“Joanna, are you okay? You look like you’ve been hit by a bus,” Zosia said, rushing through the lobby toward me.
I’d done my best to recover from the session with Dr. P followed by the massive letter-writing session, but my nose was still red from crying—so were my eyes and cheeks. “More like a Mack truck,” I deadpanned.
“I had my breakthrough session with Dr. P yesterday. It took a massage, facial, and V-Steam just for me to make it down to dinner, but I feel a million times better today, and you will too darling, I promise.”
I smiled warmly at Zosia, who, even in just the two weeks we had spent together, had become like a surrogate mother figure to me. She didn’t talk much about her own two sons, but I had a feeling I was filling one of the few voids in her life that money couldn’t buy.
“Now for the surprise,” she said, practically bursting at the seams. “I booked us a private cooking lesson with the hottie with the body, chef Todd-y,” she said, shrieking at her own joke.
A private cooking lesson with Todd Aldrich? After seeing him snuggled up with Louisa, I felt like a complete fool for thinking there was even the slightest spark of something between us. Now there’d be no avoiding him, which had been my current plan ’til the end of the Boot Camp.
“Joanna, what’s wrong?” Zosia asked. “Aren’t you excited?”
“What? Sorry, I think I’m still a little bit in my head from this morning.”
“Well, nothing takes your mind off one man, like another one’s abs,” Emmy teased.
Zosia spied Emmy suspiciously. “Have you actually seen Todd Aldrich’s abs?”
“Jo and I caught a glimpse of him in a very formfitting wet suit after surfing, and let me tell you, they did not disappoint.”
Zosia waved her finger in the air. “You girls are bad. Come on, let’s go. We’re already late.”
We walked into the hotel’s large, well-appointed kitchen. Todd had three stations set up along the largest countertop, complete with aprons, chef hats, cutting boards, and all the cutlery and cooking equipment we’d need for the class. Todd’s back was to us as he finished sharpening knives and setting out ingredients on aluminum trays. Shaking water off his hands, he turned around.
“Okay, ladies, let’s do this,” he said, wiping the remaining moisture on his apron before looking up and into the room.
Our eyes locked, and a strange combination of confusion and delight registered on Todd’s face, which he quickly masked. He cleared his throat and walked down the line, setting a menu down in front of each of our stations, giving no indication we had any sort of history.
“For our first course, we’re going to be making oysters with Champagne Strawberry Mignonette,” he said in a very serious and professional tone. “For the main course, Pork Chops with Fig and Grape Agrodolce, and for dessert, a White Peach Tart.” Todd pulled three pie pans off a high shelf and passed them out. “Since the oysters are our freshest ingredients, we’re going to prepare this meal a little backwards, so they can stay on ice as long as possible. We’ll start with the tart crust and let the tart bake while we work on the other courses. You’ll find the recipe on the other side of your menu, and I’ll be around to each of your stations to assist.”
Emmy leaned into me and whispered, “He can assist me all he wants.”
Never much of a chef, I did my best to follow the directions, combining flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a bowl before adding the softened butter and egg yolk until it formed a stiff dough. I shook the dough ball out onto the flour-lined parchment paper to knead it.
A few minutes later, Todd came up beside me, his broad shoulder grazing against my own.
“You want to form the dough into a disk, then use the heels of your hands to push down in the middle and stretch the dough away from you, like this,” he said, putting his hands over mine to demonstrate the motion. “Then, rotate the dough counterclockwise by a quarter turn. You’ll want to repeat the stretching, folding, and turning, dusting with a little more flour each time if the dough sticks,” he said.
Emmy eyed us up and down quizzically, and then said, “Chef Todd, when you’re finished, my dough could use a little stretching, folding, and dusting too,” she teased.
He lingered for a moment. “The kneading process should be rhythmic and steady. Don’t work too slowly; handle each part of the dough quickly, never letting it rest for too long between turns,” he said, before leaving to help Emmy and Zosia with their crusts. After he was finished making the rounds, he came back to the front of the room.
