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“Sort of. Maybe.” Hedging, I rubbed my face with the back of one glove-covered hand. “It’s not really a date. He just invited me over to look at his sailboat. Maybe help with sanding the deck.”
“Stella.” Grace laughed, finally straightening the plates into a neat vertical tower. “That’s a date, girl. You’re going to be alone, on his boat, working on it together? That’s the kind of thing people write songs about. Just sayin’.”
The corners of my mouth threatened to curl into a smile, but I held my ground. “We’ll see.” I turned back to the grill, but inside, my heart fluttered at the possibility.
Grace leaned in, her voice lowered. “Give him a chance, Stel. I know he hurt you, but Aiden’s not the same kid who left all those years ago. People change.”
I glanced over at the medical booth, where Aiden was examining a crying child’s face. The intensity in his focus was visible even from here. I remembered that same concentration directed at me earlier, his hands steady as they sutured my skin. And the softness of his voice as he tried to distract me.
“Maybe.” I placed a patty on the grill, telling myself it was the heat from the grill warming my face. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Thinking about it?” Grace echoed with a playful huff. “Stella Markham, you’re going on a date. Admit it.”
“Fine,” I said, the word escaping me like steam from a pressure valve. “It’s a… tentative date.”
She grinned, triumphant. “That’s more like it.”
As I handed out the last couple of dishes to the dwindling line of festival-goers, I couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing Aiden outside the context of an emergency had a certain allure. I was curious about who he’d become. The glimpses I’d had so far hinted at a man I wanted to know better.
The clink of plates and quiet chaos filled Orchid’s kitchen, creating a sound that always energized me. It was Monday evening, and the dinner rush was like a well-rehearsed dance—steady but not overwhelming. I moved between the various stations, ensuring every entree and appetizer was being lovingly tended to before settling at the stove. Rea’s laughter echoed as she seared a steak. Luis, our experienced sous chef, orchestrated the stoves with a conductor’s precision, his good mood infectious.
“Table seven’s chicken cordon bleu needs another minute,” I called out to him, checking the chicken’s sear.
“Got it, Chef!” he responded without missing a beat.
I was about to turn back when the shrill ring of the wall phone cut through the buzz of activity. All calls to the kitchen came from the hostess station. Luis wiped his hands on his apron and answered it. “Kitchen. What’s up, Suze?” A pause, then a glance in my direction. “It’s for you, Stella.”
Curiosity piqued, I took the phone from him as he moved to take over my chicken dish. “This is Stella.”
“Hey, it’s Aiden.”
Just hearing his name sent an odd tingle down my body. “Hi. Is everything okay?” I was relieved to find my voice more composed than I felt.
“Yeah, everything’s good. I don’t have your number, so calling you at work seemed the most obvious choice. I just wanted to check in about your hand. Make sure you’re doing all right.”
I couldn’t resist a smile at his concern. The cut on my palm flared slightly beneath my glove—as if reminding me of the incident. “It’s less painful every day. I’ve been keeping it clean and dry, just like you ordered. Thanks for checking in—that’s very thoughtful of you.” The disposable gloves crinkled as I flexed my bandaged hand. The kitchen’s clamor faded into the background.
“Of course,” he replied. “Take care of it, okay? Infections are no joke.”
“Will do, Dr. Mitchell,” I teased lightly, though I warmed at his protective tone.
“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow when you come by.” Aiden paused, the moment drawing out. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”
“We are,” I replied, my smile widening with the suspicion that this was the real reason he’d called. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll meet you at the marina entry gate, so you don’t need to worry about finding the boat.”
“Oh, I figured it would be the one half-sunk in the harbor.”
He laughed. “I promise. She floats just fine. See you at five?”
My hand gripped the phone tighter at the sound of his laugh. At the warmth and relaxed tone within it. I’d missed that, and only now did I realize it. “Five it is.”
“See you then, Stella. And… take care,” Aiden added, almost hesitantly.
After the line went dead, I replaced the receiver and turned back to the controlled chaos of Orchid’s kitchen. The scent of seared scallops and citrus zest filled the air, grounding me once again in the here and now.
With a renewed focus, I approached the pass, surveying the dishes lined up like an edible art gallery. Each one was a testament to our team’s skill, an explosion of flavors waiting to delight our guests. As I checked the seasoning on a velvety lobster bisque, my mind momentarily wandered to the marina’s salty breeze and the gentle sway of sailboats.
