Page 22 of The Chef's Kiss
“Oh, it’s you again.” I frowned at the girl who ruined my shoes just a few days ago.
“What brings you home early? Is everything okay at school?”
“Yes, Shelby, everything’s fine. I’m just craving one of your amazing scones.” Jorgina gripped Shelby’s hands. “I can’t tell you how many times at school I would have died for a good decaf mocha and a scone from home.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of my girl.” Shelby rushed back behind the counter and went to work making the drink. Slipping a scone onto a plate, she set both on the counter in front of me.
“Oh, I had an iced latte,” I corrected her.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She handed the drink and scone to Jorgina and refused to charge her anything.
“Are you sure, Shel? I don’t mind paying.”
“On the house, dearie. Consider it a welcome home present.”
“Thank you.” Jorgina beamed a smile at the woman and sashayed off to find a seat.
I still stood there waving my card in the air, hoping someone would take my money and give me a jolt of caffeine.
“Here you are, sir. Sorry for the wait.” She placed an iced latte in a to-go cup in front of me. “That’ll be four dollars.”
“I had a cinnamon chip scone too.” I tried to keep my voice pleasant, but I was losing my patience.
“I’m so sorry. We’re out. Would you like a cookie instead?”
“But … but … what?” I pointed at the shoe ruiner.
“That’s Jorgina Ashford.” She leaned forward with a whisper. “It’s not every day Ashford royalty comes home.”
“But I was here first.”
“Well, don’t be a baby about it. Try the almond biscotti.” She tossed one into a bag and handed it to me. To go. “On the house.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, taking my drink and the unwanted biscotti. Before I could think better of it, I made a beeline for Jorgina’s table and slipped into the chair opposite her.
“Can I help you?” She glanced up from the notebook she was scribbling in. “Oh, it’s you.” She scowled at me. “Are you here to yell at me again for things I didn’t do on purpose?” She pulled her scone closer to her.
“I have a question. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Why does everyone in this town keep telling me I need an Ashford in my pocket if I expect to get anything done?”
“Probably because you do.” She took a bite of my scone, knowing full well I’d ordered the last one before she got to the counter. “Remind me again who you are?”
“Hudson Silverman. The new chef at the soon-to-be Michelin-starred restaurant at Orchard Hill Farms.
“Michelin? My, you are confident.” She smiled, but something in her eyes lit up at the mention of the restaurant and its potential.
“I have a proven track record.” I sat back, folding my arms across my chest. “I need an in with the gatekeepers of this town, and they all seem to have the last name Ashford, or they’re protecting someone with that last name.”
“Who are you trying to get in with?”
“Rosalie Ashford would be the priority. But I also need an in with the winery.”
“Rosalie is my aunt, though I don’t know her all that well. She’s kind of the hippy-dippy sort that’s hard to nail down.”
“I got that much from her daughter today.”