“First, we’ll want to wipe down the counters from the flour. The first and golden rule of cooking is to clean up before moving on. After that we’ll dive into the filling. I found all this incredible stone fruit at the farmers market yesterday and was looking for just the right dessert to showcase them,” he said, placing four ripe peaches on each of our stations. “You’re gonna want to cut the peaches into wedges about half an inch thick. Then, in the medium bowl, whisk together the grated ginger, lime zest and juice, turbinado sugar, and flour. Once you have the syrup good and stirred, add the sliced peaches and toss gently to coat them in the mixture.”
I followed his clear directions and poured the filling into the pie crusts. After checking the peach distribution was nice and even, I popped the pan into the oven and set the timer. With that done, I turned my attention to the pork chops.
Over the next half hour, Todd led the class through a series of recipes and techniques. He was a wonderful teacher, patient and easygoing, cracking jokes and telling stories about working under legendary chefs like Thomas Keller and Dan Barber, who, incidentally, had both cooked for Zosia and her husband at their vacation home in Malibu.
“Now that we have the pork chops marinated in the fig and grape agrodolce, we can turn our attention to the oysters. These,” he said, holding up a bushel, “are from Pamlico Sound on the coast of the Outer Banks, North Carolina. They’re great oysters, salty with a clean aftertaste, but they’re larger and less sweet than the ones Joanna and I harvested the other day on Stump Sound, which are still my personal favorites.”
Zosia and Emmy’s heads whipped in my direction. I hadn’t told either of them about my day oyster harvesting with Todd. I suppose if things had progressed further, I would have, but given our relationship’s arrested development, there didn’t seem to be much point. The extremely confused looks on their faces were evidence enough for me to understand they didn’t agree with my logic.
“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run down to the wine cellar. This recipe calls for champagne, and it doesn’t appear my sous chef remembered to grab a few bottles,” Todd said.
As soon as he was out of earshot, the interrogation began. Why did I go oyster harvesting with Todd? When did we meet? How did we meet? Why had I kept it a secret? Were we dating? Sleeping together? What did he look like without his shirt?
I closed my eyes and rattled off answers. “We met on the jetty the day I sprained my ankle. He found me and carried me back to the hotel. We’re not dating or sleeping together, and we haven’t even kissed. And if you must know, he looks damn good with his shirt off,” I said in one complete breath.
“If it isn’t anything serious, why didn’t you just tell us about oyster harvesting?” Emmy asked.
“I don’t know. I think maybe there was the start of something between us, but the other night I caught him snuggled up with Louisa Brier in the Palm Lounge. I’m not sure they’re really over, or maybe things have restarted between them—either way, it was probably too soon to get back in the ring anyway.”
Todd walked back into the kitchen, triumphantly holding a couple of bottles of Dom Perignon over his head. “One for the oyster recipe, and the rest to enjoy with our meal.” He set them down on the counter next to a large silver saber. “Who wants to do the honors of cracking these bad boys open?”
“Joanna does,” Zosia said, pushing me forward.
“I—”
Zosia raised her eyebrows. “Go on, have fun,” she mouthed.
I took two steps forward before glancing back at Zosia, who was grinning from ear to ear. I stepped up to the kitchen island, and Todd handed me the saber.
“The biggest misconception about using a saber or sword to open a bottle of champagne is that you are literally cutting the top of the bottle off,” he said. “In fact, if we do this right, the saber should strike the glass in such a way that it cracks and the high pressure inside the bottle takes care of the rest. First thing’s first, I want you to grasp the bottle firmly by the base.”
I picked up the champagne from the counter, bent my knees ever so slightly, and shifted the bottle so I was holding the glass body by the base.
Todd came around behind me. “The trick here is to point it away from any onlookers, so we don’t take out any eyes with the cork.”
I nodded and rotated my body about forty-five degrees.
“Perfect. Now, you’ll want to locate the vertical seam running up the side of the bottle to the lip. The intersection of the seam and lip is where you’ll get the cleanest break, so this is where you’ll want to aim.”
Todd took hold of my hand and guided my finger along the seam to find the bottle’s sweet spot. He leaned in closer, speaking softly into my ear. “You’ll want to hold the knife flat against the bottle with the blunt edge toward the lip. One of the biggest misconceptions is that you need the sharp end to break the bottle.”
I flipped the blade around, so the flat edge was facing the top of the bottle.
“That’s exactly right. Okay, now, on the countdown of three, run your saber slowly back along the seam toward your body, then quickly and firmly thrust it back up the seam toward the bottle’s lip.”
