see that she made it back to Seattle. I loved her, and I wanted her to have this opportunity. What I hadn’t taken into consideration was Chef Anton’s role in how I was feeling. Seeing her go meant that the two of them might possibly end up together.
My gut tightened. I wasn’t a man who suffered from doubts. That wasn’t who I was. I knew that Josie was heading home soon, and I’d made up my mind to do the best I could to keep the lines of communication open between us. If she fell for that handsome, rich chef whom she already admired, then she wasn’t the woman for me after all. In theory, my reasoning sounded good, but it didn’t do anything to lessen the pain in my gut.
The one bright spot was that I’d heard from Jack that Josie and Angie had been spending time together. Steve and I were longtime friends. I remembered when he’d first met his wife and how crazy he was about Angie. They’d known each other only a few days before Angie returned for her senior year of college in Oregon. There had to be a lot of college boys interested in her. Steve had never given it a thought, at least not that he’d mentioned to me. They’d talked every day, emailed, kept in touch. I was determined to do the same—I’d make sure I wasn’t ever far from her thoughts by keeping the lines of communication open. I wasn’t giving up on us, not by a long shot.
She smiled, having anticipated this question. “I’ve been writing novels under my maiden name, Angela Wellington.”
The name sounded familiar to me, until it hit me. “Angela Wellington?” I repeated softly. My eyes rounded. “I know you! You write historical fiction. I’ve read two of your books.” I was stunned. Speechless. My mouth must have been hanging open, because Angie burst out laughing.
“The thing is, I would never have considered a writing career if I wasn’t married to Steve and living in Ponder.”
I had no idea that I’d been living in the same town as renowned author Angela Wellington. “How did you even get started writing?” I asked.
“It just happened. I read a lot the first winter that Steve and I spent in Ponder, and was inspired by a book I’d read, wishing there was a sequel to it. Steve was the one who suggested I write my own story, which I did while I was pregnant with Mason. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than I was when a publisher accepted my manuscript. It usually doesn’t happen that way. A lot of writers submit manuscripts for years before they ever sell one, but my first manuscript was accepted. A writing friend of mine told me that it wasn’t fair—I hadn’t suffered enough!”
I laughed.
“I’ve written three books in the last four years and am working on my fourth now. It’s harder to get in writing time as the boys have become more active, so I write during their naps and early in the morning before they’re awake. My days, though, are theirs. My husband and sons are my focus.”
The few times I’d met Angie, I’d liked her. That feeling grew stronger as we talked over the pot of tea. “I had no idea you were an author.”
“I don’t advertise it. I love being a writer and storyteller.” She looked away for a second before making eye contact with me. “I would love it if you and Palmer got together. I’ve never seen him happier than he has been these last six months since you arrived. He’s a different person.”
“I don’t think I could make a life here, Angie,” I confessed. “I’ve always lived in Seattle and there’s so little here in Ponder.”
“There’s Palmer,” she reminded me. “You love him, don’t you?”
I couldn’t deny it. “I do, but I have a job waiting for me. I signed a contract.”
“Then go. I did. I finished school. You need this time away, and Palmer does, too. If what you have is real, you’ll know in time. This isn’t a decision you need to make this minute. It won’t hurt to put some distance between the two of you for a while.”
Angie was the voice of reason. While I had an important decision to make, she was right—it didn’t require an overnight answer. Palmer had accepted that I was leaving and, in fact, had helped me find a way to get to Seattle. He understood that I needed to do this. I was the one who was putting pressure on myself.
It made sense. Once I was home and settled in to my job, I’d have a better understanding of what was best for both Palmer and me. Still, one problem concerned me. From the earliest time I could remember, all I’d ever wanted to do was become a chef. I’d worked long and hard to get this far. I wasn’t sure I could give up everything I’d hoped to achieve. I wasn’t sure I could find a way to use my talents in Ponder, like Angie had. There were no book deals for me, and no exciting career opportunities were going to present themselves to me here.
