“Dinner service?” Mari gave a strangled laugh. “Sweetheart, it’s all yours as of tomorrow. Penny’s finishing up tonight and I haven’t been able to find a chef to take over for her. And believe me, I’ve tried my hardest to replace her too. Just when I get the restaurant working well, she has to leave me.”
“Really?” The wheels turned at a dizzying rate. “Why?”
“Family ill health. Of course she must go but it’s been impossible to find someone anywhere near as good as her and I was so looking forward to starting work on renovations now that I’ve found my feet here.”
“Show me your kitchen.” Bella walked away and found the hub of the hotel. It was hard to miss the double swing doors with the word “kitchen” emblazoned on them. She pushed them open, strode in, stood in the middle of the room. Bella watched the chef and her assistant at work, ignoring the quick glances they threw her way.
“Bella!” Mari grabbed her arm. “Slow down.”
“I can’t. You know me. This is perfect. A little old and in need of an upgrade compared to what I’m used to.” She grinned at her sister, the first inkling of satisfaction warming her belly since she’d been given the orders to relax and lie low out of the public eye. “No offense, but you know what I mean. Nothing but the best for the television execs because they think it’s what keeps the high ratings. Heaven forbid it shouldn’t look top class. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. This will be perfect for now.” She strode over and checked out the oven. “Excuse me.” She slid past Penny and started opening cupboards and looking at kitchen utensils.
Penny stood gaping open-mouthed at her. “Hey, aren’t you that girl, the one that won Masterchef a few years ago?”
“Yep, that’d be me.” She held out her hand. “Bella Moore. Nice to meet you.”
“You didn’t tell me you were related to her, Mari.” Bella didn’t miss the frown that the chef shot her sister.
“Sorry, Penny. Slipped my mind.”
Penny continued to stare at Bella as if that was impossible. “Got your last book, I did.”
Bella gave the star struck chef a winning smile. “Thank you. I hope you enjoyed it.” Bella opened the fridge, poked around inside, pulling out tubs of pre-made food. She lifted the lid on one tub and sniffed, picked up the scent of garlic and lemongrass. “Is that my special marinade?”
Penny smiled, pink rushing up her cheeks. “Yes. It’s turned into a favorite here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Bella, what are you doing?” Mari strode over, leaned on the prep counter and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Bella shut the refrigerator and smiled, folded her arms across her chest. The look of shock on her sister’s face was almost comical, the first bit of light-heartedness since this whole debacle had reared its ugly head and threatened to derail everything she’d worked so hard for. “I’m going to take over the restaurant on the condition that you let me play here during the day when you aren’t open. That way we both get what we want.”
Chapter Two
Bella gazed at her surroundings. Waking up in the cottage had bordered on a traumatic experience. Peace and quiet, so foreign, it frightened her. No bright lights, no assistants chattering in her ear about what she had to produce that day. No emails flashed under her nose for approval for the next public appearance. For once, her cell phone was silent. She checked it to make sure it wasn’t dead before remembering what had happened and the reason she was here.
Now she stood in the house alone, fighting the urge to get in her car and speed back to the city. It made her sick to her stomach that something had to happen to her before the police could take action against her stalker. In the meantime, the studio refused to let her put herself at risk and she was grateful for their concern.
This morning she’d climbed out of bed in a panic, feeling as though she’d fallen into a nightmare until she remembered arriving here last night and being given the keys to the cottage. The reason she was here. The gorgeous hotel her sister owned, the rundown kitchen and her mad offer to take over cooking duties the three nights a week the restaurant was open. The cute old guy that had come in and introduced himself as her landlord and offered to show her where her cottage was. She’d followed him meekly. The quiet man and gangly teenager that were with him, hovering in the background watching her.
Bella had driven behind the work truck the short distance down the road to the rental her producer had arranged for her. When Rupert Woods—call me Woodsie—handed her the keys, he left her alone with the promise that if she needed something, he was only a short distance away. Only two houses down. Can’t miss it. If she wanted anything at all, all she had to do was ask. People in Cherry Lake were like that.
In the cool light of day, the tiny pink fisherman’s cottage looked as though it belonged in a painting. High-pitched roof with gray shingles and white scrolled timber edging, it could easily have been crafted from sugar, a gingerbread house. Window boxes filled with flowers she could mold from confectioners icing, stunning with their vibrant colors that belied belief. All so foreign to her usual way of life, her streamlined white on white apartment without a blade of grass or a real house plant.
The fresh crisp air that greeted her instead of the smog and bustle of city life when she opened the door made her pause. Even the nip of frost in the air seemed foreign compared to the coddled studio Bella spent most of her time in. She was a world away from her usual lifestyle and, now that she was here,
