Page 1 of Mistaken Impression

Chapter One

Ella

“How was the car?”

I smile. Trust my brother Drew to ask about my new car first, rather than me, or my job, or my new apartment.

“The car was fine.”

“Remind me again… why did you choose bright red?”

“Because I liked it.” I liked having the wind in my hair, too… not that it’s long enough to notice.

“And how’s the apartment?” Finally… something worth talking about.

“Empty. None of the furniture’s getting here until later.” I look around the vast space, my voice echoing off the blank walls. I kicked off my shoes almost as soon as I got here, hating the sound they made on the wooden floors.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound it.”

How is it he can read me so well… even though he’s in New York, and I’m in Boston? Whatever the reason, there’s no point in trying to hide anything from him.

“I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m due to start my new job on Monday, and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“Well… if you’d tell me what the job is, I might be able to help.”

“I’d love to, but…”

“I know. You’re not allowed.” He chuckles. “It seems strange that a chef can’t talk about their work.”

“That’s because I’m not just being employed as a chef.”

“Ahh,” he says, and I can almost see him nodding his head and grinning. “Does this mean you’re gonna be working as a secret agent on the side?”

“Of course not, you idiot.”

I’m fed up with hearing my own voice reverberate back at me, so I wander through to the kitchen, hoping it won’t have as much of an echo. This room is the main reason I chose my new apartment, although I also like the view from the top floor. My life revolves around cooking, though; it has done ever since I first stood at Pat’s side and watched her in the kitchen at home. Pat isn’t my mother, but she’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known and it’s thanks to her I have such a passion for food, and for cooking it.

I run my fingers along the granite countertop, admiring the shiny gray cabinets and wide six-burner hob. There’s a space over by the floor-to-ceiling windows where my new table and chairs will fit, but I’m less interested in that than the cooking area. It’s my domain.

It’s where I belong.

“Did Hunter tell you about the engagement?” I ask, putting my phone onto speaker, and resting it on the countertop while I sit up next to it.

“Yeah. I saw him on Saturday morning, before I left Newport. He’s so pleased with himself.”

“I’m not surprised. Considering how close he came to losing Livia, he’s a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he intends to forget it… or to make a mistake like that again.”

“No…”

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