Page 21 of The Chef's Kiss
“Yeah, that’s the big seller here. People love it.” The mopey girl followed me to the display.
“Do you make it here?”
“My mom makes it, and it drives my grandfather nuts—not that he ever comes around here.”
“Okay then.” I peered at her name tag. “Emery. That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks. My mom’s a total hippie.”
“Is she the owner then?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s not here today. She’s doing a big cheese-making thing. It’s all about the goats at home. And tomorrow, she’ll be all about the bees.” Emery shook her head with a frown.
This girl had the facial expression range of a forty-five-year-old society wife after too much Botox. She clearly didn’t want to be here.
“How can I get an appointment with your mom? And what’s her name?” I hunted around the counter for a business card, but if they didn’t have a website, then I might be asking for too much.
“Rosalie,” Emery muttered. “She’s not here much these days. She runs the farm, but she doesn’t like being cooped up in the store. Not that I’m allowed to have a preference. They keep making me get other jobs, and I keep getting fired. But Dad wants me to learn responsibility.”
“You don’t say.” I peered through the windows, hoping to find an adult to help me. “And your mother has a last name, I suppose?”
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Emery laughed, taking a good look at my clothes for the first time. “Is that cashmere?” She stepped closer to pet my sweater with her grubby hands.
I moved back from the overgrown toddler and tried to get her to focus on the conversation. “I’m the new chef at the Orchard Hill Farms restaurant. I’d like to talk to your mom about supplying my restaurant with fresh produce.”
“Isn’t that Selena’s restaurant?”
“She’s the owner, but I’m the chef.”
“Yeah, but she’s in business with Conner, and Dad likes to stay out of all the family drama.”
I heaved a big sigh. “I don’t suppose your last name is Ashford, is it?”
“Yeah. My dad is the old man’s youngest brother. They don’t get along. I doubt Mom will want to get involved. But you’re welcome to come and shop here.”
“I’ll take a look around then.” I grabbed a shopping basket and loaded up on mushrooms and zucchini. The heirloom tomatoes were gorgeous, and they’d pair perfectly with their selection of infused olive oils. I couldn’t resist the goat cheese and fresh herbs either. This place was perfect for the farm-to-table theme Selena and I were both passionate about, but I needed a supplier to deliver daily to the restaurant. I grabbed a few bottles of Wildflower Honey mead and Apple Honey mead. If it was good, it would be a perfect addition to the wine list. If I could get them to sell it to me.
“I’d still like to talk to your mom.” I waited for Emery to ring up my purchases.
“Leave your number, and I’ll tell her you stopped by.” She shoved a notepad across the counter at me. I scribbled a short but detailed note to Rosalie Ashford, asking her to stop by the restaurant at her convenience. I’d be shocked if she actually received the message from her broody kid.
“Thanks for all your help.” I gathered up my bags, shaking my head as Emery went back to her book.
“Any time; come again,” she murmured absently.
I tossed my packages in the back seat and headed into town. “What’s a guy gotta do to get past the Ashford gatekeepers in this town?” Clearly, I wasn’t going to get anywhere in Superiore Bay without winning that family over.
Checking my cooler to make sure my purchases would be safe for a short stopover at the Hugga Mugga, I went inside for my new addiction. They made a decent latte even if they wouldn’t deign to make me an iced café breve, and their cinnamon chip scones were to die for.
I had a few calls to make and some time to kill before I had to meet Lena back at the restaurant.
“What can I get for you?” a cheery voice greeted me at the counter as I scrolled through my email, looking for today’s applications. We started getting some, but the applicants were dreadful.
“Can you read, sir?” The voice took on a hard edge.
“What?” I glanced up. “Oh right, the sign.” I tucked my phone in my pocket. “Iced latte with a cinnamon chip scone for here please.” I fished my wallet out to pay.
“Jorgina!” the lady at the counter squealed at a volume only dogs could hear. “You’re home!” She ran out from behind the counter, ignoring me and my credit card to greet the girl behind me.
