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“It sounds wonderful, honey,” she said. “But we can’t put Valentina on television, okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah. No. She doesn’t fit into this model at all, anyway,” Ryan said.
Diana stood in stunned silence.
“My plane’s tomorrow,” Ryan declared breezily as though this were any old conversation between them. “I’ll be home around seven.”
“I’ll have dinner on the table,” Diana said on instinct.
“That’s my girl.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Present Day
The day Valentina turned up spontaneously at The Clam Factory, Rachelle became acting head chef. She was in charge of every bit of work behind the menu, every incident behind the ever-revolving kitchen door, and every plate, from appetizer to dessert. She was both terrified and headstrong, zipping around the kitchen, eyes on every worker. She was so focused that she hardly noticed the television crew watching her every move. Once, when Eddie tried to flirt with her on camera again, she barked at him to get back to his table. Perhaps the show would find a way to use that to show the public that she was “heartless and cruel,” but she didn’t care.
If she’d learned anything from Diana, it was to stop worrying about what everyone else thought of you, put your head down, and work.
Rachelle was the acting head chef for three days without a word from Diana. Henry and Frank hadn’t heard from her, either. Rachelle sensed something was very wrong, but every time she texted Diana about it, Diana responded that she was “just tidying up loose ends” and that she’d be there soon. Rachelle enjoyed being head chef too much to make a fuss. She’d even planned her own menus, showing off a little bit for the staff members, Frank, and the viewing public. Even if she didn’t want to be a television personality, she still wanted to be renowned for her creativity behind the kitchen door.
After another exhausting shift, her mother and Darcy surprised her at The Clam Factory. Sam beamed and hugged her close, saying, “You’ve been hard to get a hold of, missy!”
“I told her you were boss, now,” Darcy said. “You don’t have time for the little people like us.”
“It’s just until Diana gets better,” Rachelle said.
Sam convinced Darcy and Rachelle to come back home with her. Derek was on a work trip, and she hated being at The Jessabelle House by herself. Rachelle agreed and followed after her mother, dropping into the back seat of her vehicle and watching the island rush past in the darkness outside the window. She felt as she had as a little girl, safe and protected as her mother guided her home.
Rachelle and Darcy changed into sweats and big T-shirts and cuddled up on their mother’s couch with bowls of mint chocolate ice cream. The television was off, which was a relief after the chaos in the kitchen today. Sam pestered her for information about her new role as head chef, the challenges, and if she felt she was ready to be at the helm of her own kitchen. Rachelle said, “I think I’m really ready! I hope I get the chance soon.”
Darcy spoke at length about her recent date with Steven, wherein they’d had a conversation about their relationship and where it was headed. She blushed.
“You sound happy, honey,” Sam said, squeezing her hand. “That’s all that’s important.”
Rachelle still hadn’t told either of them about Valentina's mysterious appearance. It felt too private. After all the public criticism Diana had gotten throughout the years, she wanted to show some respect.
When Darcy and Rachelle began to yawn, Sam raised the remote and said, “Should we watch something dumb and then go to bed?”
“Absolutely,” Darcy and Rachelle agreed in unison.
Sam turned on the TV and flicked through sports, news, and music videos until she ended up back on the Cooking Channel. They caught the last second of one of The Nantucket Factory’s commercials, in which Paul threatened Benny for “flirting with his girl.” Rachelle giggled.
“They’re perfect,” she said.
“I’ve loved watching them,” Sam agreed. “They should have their own comedy cooking show.”
“I heard one of the producers talking about it.” Rachelle nodded. “They both have more social media followers than I do.”
“That happened quickly,” Darcy pointed out.
“Wait,” Rachelle said, flailing her arm toward the screen. “Is that Ryan March?”
The show was called The Second Skillet. Ryan March was seated on a beautiful hill in Napa Valley, California, watching a sunset and talking to the camera wistfully.
“I never imagined my life would fall apart the way it did,” he said. “I thought I had everything. The perfect career. The travel. The friendships. The wife.” He turned to glare at the screen. “And now, I find myself at forty-three, starting over. My heart is broken. And I remind myself of the one truth of my life.” He smiled serenely. “I love to cook. And I’m good at it.”
The shot changed. Suddenly, Ryan March was in a brightly lit kitchen in California with brightly colored vegetables displayed before him. Another woman was in the kitchen—a blond twentysomething with skinny shoulders, large breasts, a cinched waist, and a supermodel smile.