“A real countdown?” I replied, thinking back to our exchange on the jetty, when he pulled my ankle out from the rocks on three instead of five to spare me pain.
“A real countdown,” he said with a knowing smile. “Now, strike the lip sharply with the blade at a slight angle, not perpendicularly. Remember, it’s all about follow-through. The most important thing is for the strike to have conviction behind it. Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He stepped back and away. “You got this. Remember, it’s all about the follow-through. Three . . . two . . . one.”
I pulled the saber back down along the seam, squinted my eyes, and thrust it back up toward the bottle’s lip at a slight angle, hitting the intersection just as Todd had instructed. Right at the point of strike, the glass fractured, allowing the bubbles and pressure to do the rest, shooting the cork clear across the room.
Zosia and Emmy cheered loudly as champagne overflowed from the top of the broken bottle. Todd grabbed glasses from the counter, filling each one to the rim.
“I knew you could do it,” he leaned in and whispered. “Ladies,” he said, turning to address the rest of the room, “the staff has prepared a beautiful table for you on the balcony so you can enjoy your very delicious three-course dinner with outstanding views of the Atlantic. If you’d like to carry a drink outside, one of the Retreat House servers will be waiting to greet you.”
Zosia and Emmy each grabbed a champagne flute and hurried to the balcony, while I hung back with Todd to help wipe up champagne bottle glass shards from the floor.
“I got this,” he said. “You can join them out on the balcony.”
“Isn’t the first and golden rule of cooking, clean up before moving on?”
“Touché. I’ll dustpan, if you sweep,” he said, passing me the broom. “You know, I’ve been hoping to run into you since the other night. I’m sorry about how we left things. How was the play?”
“It was a good production, but you’re right, the plot’s full of flaws, impulsiveness, and immaturity when it comes to love and relationships.”
“I should’ve parked my ego and gone with you like I promised. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, really. You don’t owe me an apology. You don’t owe me anything, really. We hardly know each other.”
“No, it’s not fine. I was being an idiot. Of course, you wouldn’t be completely over your ex yet.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if anybody ever really gets over a past love.” I motioned toward the balcony door with my head. “I should probably get outside to Zosia and Emmy.”
“They’ll be okay, they have plenty of champagne to keep them happy, for a little while at least. Hey, Jo, I hope you don’t mean what you just said? About never really getting over a past love?”
I set down the broom. “That night, after I got back to the hotel, I saw you in the Palm Lounge with Louisa.”
“We aren’t back together. That night, what you saw, it’s not what you think.”
“What I think is that you two are still pretty crazy about one another, and I’m happy for you. I’m happy for you both.”
He took my hands into his own. “Regardless of what Daniel told you that day down at the farmers market, I haven’t been interested in anyone since I moved to Topsail. I’ve kept my head down and tried to get back to my first love, cooking. And then I met you, and for the first time in a long time, I felt all those feelings again. She’ll never admit it, but I think Louisa got jealous. When she found out about our day oyster harvesting, she asked me to meet her for a drink, and we fell right back into old patterns. But you have to believe me, I stopped it before anything happened.”
I searched his face. “Why?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You can’t?”
“No, and believe me, I’ve tried,” he teased. He shook his head and wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me close. “Is this okay?”
My heart was pounding so hard I was positive he could hear the drumming. I hadn’t kissed anyone other than Sam since I was thirteen years old and playing spin the bottle in Lindsey Marcus’ basement. I closed my eyes and pushed higher and higher on my toes, until his soft lips were grazing my own.
“Jo, are you really sure this is okay?” he asked, breathlessly.
I grabbed his head in my hands and pulled his face close. Kissing him hard, I allowed my initial apprehension to give way to impulse. A rushing wave of energy ignited between us, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into him, my chest pressed against his, our breaths labored between kisses. My tongue swept against his, and a sensation I never imagined I’d feel again, especially not from anyone other than Sam, lit me up from the inside. He cupped the side of my face and ran his thumb against my cheek. I leaned into the warmth of his hand and his body so close to mine.
I let out a small chuckle, one that caught us both off guard.
Todd smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “What’s so funny?”
“I finally went after something I want regardless of consequence. And it’s just…well, I think Mistress Monica would be so proud.”