Meg Maxwell - The Cook's Secret Ingredient

Carson was doing that thing again where he rolled his eyes and shook his head. The double dismissive whammy.

“I would catch some stories like that,” Edmund said, “and I just sort of tucked them away, not having any interest in paying Madam Miranda a visit.”

“What changed your mind?” Olivia asked, taking a bite of the rosemary chicken. Mmm, that was good. So well seasoned. Olivia hadn’t had a meal she hadn’t cooked herself in a very long time.

“About two months ago, I overheard two young women talking in the coffee shop,” Edmund said. “I was waiting for my triple espresso, and I heard a woman say that Madam Miranda’s prediction for her had come true, that if she’d find the courage to break up with her no-good, no-account boyfriend, she’d find real love with a handsome architect whose first name started with the letter A.”

“Oh, come on,” Carson said, shaking his head.

Edmund kept his attention on Olivia. “The young woman went on to say she’d been dating the terrible boyfriend for two years but Madam Miranda’s prediction gave her something to hope for, even if it was silly and couldn’t possibly come true, despite being so specific. She dumped the guy, and three months later, she struck up a flirtation with a young man doing some work in the new wing of the hospital where she worked as a nurse. An architect named Andrew.”

Carson put down his wineglass. “Madam Miranda probably heard his firm would be working on the new hospital wing. She put the idea in the nurse’s head that she and this guy belonged together and voilà, instant interest when she might have otherwise ignored him.”

“Talk about far-fetched,” Edmund said to his son.

“I have a million of those stories,” Olivia said. “I’ve seen much of it firsthand. And my mother may have been a lot of things, but a liar or a cheat wasn’t among them.”

Carson put down his fork. “Right. So my father’s second great love is a stranger named Sarah standing in a hair salon giving some guy a buzz cut. Come on.”

“Why not?” Olivia asked. “Why isn’t that possible?”

Carson sighed. “Because it’s hocus-pocus. It’s nonsense. It’s make-believe. It gets people to pony up a pile of money for malarkey—and just like that nurse said, it gives hope where there’s none. It doesn’t mean a damned thing.”

“Watch your language,” Edmund said, covering Danny’s ears. The boy giggled.

“Larkey!” Danny shouted gleefully.

“How much did you pay the madam for this fantasy?” Carson asked his father. “Hundreds, no doubt, once she knew who you were.”

“I’ve told you at least three times that she refused to accept money from me,” Edmund said, taking a bite of his chicken. “She told me she thought my bittersweet story was deeply touching and that was payment enough.”

Olivia knew her mother often didn’t charge those who clearly couldn’t afford her services. But Edmund Ford was a zillionaire. His story really must have touched Miranda—or had her mother known that he was destined to become part of the family because of Aunt Sarah? Hmm.

“But,” Edmund continued, “considering that her fortune-telling parlor was inside her home, which was on the small side, a postage stamp, really, I left her a thousand dollars in cash anonymously. She deserved it.”

The head shaking was back. “Right, Dad. I’m sure that’s how she hooked, lined and sunk her wealthy clients, pretending to care, finding their pasts just so touching, and fully knowing they’d load up her mailbox with cash and gifts. Payment enough—ha.”

“Could you be more cynical?” Edmund said, once again covering little Danny’s ears and making the boy giggle.

“I’m not cynical, Dad. I’m realistic.”

“Who’s ready for desserty-werty?” Edmund said to Danny, kissing his soft little cheek. “I know I am!”

“Me!” Danny shouted.

Olivia glanced at Carson, who was brooding in his seat. She’d say for this round, each man had scored a point each. They both made sense.

Carson let out a breath and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

Edmund stood and lifted Danny out of his high chair and set him down. “Sweets, why don’t you go play with your toys for a few minutes until Mrs. Hilliard brings out dessert.”

The boy went running for his toy chest, surrounded by brightly colored bean bags and low bookshelves.

“Right after I overheard that young lady telling her friend about finding true love,” Edmund said, “I started having all these strange feelings.” He glanced at Carson. “About wanting that for myself. I loved your mother, Carson. Very much. The last eighteen months especially, I’ve found myself changing, becoming very family-oriented when I wasn’t before.”

Carson glanced out the window, but Olivia could tell he was listening.

“After five years as a widow,” Carson continued, “with a new appreciation for loved ones, I found myself longing to find love again. And so I made an appointment with Madam Miranda to see what she might say about my chances.”

Carson let out a deep breath. “It’s not that I don’t want you to find love again, Dad. I just don’t want you to go on some crazy wild-goose chase and end up getting hurt by a gold digger.”

“I know you care, Carson,” Edmund said, his tone reverent. “And I appreciate that you do. But I believed Madam Miranda. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character and that woman looked me in the eye with truth.”

It was like a hug. After Carson’s criticism of her mother, after her own years and years of trying to find some rational explanation for her mother’s abilities, to hear her last client say this with conviction in his voice was like the warm hug that Olivia had needed for six weeks. Her only other family member—Aunt Sarah, very likely Edmund Ford’s second great love—was somewhere out there, long out of hugging distance.

“Will you stay for dessert?” Edmund asked her.

She took another glance at Carson. The man was scowling. His plan to have her derail his father’s belief in her mother’s fortune hadn’t exactly worked.

“I’d better get going. Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I’m so glad we got to meet.”

“Well, rest assured that I will make good on your mother’s prediction for me,” Edmund said. “I will find my green-eyed, hair-cutting Sarah.” Olivia smiled and he took both her hands in his. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Olivia. I know how it feels to lose someone you love so deeply.”

What a dear man he was. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you out,” Carson said between gritted teeth.

“Bye, Danny,” Olivia said, smiling at the toddler.

“Bye!” Danny said with a smile and a wave and his grandfather joined him in his toy area.

As she and Carson walked through the marble foyer and out the front door, Olivia could tell Carson was waiting until they were outside to let her have it for not backing him up. She could feel the tension in him.

But all he said, while looking around the circular drive, was “Where is your car?”

“I walked, actually. My car is almost fifteen years old and might not have made it up the hill to the drive.”

He seemed surprised. “I’ll walk you home. Let me just tell my dad and Danny I’ll be gone for a while.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he said.

Now he’d have a half hour to give her an earful about how she’d messed up the one thing he wanted.

* * *

“I suppose you feel like I got to eat that amazing rosemary chicken and roasted potatoes and perfectly timed asparagus for nothing,” Olivia said as they headed down the hill toward town.

Carson raised an eyebrow and glanced at her, struck again by how lovely she was. She had a delicate, fine-boned face and her long light brown hair framed it in waves. The cool breeze blew her sweater against her full breasts and he found himself sucking in a breath at how sexy she was. Flower-appliqué felt skirt and yellow cowboy boots and all. He realized he was staring at her and glanced ahead at the twinkling lights in the distance, where the shops and restaurants of Blue Gulch Street were just winding down. How could he be attracted to her?