* * *
—
The rest of the morning sped past. It seemed like we’d been chatting only a few minutes when I realized it was time for lunch, and Angie mentioned she had to put the boys down for their naps soon. I hugged her good-bye and started back to the lodge.
Jack found me on the return trip. “I see you were at Angie’s place,” he said, coming to walk alongside me.
“We had a great visit.”
I was about to thank him for getting the two of us together when he interrupted.
“What’s for lunch?”
“There’s plenty of caribou stew left,” I reminded him. “I froze it for you to enjoy after I’d left. And I really shouldn’t be using the Brewsters’ kitchen to be cooking for you.”
“I agree,” he said, surprising me. “Think you should come to my cabin to cook, then. You gotta eat. I gotta eat. I’ll gladly give you whatever provisions you need in exchange for a home-cooked meal.”
I eyed him suspiciously, unsure what the state of his kitchen might be.
“What’s the problem?” he grumbled. “It sounds like a fair enough deal to me.”
“Show me your kitchen first.”
“Sure. No problem. I was thinking elk spaghetti for tonight.” Jack hunted wild game and his freezer was full of it, along with salmon, halibut, and other treasures from the Alaskan waters.
I sighed. “You ever heard of plain old beef?”
“Sure, I’ve heard of beef, just never seen a cow in the wilderness of Alaska. Would gladly eat one if I did. You coming or not?”
I nodded my head. There was no debating with the man.
After following Jack to his cabin, I was pleasantly surprised to find it clean and his kitchen well supplied and organized.
“Why do you look so shocked?” he asked.
“I can’t imagine,” I joked, and rolled up my sleeves.
Cooking for a man who appreciated his food was a pleasure, I had to admit, and the two of us had a wonderful evening. I was going to miss this, and so much more.
CHAPTER 7
Palmer
The steel blade I’d so carefully crafted had developed a crack. I groaned when I saw it, sick that I’d spent weeks working on this replica Civil War sword, polishing it to a fine sheen. Now I would be forced to start from the beginning. I threw back my head and groaned. I’d wanted to finish this project well before Christmas, but now that would be pushing it.
If I had anyone to blame, the fault would fall squarely on Josie’s shoulders. She occupied far too much of my thoughts. I’d made the mistake of checking out the great Chef Anton online, and now I was riddled with doubts. The guy had it all. He was successful, and his restaurants were highly touted. I had to assume he was wealthy, and to top everything off, he was single and good-looking.
I wanted to dislike the man, which was unfair and unlike me. My overriding fear was that Josie would fall for him. They’d be working closely together day in and day out. It would be only natural that two people with shared interests and who worked side by side would fall in love. I know, it was crazy. I was insanely jealous of a man I’d never met and, frankly, one that I hoped never to meet.
For three days after Josie had missed that last ferry out of Ponder, she avoided me. For some screwy reason, she blamed me. This time apart made me realize that I had to do everything in my power to see that she made it back to Seattle. I loved her, and I wanted her to have this opportunity. What I hadn’t taken into consideration was Chef Anton’s role in how I was feeling. Seeing her go meant that the two of them might possibly end up together.
My gut tightened. I wasn’t a man who suffered from doubts. That wasn’t who I was. I knew that Josie was heading home soon, and I’d made up my mind to do the best I could to keep the lines of communication open between us. If she fell for that handsome, rich chef whom she already admired, then she wasn’t the woman for me after all. In theory, my reasoning sounded good, but it didn’t do anything to lessen the pain in my gut.
The one bright spot was that I’d heard from Jack that Josie and Angie had been spending time together. Steve and I were longtime friends. I remembered when he’d first met his wife and how crazy he was about Angie. They’d known each other only a few days before Angie returned for her senior year of college in Oregon. There had to be a lot of college boys interested in her. Steve had never given it a thought, at least not that he’d mentioned to me. They’d talked every day, emailed, kept in touch. I was determined to do the same—I’d make sure I wasn’t ever far from her thoughts by keeping the lines of communication open. I wasn’t giving up on us, not by a long shot.
