Smiling hard and ignoring my stinging eyes, I lifted the flap and pulled out the stationery.
“Dear Matt,” it said, “we’re rooting for you.” Then she’d drawn a heart and signed the letter “Dani and all your true fans.”
I stared at the note for a few moments, letting the emotion well up inside me. A tear hovered at the corner of my eye, and I wiped it away.
I got up, returned to my desk, and opened my laptop. Ceremoniously, I rested Dani’s note against my pencil cup so I could see it as I worked. This was for her, as much as it was for the folks who showed up to see me at conventions. I may have screwed things up and sent her away, but I could still honor her by staying true to myself and completing a book she’d be proud of.
With a deep breath, I opened up the original manuscript I’d handed in and retitled it The Bastyan Saga: The REAL Book Three.
And after that, I wrote, “For Dani.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dani
I tried hard not to think about the fact that Matt was upstairs, typing away in his office, while I was down in the kitchen, making the food for tonight’s party. I wondered if he’d gotten my text message and if he’d listen to me and show up for the party.
Gerald, who’d been busy directing party set-up traffic all morning, bustled in then and snatched an unfrosted snowman cookie from the tray I’d just removed from the oven. “These look scrumptious.”
I tried to swat his hands away. “Those are for our VIPs.”
He ignored me, bit off a corner of the cookie, and chewed thoughtfully. “These are the most delicious cookies I’ve ever had in my entire life.”
Blushing, I said, “They’re undecorated ice box cookies, canvases to garnish. They’re not supposed to taste that good.”
“Well, you failed on that account.” He glanced around the room at the rest of my baked goods and appetizers—deconstructed figgy pudding and Beef Wellington hand pies and tiny cups of gourmet green bean casserole. “Matt is lucky to have you as his personal chef.”
“He was lucky,” I corrected him, straightening up in an effort to exude strength and hide my basket case tendencies. “I no longer work for him.”
Gerald nodded, something like pride on his face. “That’s right, and good for you. Your talent shouldn’t be confined to one house,” he said. “You’re also incredibly reliable. That’s almost worth more than your cooking talent.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve known plenty of talented chefs without a lick of professional sense.”
“So…” I glanced at the kitchen door to make sure no one was listening in. “Does this mean I have the catering job?”
He popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “Wouldn’t you rather keep the publicity thing going?” he said. “If we partner up, we can really build your brand and the resort’s. Think about it.”
He waved and headed back out to finish prepping for the party.
I stirred the homemade cranberry sauce boiling on the stove. Gerald didn’t answer me when I asked about the catering job. I had to assume it was because he didn’t think I was qualified, and I understood where he was coming from. I was untested in that arena. He was the party planner for an entire resort. He couldn’t risk everything on a housekeeper who’d cooked professionally for only one person.
Still, he obviously did want to work with me, and this whole social media personality/resort cheerleader sounded on the surface like a big, concrete opportunity. A bird in the hand, really. As Gerald said, I’d be able to post pictures of my food and videos of myself cooking, but to what end? It’d still be me, stuck on the Instagram merry-go-round ad infinitum, and I was starting to feel nauseated.
I stirred the cranberry sauce one more time, covered it, and set it aside.
Una and her kids adored this self-promotional stuff. They thrived on the likes and the attention. While I’d gotten a small initial rush from people seeing my posts, the whole thing had really lost its luster for me after the novelty wore off. I enjoyed being with people in person. I didn’t love the idea of sitting around waiting for likes and comments and approval from anonymous strangers.
The only time I really had fun on Instagram Live was when I’d recorded myself teaching Kelsie and Raithnait how to cook chicken.
I turned on my phone and watched some of the video, which Rafferty had recorded. I looked so happy, so cheerful, so proud of my students.
Like Una said, opportunities didn’t always look like opportunities from the outset. But if you examined them with an open mind, you could turn anything into a positive chance for growth. You just had to know where to look. I’d pursued this social media opportunity with Gerald thinking, hoping, that I’d learn to love the idea. I didn’t see that happening.
Maybe I needed to start looking elsewhere.
The timer sounded on the stove, and I pulled the potato croquettes out of the oven. The kitchen door popped open again, and two of Gerald’s team members appeared in the doorway. One of them, a man in his twenties, who was wearing one of those belts for lifting heavy things, said, “Gerald said you had cookies…?”
Grinning, I set down the croquettes and grabbed a tray of the few cookies I’d already decorated. I passed them to the guys, and they dug in hungrily.
The guy wearing the weight belt looked up at the ceiling. “Better than my mom’s, but don’t tell her that.”
“Do you have a shop in town?” asked the other guy.
I shook my head.
“Well, then, do you think you can teach me to make these?”
A flutter of excitement bubbled up in my gut at that word. Teach. “I can do you one better,” I said. “I’m about to mix up another batch. You have a few minutes?”
The guys lined up at the sink to wash their hands.
“Do you mind if I record this for Instagram Live?” I asked.
“This is going to be on Instagram?” one guy asked. “Do you have a lot of followers?”
“Quite a few,” I said.
“Cool.”
I spoke into the camera. “I’m about to teach these guys—” I glanced at them. “What are your names?”
“Tom and Doug.”
“I’m going to teach Tom and Doug how to make the most delicious icebox cookies.”
Teaching. The truth was I had actually liked teaching back before I had Kelsie. I enjoyed the act of sharing knowledge with others. What I hadn’t liked and had been able to give up easily was the classroom management, the bureaucracy, the rigidity. But if I could do my own thing…kind of like the career Una had carved out for herself, like how she’d come to Wackernagel, knowing she’d only be here for a few weeks, and she basically set up a pop-up yoga studio—I could do something like that here, too, but with cooking, teaching people how to use ingredients in their pantries, that sort of thing. That was what I was good at, and I could share my unique skill. I just had to seize the opportunity and ask for it.