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“That burger’s ready to flip.” Bear’s low voice brings my attention back to the grill.
I ignore the knowing grin sliding across his face and bury my smile that’s still trying to escape at Evie’s comment about my name.
“What’s got you so distracted?” There’s more taunting than asking in his question.
“Nothing.”
Anyone else would needle me for a better answer. Not Bear. He dumps the fries he’s just cut into the fryer and lowers the basket into the grease. I flip the patty and prep buns to brown on the grill. We work side by side without saying a word. This is why Bear is the only family member allowed in my kitchen. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.
The last thing I need right now is any comments about how my eyes keep drifting back to Evie and Sebastian. For the first time, I regret the open partition that allows anyone to see in or out of the kitchen. She laughs at what Sebastian says—probably something at my expense, knowing my cousin—and I lean in, like I might hear.
Her throaty laugh floats across the room, mingling with the snapping sounds of frying meat and the sizzling grease in the fry basket. I turn my head to catch the last notes of it and part of my hand brushes the hot grill.
“Ouch! Dammit!” I yelp and jump back, shaking my burned fingers.
Evie’s eyes snap to mine, and the pain in my hand cools. She smiles, then turns her attention back to Sebastian. But she doesn’t look like she’s into his flirting. How do I know this? I have no idea, but I know she’s not into him like most women are. Her smile is polite, her laugh more flattering than real, and her eyes keep wandering back to my kitchen.
When the burger is done, I slide it onto a homemade brioche bun and top it with muenster cheese and mushrooms. Evie looks like a mushroom kind of girl. Bear takes care of the fries, topping them with rosemary and sea salt. I mix up the fry sauce Utah is famous for—I always make mine fresh—and give it my signature twist before sending the plate out with Bear.
I scrub my mostly clean grill while watching Evie’s reaction. She’s not paying attention to her food until she takes the first bite. Her chewing slows, her eyes drop to the burger. She lifts the top bun and examines the inside before taking another, bigger bite. Her eyes close. She looks like she’s having a religious experience.
And my work here is done.
I turn to the prep counter and wipe everything down with my back to anyone who might notice my smile of satisfaction.
I take my time. As long as Sebastian has someone to flirt with, he won’t want to practice. And it’s not like we have anything to practice for. Playing music together just gives us something to do during the long winter months. It’s a family tradition going back to my great-great-great grandparents. They spent summer and fall working sunup to sundown, planting and harvesting grain and foraging for the huckleberries that put Paradise Valley on the map.
In more recent years, planting and harvesting have been supplanted (pun intended) by running various businesses that cater to tourists from late spring to early fall. Pianos and fiddles have been replaced by guitars and drums, but hygge still reigns. Winters are for family, fires, and candlelight. Hygge at its best.
Few outsiders understand this. They think they do, which is why more and more people want to come to Paradise year-round. But they don’t. Very few people can slow down and be still long enough to fully embrace the Danish concept of well-being.
I don’t care what Zach says about capitalizing on the growing popularity of hygge to keep Paradise alive. Letting outsiders in will be the death of Paradise.
I look at Evie again. I don’t believe she’s here just to redesign the house Georgia inherited from her grandparents. Zach’s talked about building a resort community that embraces hygge. Maybe he’s talked Georgia into doing something like that with the Little Copenhagen.
It won’t work. Zach’s always been more idealistic than realistic. Hygge can’t be created with wood and cement. It just is.
And Evie, or Evelyn, or whatever, is part of the problem with Zach’s idealistic thinking. That’s what bugs me about her. She’s never been here before. She doesn’t know how special Paradise is. I’m willing to bet every hand-cut fry in the Garden that she thinks Paradise could be bigger and better. Just like Zach and Georgia do. Just like Dakota did.
She’s wrong. It’s the people who’ve known each other for generations that create hygge. It’s the community. People who are from here should understand that, and people who aren’t, can’t.
Plus, she just makes me uncomfortable. And I have plenty of that without her.
So, the sooner Evie leaves, the better.
Chapter 7
Evie
I have an audience when I take my first bite of the cheeseburger Adam made for me. Except this is no ordinary cheeseburger. This is a work of art. Bear, Britta, and Sebastian are all waiting for my reaction as flavors of wild mushroom, fresh beef, and good cheese dance on my taste buds.
Judging by the way Bear smiles over my head toward the kitchen, Adam is watching too. Even though he’s been rude, and I want to hide my smile, so as not to give him the satisfaction, but I can’t. This burger could only be created in a place called Paradise, because I am one hundred percent in heaven.
Scratch that. After a bite of the fries dipped in the special pink sauce on the side, I am one hundred andtenpercent in heaven. I’m in the corner of heaven reserved for special people, where the warmest, fuzziest blankets are kept and only the best food is served.
“Good, right?” Sebastian doesn’t wait for an answer before he reaches across the table and steals a fry. “Do you mind? Adam only makes the rosemary parmesan fries for me when I’m on time for practice. And I’m never on time.”
Sebastian sticks the fry in his mouth, and his lips slide into a grin. A grin I would be totally into if he hadn’t taken one of my fries and if he wasn’t, obviously, a flirt. So I’ll just enjoy looking at him.
