Page 12 of Wedding Bells in Silverwood

“Hi, sweetheart. You’re a doll for picking those up for me.” Evelyn wheeled nearer and grabbed the bundle of carrots to inspect. She lowered her glasses, which were nestled in her salt-and-pepper gray hair. As she rotated the vegetables in her hand, her delicate frame seemed to reflect the challenges she had weathered over the years. “How was your day?”

“It was fine. Nothing special.”Nothing worth mentioning, anyway. “How was yours? I see Oliver shoveled the driveway.”

“He’s such a dear. He also dug out my mom’s old recipe book for me.”

“Oh, yeah? Were you thinking of making one of Grandma’s recipes?”

Her mother flashed her a toothy grin. “Hence the spontaneous need for groceries. I was in the mood for her veggie casserole. And don’t tell me I could just look one up on my phone. No one made that dish quite like your grandma.”

Viola chuckled. “That’s so true. I remember her letting me help her cook as a kid. I had to stand on a chair so I could reach the counter.”

“That’s right. It was always you and never Sina.”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “Sina was more interested in selling the recipe. She’s always had profit margins on her mind.” She shuffled through the cards in the box. “Which of her veggie casseroles did you want to do? She has two versions.”

“Hmm. Let’s go with the milder one. I think the other calls for hot pepper flakes.”

“I love that one, too. But sure.” Viola shrugged. “We’ll keep it on the mild side tonight.”

Evelyn retrieved the cutting board while Viola washed the vegetables. It wasn’t long before the kitchen was filled with delicious scents of rosemary and garlic and the sounds of delightful conversation and laughter.

The dish turned out better than Viola could have imagined. She liked to think the spirit of her grandmother had guided her hand through the process.

“Have you heard from your sister?” Evelyn asked as they settled down in the living room. “I wish she was coming home for Christmas.”

“Me too.” Viola threw a thick, crocheted blanket over her legs as she got cozy on the couch. “Sina texted me this morning. She’s got so many projects to do for business school, but she promised to be home the week after New Year’s.”

Evelyn nodded. “Well, that’s something, at least. Can’t wait to have both my girls with me.”

Viola stared at the twinkling lights on her mother’s Christmas tree. It had been a long and stressful day, with one particular encounter she would rather forget.

She glanced back at her mother and found her head bent forward. A small snore escaped Evelyn’s throat.

Viola pushed herself off the couch and unlocked the wheelchair’s brake. Taking hold of its push handles, she gently drove her mother to her bedroom. Evelyn stirred with a soft moan.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Viola whispered. “I’ll get you into bed.”

“But the kitchen—”

“I’ll take care of it. You get some sleep.”

After tucking her mom in and checking that she had water near her bed, Viola cleared the kitchen and ran the dishwasher. Once the kitchen light was flipped off, she took the box of recipes, carried it to the living room, and made herself comfortable, her favorite throw pillow on her lap. She placed the box beside her and opened the lid. Faded, cream-colored recipe cards were stacked to the brim.

Viola’s lips spread into a smile as she read the cards for chicken cordon bleu, roast duck, shrimp scampi, and more. Each dish transported her back to her childhood, to a simpler time. Elizabeth Winston had been the wisest, most loving person in the world. It was her grandmother who had first told Viola that she’d make a great chef one day.

Ever since she could remember, Viola had been passionate about working with food and creating dishes that brought smiles to people’s faces. After her grandmother had passed away, Viola continued to cook, both because of her love for it and also as a way to keep her grandmother’s memory alive. When she had gotten accepted to culinary school, she’d been ecstatic. She’d believed her dreams were at long last coming true. Culinary school had been harder than she’d expected, but Viola had worked her butt off perfecting her creations, learning the difference between a hollandaise and béarnaise sauce, how to make abouquet garni, how to quarter and truss a chicken, and a million other methods and techniques the big-name chefs used. She’d had to write a paper presenting a business plan for a restaurant and a catering company and had received top marks for her structured and efficient concepts.

Things had been progressing according to her ideal timeline until her mother’s car accident. The icy mountain roads had landed Evelyn Carver in the hospital, unable to walk. Viola and her sister had dropped everything to take care of their mother. After a few months, when Mrs. Carver had been doing better, Sina announced she was returning to business school in Missoula. Viola had felt obligated to stay in Silverwood and look after their mother, putting her dreams on hold.

But as much as she believed there was a missing piece of her life’s journey she had to wait to fulfill, Viola didn’t regret staying. She’d even go as far as to say the experience had brought them closer together. Deep down, however, she still held on to the hope that one day her aspirations would become reality. For now, waitressing would have to do.

The thought of her day job shoved the encounter with Jonas to the forefront of her mind again.Did he have to be so rude? I hate men who don’t take women seriously.

She closed the recipe box and pressed the pillow against her face to stop herself from screaming.

Chapter Five

Silverwood’s town square was the very definition of Christmas. As far as the eye could see, pine garlands were draped across every available surface, lights twinkled, and ornaments of every kind shone. The buzz of activity ahead of the festival was something to behold. Holly, Nick, and Vivian watched as little stands and huts were erected while festive music drifted through the air. Holly smiled at her mother, who was clearly dazzled by the festivities.

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