Alaskan Holiday
Page 19

“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Checking Facebook.”
“For Josie?”
I nodded.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.
Now, that was a curious question. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she said nonchalantly. I instantly put two and two together and realized that Alicia had been following Josie. The tone in her voice also told me that something was on there that my sister didn’t want me to see.
“Do you have something you need to tell me?” I asked my sister.
Alicia exhaled slowly. “You might as well look. You’ll find the photo soon enough.”
The photo.
It didn’t take long to uncover the post Alicia was referring to. The instant I caught sight of it, my stomach clenched.
I should have guessed, should have known.
The photo was of Josie and Chef Douglas Anton in front of the newly opened restaurant, Chez Anton. Chef Anton had his arm around Josie. They looked like a couple.
I stared at it for a long time, looking for any indication that Josie might have been uncomfortable with how close he was next to her. As far as I could tell, she appeared to be fine with it.
“Palmer,” Alicia murmured. “Say something.”
“What’s there to say?” I asked. I was the one who’d asked her not to let me know anything about her interaction with the great-and-mighty chef. It all made sense now—why Alicia and Drew insisted that I needed to make my move before I lost Josie. They might be right after all. The phone calls had diminished; the texts were rushed and minimal now.
Then again, maybe I was too late. I might have already lost her and just didn’t know it yet.
CHAPTER 10
Josie
I couldn’t wait to get home. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and miserable. It was Thanksgiving Day and I’d spent the last sixteen hours in a hot restaurant kitchen, directing staff, cooking when needed, and inspecting plates before they were handed over to the servers. Chef Anton had departed an hour after we’d opened and left me in charge.
To be frank, Chef Anton had been a huge disappointment. He flitted in and out of the restaurant, although he’d made a commitment to his investors to be a continual presence in the restaurant for the first year at this location. If he did happen to be on-site, he most often was holed up in his office, resenting any intrusion or interruptions, and rarely participating in the day-to-day operations.
I suspected this behavior might be a way to get back at me because I wouldn’t return his advances. Almost from the first day I’d returned from Alaska, Chef Anton had hinted that he was looking for something more from me than a normal employee working under him. I made sure he understood I considered this a professional relationship and that I wasn’t interested in anything beyond that. It disappointed and discouraged me to realize it wasn’t my culinary skills that impressed the chef as much as my bra size. I hated the looks he gave me. Thankfully, his behavior had never progressed beyond those initial remarks. Obviously, I hadn’t mentioned any of this to Palmer. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in hearing anything having to do with Chef Anton, and that turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as my mother would say.
What surprised me was how intuitive Palmer had been about him. And all Palmer had seen was his photograph. One look, and Palmer had read the man like a mystery novel.
I opened the front door to the small home where Mom and I had lived from the time I was born, near the Queen Anne area of Seattle. I was grateful to be home at last and eager to connect with Palmer, despite the late hour. Having to miss Thanksgiving with Mom and my aunt and uncle and their family had been a major disappointment, especially since I’d been in Alaska for close to seven months and had not seen them for so long.
“You’re home.” Mom sat on the sofa with her feet propped up. “And much later than I expected.”
“I know.” Flopping down next to my mother, I rested my head against the back cushion and closed my eyes.
“You’re exhausted.”
I didn’t bother answering, figuring it was obvious. I’d left the house early that morning, one of the first to arrive at the restaurant and the last to leave, which was often the case. Since I was the sous-chef, it was expected.
“Did you manage to find time for dinner?”
This was the crazy part. I worked around food all day and rarely got a chance to eat. “Not hungry.”
“Josephine Marie, you’re skipping far too many meals.”
“Yes, Mom.” If she could find time in that hectic restaurant kitchen for me to sit down to a meal, then I’d eat. Chef Anton was a hard and unreasonable taskmaster. Already, the station chef had quit without notice, unwilling to take Chef’s explosive behavior. The prep cook was the next to go, and two of the waitstaff had quit rather than endure his tirades. The restaurant had been open not even two full weeks and there were already major problems brewing.
“I brought home a plate from your aunt Lucy and uncle Paul’s. I had the feeling you were going to go without dinner again.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I’d eat later. I was far more interested in talking with Palmer. I knew he was spending the holiday with his sister and her family in Fairbanks. I’d texted him before I left the restaurant and was surprised not to hear back from him. In the past he’d always been quick to reply.
“Everyone missed you.”
“I missed them, too.” I hated not being there with my family for Thanksgiving, even though I knew this was one of the negatives of my career choice.
“What time did you get home?” I asked, hoping to keep Mom talking. Her voice soothed me.
“Around five, I guess.”
She hesitated, as if there was more she wanted to say. I’d noticed a change in her since my return. I could be imagining it, though, as I was preoccupied with both work and Palmer.
“By the way, you have a message on the phone,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “It’s from Jack. I think it might be the friend you mentioned from Ponder.”
My eyes shot open and I bolted upright. “Jack called?”
Mom stared back at me, wide-eyed. “I believe that was what he said his name was.”
My heart sped like a race-car engine. How I missed Jack. I’d taught him how to use his phone to text me, and he did every now and again, mainly to tell me he was hungry and missed my cooking. Palmer mentioned him occasionally, too. He held a special place in my heart.
“I’d like to know how he got the phone number to the house,” Mom commented, as we had an unlisted number.
Mom kept the house phone active because she didn’t always have her cellphone close at hand. When I’d applied for the job at the lodge, I’d listed the home phone as my emergency contact number along with Mom’s cell number, but I’d written in the house number first. Anyone needing to reach her would have more luck with the house phone. That didn’t answer the question of how Jack had obtained access to it, however.
“I’m not sure, Mom.”
“He sounded a bit old for you, Josie,” my mother teased. She knew I kept in touch with Jack, as well as Palmer. I hadn’t shared the full extent of my feelings for Palmer, unsure myself where the relationship would take us.
“Jack’s around your age, Mom.”
“That’s old.”
I waved aside her comment. “He’s the hunting guide I mentioned.”
“I figured as much. You might want to listen to the message yourself,” Mom suggested.
When I’d arrived home, I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to move again for a week after sixteen straight hours on my feet. Eager to talk to my friend, I sprang upright and headed to the kitchen, where Mom kept the house phone. The light, indicating a voicemail, was flashing. I reached for a pen in case I needed to write something down and listened to the voicemail.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
I smiled as warmth washed over me at the familiar sound of Jack’s froggy voice.
“This is Jack. Jack Corcoran. I hope I have the right number. I’m calling for Josie Avery. It’s Thanksgiving Day.” He paused, as if expecting someone to pick up and answer. “Being that it’s Thanksgiving and all, I want Josie to know that I’m thankful for her. I wish she was back here cooking for me the way she once did.”