hadn’t asked.
Daisy could’ve stayed in Seattle, if she didn’t mind being the cook at Adam’s Ribs for $11.75 an hour. Yes, she had actually gone to the interview—something she’d told no one, not even Charity. That’s when she knew she was desperate. And desperation makes a person do crazy things. There was no way she could suck in her pride and work for Adam’s Ribs or the Lobster Shack—she had answered that ad, too—or any other establishment that offered bibs and takeout.
But Wild Man Lodge at least sounded intriguing, and her friends applauded her adventurous spirit; some even commented that they wished they had the courage for such a daring move.
If only they knew , Daisy silently lamented, returning the envelope to her suitcase.
Her lawsuit against Jason had cut her savings in half. She made money on the sale of her house, but she had to pay for the china she’d broken or have her misdeed become a police record. Fortunately she hadn’t destroyed all the dishes or her restitution would’ve been four times what it was. Then there were the damages at Mama Mia’s. And now Max Kendall wanted $25,000.
If she had left her job at Fireflies without a fuss, she’d have all that money plus the $50,000 Jason had offered as severance—if she had signed a “non-comp” agreement. She might even have her own restaurant instead of working for someone else—again. But her pride wouldn’t let her be dumped like dishwater. Not after ten years.
Maybe, hopefully , Charity was right. Maybe, in a few months, memories would fade and Daisy would no longer be the pariah she seemed to be now.
Besides, she had a plan. She would put Wild Man Lodge on the culinary map, just like she’d done for Fireflies. That kind of recognition would surely get her back in the good graces of the Seattle restaurant establishment, not to mention the Royal Academy of Chefs. Sure, she was being punished now , but when it came to filling dining rooms, people wanted talent. When it came to food, Daisy had talent. She would get her Golden Spoon back!
Not that it was going to be easy, adding stars to a restaurant that actually had fish’n’chips on its menu, but the alternative was permanent exile in Otter Bite . . .
Daisy shook off that nightmarish thought. Even in the wilderness, she was a chef to be reckoned with!
Feeling much better, she exchanged her oversized sleep shirt for comfy sweats, intending a few laps around the deck. This early it would be quiet and the poor schmucks without a cabin would be hunkered into their sleeping bags.
“I’m going for a walk, Elizabeth,” Daisy said, tying her shoelaces. “I won’t be gone long.” She searched the cabin for her key, but had no luck. She stopped and thought, trying to retrieve her memory like a file from a crashed hard drive.
Adam. He had used her key to unlock the cabin door, then his lips brushed hers—true to his word, Dr. Bricker was mostly a gentleman; afterward, he gently steered Daisy into her cabin.
Surely not. Racing the few steps to the door, she swung it open and looked down at the knob. Her key was still in the lock, its pendant with her cabin number hanging from the key chain.
“Oh my God,” Daisy groaned, thankful someone hadn’t come along and taken it . . . or worse. How lucky was that?
Lucky. With key in hand, she paused. She had been lucky . Not an experience she’d had lately. But last night with her handsome doctor she’d felt really lucky. Lucky that the evening ended with a kiss and not a lawsuit.
It seemed like forever since she’d had blessings to count, but maybe her rough seas had finally given way to smooth sailing.
It was breezier on deck than Daisy had expected and crisper, too, but it felt great to be out of her cabin and walking in the early morning salt air. Deck lights blended with the fading dark; it was hard to distinguish where one began and the other ended. Voices reached her from the dock below, mingling with the shrieks
Daisy could’ve stayed in Seattle, if she didn’t mind being the cook at Adam’s Ribs for $11.75 an hour. Yes, she had actually gone to the interview—something she’d told no one, not even Charity. That’s when she knew she was desperate. And desperation makes a person do crazy things. There was no way she could suck in her pride and work for Adam’s Ribs or the Lobster Shack—she had answered that ad, too—or any other establishment that offered bibs and takeout.
But Wild Man Lodge at least sounded intriguing, and her friends applauded her adventurous spirit; some even commented that they wished they had the courage for such a daring move.
If only they knew , Daisy silently lamented, returning the envelope to her suitcase.
Her lawsuit against Jason had cut her savings in half. She made money on the sale of her house, but she had to pay for the china she’d broken or have her misdeed become a police record. Fortunately she hadn’t destroyed all the dishes or her restitution would’ve been four times what it was. Then there were the damages at Mama Mia’s. And now Max Kendall wanted $25,000.
If she had left her job at Fireflies without a fuss, she’d have all that money plus the $50,000 Jason had offered as severance—if she had signed a “non-comp” agreement. She might even have her own restaurant instead of working for someone else—again. But her pride wouldn’t let her be dumped like dishwater. Not after ten years.
Maybe, hopefully , Charity was right. Maybe, in a few months, memories would fade and Daisy would no longer be the pariah she seemed to be now.
Besides, she had a plan. She would put Wild Man Lodge on the culinary map, just like she’d done for Fireflies. That kind of recognition would surely get her back in the good graces of the Seattle restaurant establishment, not to mention the Royal Academy of Chefs. Sure, she was being punished now , but when it came to filling dining rooms, people wanted talent. When it came to food, Daisy had talent. She would get her Golden Spoon back!
Not that it was going to be easy, adding stars to a restaurant that actually had fish’n’chips on its menu, but the alternative was permanent exile in Otter Bite . . .
Daisy shook off that nightmarish thought. Even in the wilderness, she was a chef to be reckoned with!
Feeling much better, she exchanged her oversized sleep shirt for comfy sweats, intending a few laps around the deck. This early it would be quiet and the poor schmucks without a cabin would be hunkered into their sleeping bags.
“I’m going for a walk, Elizabeth,” Daisy said, tying her shoelaces. “I won’t be gone long.” She searched the cabin for her key, but had no luck. She stopped and thought, trying to retrieve her memory like a file from a crashed hard drive.
Adam. He had used her key to unlock the cabin door, then his lips brushed hers—true to his word, Dr. Bricker was mostly a gentleman; afterward, he gently steered Daisy into her cabin.
Surely not. Racing the few steps to the door, she swung it open and looked down at the knob. Her key was still in the lock, its pendant with her cabin number hanging from the key chain.
“Oh my God,” Daisy groaned, thankful someone hadn’t come along and taken it . . . or worse. How lucky was that?
Lucky. With key in hand, she paused. She had been lucky . Not an experience she’d had lately. But last night with her handsome doctor she’d felt really lucky. Lucky that the evening ended with a kiss and not a lawsuit.
It seemed like forever since she’d had blessings to count, but maybe her rough seas had finally given way to smooth sailing.
It was breezier on deck than Daisy had expected and crisper, too, but it felt great to be out of her cabin and walking in the early morning salt air. Deck lights blended with the fading dark; it was hard to distinguish where one began and the other ended. Voices reached her from the dock below, mingling with the shrieks
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