Page 26 of The Wandering Season
I woke up on our final day in Beynac with a feeling of dread. No visions of Imogène that night, for which I was grateful, but the prospect of bidding Niall goodbye was enough to rob me of my sleep. Shortly after six in the morning, I gave up on trying to catch another sleep cycle, sat up, and instinctively reached for my phone.
In my business inbox there was a message from Fairbanks.
Hey Veronica,
Those photos are amazing. Glad you had the chance to visit the truffle market—it’s incredible, isn’t it? I had no idea you were so talented in the kitchen in addition to knowing how to source ingredients better than anyone in the American West. I should have suspected as much. We definitely need to catch up. Shoot me a text (personal cell below) when you get back and we’ll set up a time to discuss some opportunities for you at the restaurant. I have a few ideas in mind.
—E. Fairbanks
P.S. If you don’t make me the truffle crème br?lée, the deal is off.
I read the message a few times over. This was a job offer, I was sure. A long-term consulting contract. Perhaps with an exclusivity clause that would mean he’d have to pay me handsomely. Perhaps even a job in his kitchen.
I pushed the images of me in a chic 540 Blake double-breasted black chef’s coat with Chef Stratton embroidered on the left side, directly over my heart, out of my head. It was a delicious fantasy, but I didn’t have the credentials he’d require to put me on staff in that capacity. Everyone in the back of house who outranked the dishwashers had the words Escoffier, Culinary Institute of America, or Le Cordon Bleu in their CVs.
But it seemed like there was something waiting for my career in Denver, something worthwhile in my chosen field. The Kitchen Muse ran closer to the margins than I would have liked more often than not, but this could change everything. Still, I would be working for Edward Fairbanks rather than for myself. I did enjoy being out on my own, and being under Fairbanks would certainly be an adjustment, but it could mean gaining a lot of valuable experience.
I mulled over the email as I dressed and descended the stairs. Niall, surprisingly, was already up and doing something miraculous with eggs, looking as sleep-deprived as I felt.
“Good morning, sunshine,”
he said, his tone not matching the brightness of his words.
“I think we’re the only two people in the world who get up before dawn while on vacation.”
I accepted a proffered cup of coffee with a grateful smile.
“The curse of being an innkeeper. Your body gets so used to rising with the chickens, it’s hard to break the cycle. And there’s nothing like the early morning hours for a good brood, as my countrymen and your ancestors would attest to. Add to that an early flight back to Dublin, and here we are.”
I felt an intrusive pang in my gut. He’d have to leave within a couple of hours to get to Bordeaux so he wouldn’t miss his flight home. He’d take the rental car back, and I had the choice of going early with him or taking the midday train into Bordeaux later.
“Indulging in your national pastime?”
The question was glib, but I hated the thought of him mired in a bog of unpleasant thoughts.
“A bit,”
he confessed. “This being the last day of our holiday and all. I’ll miss spending time with you, Veronica, and I won’t deny it.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say more. That I wished this leg of the vacation didn’t have to end. That I wished things could be different for us. But it would only lead to more heartache for the both of us.
We ate our breakfast despite our lack of appetites. During the meal I filled the pregnant silence by telling Niall about the email from Fairbanks.
“That’s grand, truly,”
he said, between half-hearted bites of omelet. “It sounds like it will be a marvelous opportunity for you.”
His tone was guarded, and I couldn’t help but prod. “I sense a but lurking in there somewhere.”
He set down his fork. “You don’t need Fairbanks, Veronica. You just need your own kitchen. But if this opportunity excites you, I won’t be the one to naysay it. I’m sure he’s a brilliant chef with all sorts of fancy letters after his name, and you’ll learn loads from him.”
“I’m sure I will,”
I managed to reply. “Even if I wanted my own kitchen, doesn’t it make sense to gain some experience under a master chef like Fairbanks?”
“Maybe so, love. But don’t sell your own skills short.”
Heat rose in my cheeks at the endearment, which was as meaningful as “dearie”
in Irish but still caused a twang of something like regret to pierce my heart. “You’ve already got more theoretical and practical knowledge than many successful restaurateurs had when they got their start. You have what it takes to make a real mark on the industry. And I’m not just saying this because of the truffle crème br?lée.”
I arched a questioning brow.
“Fine, fine. Not entirely because of the crème br?lée. Only in part. But you’re a rare talent. Don’t dismiss that talent out of misplaced humility.”
“On one condition,”
I said. “You promise to do the same. Your dreams deserve their fair share too. Blackthorn has stood and thrived for hundreds of years before you and will outlast us all. I think she is part of your destiny but not all of it.”
He stared down at his hands. “I’ll try, but it seems like the ship has sailed in so many respects. I can’t be the one to let the place fall into ruin.”
“It won’t. You’re smart enough to find a solution.”
He remained silent for a while until finally looking up at me. “I’d like to think I’m a smart man, but not always. I’m about to ask you for something monumentally daft.”
“Anything,”
I said. And I meant it. On the precipice of parting, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done to make him a bit happier.
“A goodbye kiss. Please. I thought the memory of the other night might be enough, but I confess I’m greedy when it comes to you.”
He rose and offered me a hand. This wasn’t going to be a chaste kiss goodbye at the threshold. We settled on the sofa, where I let his lips explore mine until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began. I wanted mothing more than to continue this embrace for the rest of time, but our minutes together were becoming ever fewer.
When, at length, he pulled away, both of our faces were wet with tears. “Love, I know you don’t want to make promises we can’t keep, but can’t we at least manage a few texts and emails? I’d rather have you just a bit longer, even if it fades away over time.”
I nodded. I wasn’t equal to speech, but I couldn’t deny either of us that small pleasure.
He pulled me in close and tucked my head under his chin. I could feel a few more tears drip down onto my head. “Mo stór, I have to be going. Come with me to the airport so we have just a bit longer together?”
I swallowed hard and rushed to gather my things. I didn’t know what the Irish words meant, but I could guess well enough that knowing would only make the parting more difficult. Niall held my hand all the way to Bordeaux and until his flight home was called. I watched until he disappeared down the Jetway, completely unfazed by the tears rolling down my cheeks as I found my own gate. I had a week in Italy with two of my favorite people in the world in store, yet it took all the reserve I had not to find a ticket agent to get me on the next flight into Dublin. But I couldn’t abandon Avery and Stephanie like that. Not even for the whispers of a beautiful dream that crumbled under the impossible weight of the waking world.