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“You’re a lifesaver,” Kierse said, taking them from her.
“Food will be served in the parlor whenever you come downstairs.”
Kierse’s stomach grumbled again noisily, and she shot Isolde a wry smile. “I’ll be right down.”
She closed the door and dropped the towel to the ground. She pulled apart the bundle to find a pair of the nicest pants she had ever seen. They weren’t quite leggings. More like athletic pants. A soft cotton but somehow functional. She could run in them if she had to. The top was the same material and came with an insulated athletic jacket. Lightweight but warm and nicer than all of her own clothing combined. A pair of wool socks and tennis shoes finished it off.
Efficient, practical clothing. Nothing frilly or sophisticated. It fit. It did the job. She hung her trusty leather jacket on a hanger and left the closet.
She reattached her necklace on a breath of relief. Now she was ready.
Kierse retraced her steps from this morning, letting muscle memory guide her. She emerged into the main hallway and then followed her nose to the kitchen. The smell was warm and cinnamony with a touch of maple and oh god, bacon!
Isolde turned around at her audible groan. She laughed with a wide smile. Kierse had dismissed the older woman as insignificant when she was casing the place. Now, Kierse could see that she was the key to the house.
Isolde wore a black dress with a white apron over it. Black stockings and practical black shoes finished the ensemble. She wore her hair up and off of her lined forehead. She was still striking, and it terrified Kierse to think what she must have looked like in her twenties. Perhaps she was a siren but with food. Was that a thing?
“The parlor is through that door, dear,” Isolde said, pointing toward it.
“Is he already in there?”
“The master? Not yet. He’s still out.”
Kierse stepped up to the island and pulled out a heavy iron chair with a blue cushion. “I can eat in here.”
Isolde waved a hand. “Suit yourself. I’m not used to having anyone else in my kitchen, though.”
“I won’t interrupt.”
Isolde started piling enough food to feed a small army onto trays. “It’s breakfast, since you slept through the day.”
“It all looks amazing,” she told Isolde.
And it really did. Her stomach growled noisily as she looked on. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, over-easy eggs, bacon, and sausage. Plus hashbrowns, fresh fruit, bread for toast, bagels, and half a dozen types of cream cheese. Still more juice, coffee, and tea were set out for her.
Kierse must have held her mouth open too long, because Isolde said, “I didn’t know what you liked. So I made a little bit of everything.”
“Just . . . just for me?” she all but gasped.
“The master will eat some if he didn’t dine out.”
Kierse stared at the spread in awe. She’d never known anything like it. A chef at her disposal. Someone who seemed anxious for her to put it all on her plate and devour it whole.
“You didn’t have to do all of this,” Kierse told her. “There’s no way I’ll finish it all. What do you do with the rest of it?”
“We donate what we can and help charities for those in food deserts.”
“Which is everyone,” Kierse added softly.
Isolde smiled at her warmly. “If it concerns you, you let me know what you like and we can set up a schedule. I won’t make as much next time, but I work best on a schedule.”
Kierse just blinked. “Uh . . . okay. Thank you so much.”
Isolde beamed. “Your enjoyment is all the thanks I need. Now, eat up. You look like you could eat a whole horse and still be hungry.”
She wasn’t that far off. Kierse filled her plate not once but twice. Everything tasted so good. So rich. It was a struggle to stop eating. To listen to her ever-expanding stomach that strained at the edges to contain all that she’d taken in. She didn’t go hungry at Colette’s, hadn’t gone hungry in many years, but the need to clean her plate never really left.
“What is that delicious smell?” Graves asked as he strode into the kitchen.
Isolde blushed furiously. “Nothing new, sir.”
“Bacon,” Kierse said around her final mouthful.
“You outdid yourself,” Graves complimented.
“Shall I fix you a plate?” Isolde asked.
“Unfortunately, no. I ate already. I won’t make the mistake again.”
Isolde grinned like a schoolgirl, clearly taken with her boss’s praise. “Never a mistake where you choose to dine.”
“No one cooks like you, and I do believe Miss McKenna agrees.”
“Yes,” Kierse said instantly. “I do.”
“Hoping to put some meat on her bones. She’s half starved,” Isolde said.
Kierse raised her eyebrows. “This is not me half starved.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Graves nodded as if he agreed with Isolde. The traitor.
Kierse knew what she looked like half starved. She thought she looked pretty healthy, actually.
