The Lost Recipe for Happiness Read Online Free

slightly grainy, imbued with the sunlight of a summer morning. “Mmm.” She stabbed another and held it out to Julian. “Have a taste.”
    He bent in without hesitation and took it from her fork. She glimpsed his tongue. “Excellent.”
    She handed him another one, which he took with his fingers. “The chef in Aspen—he’s executive now, right?”
    Julian nodded. He knew exactly what she was asking. The chef would be demoted—he’d hate her the minute she showed up.
    “That might be a little volatile,” she said.
    “A challenge, I’m sure,” he said, but there was no apology in it.
    “What’s his name?”
    “Ivan Santino.”
    She wrote it down and stuck it in her pocket. If she had to deal with him, she’d want to go in armed. Someone in the community would know something about him, surely.
    Then for a moment, she said nothing, trying not to let anticipation or fear rush her into anything. Without hurry, she ate some more of her omelet, savoring the sharpness of Swiss cheese, the smoothness of asparagus. She broke a corner of her toast and ate it.
    Across the table, Julian was a column of still energy. She liked his face, his black eyes, that tumble of curls, but more than anything, she liked that he could sit there with his hands clasped unmoving around a coffee cup and wait for her to think.
    She also liked that he would make a big move for the sake of a child. “May I ask about your daughter?”
    He lifted a shoulder. “She’s fourteen—running with a crowd I think is too fast.”
    “And Aspen is slower than LA?”
    “No. It’s a lot smaller, however, and I can keep an eye on her more easily.”
    “Good for you,” Elena said, and meant it. Finished with her meal, she put her napkin aside and picked up her tea. “What will you pay me?”
    He named a figure that was a third more than she currently earned. “And because accommodation is so difficult in Aspen, we’ll see to it that you have living space. A condo, probably.”
    “I have a dog,” Elena said. “I have to have some space for him. Yard space.”
    “Bring him. Everyone in Aspen has a dog.”
    She thought of her two-year-old rescue mutt, a fluffy chow-Lab mix with a head like a Saint Bernard. “Probably not like Alvin.”
    Julian grinned, showing teeth for the first time. The eye-teeth were a little crooked, and she liked him for not fixing them, even with all of his millions. “Alvin?”
    “From Alvin and the Chipmunks, remember them?”
    He laughed. “I’ll have to see this dog.”
    The sound of his laughter was weirdly familiar, a song she remembered from long ago. Scowling, Elena took a breath. “I’m very excited and flattered by your offer, Mr. Liswood. But my policy is to never say yes to anything without thinking about it on my own. I need to take a walk.”
    “Of course.” He stood with her. “I do need an answer fairly quickly. We need to get moving, and if you are not interested, I’ll need to move on to my next choice.”
    Elena pushed away her nervousness. Told herself to take her time anyway. He wouldn’t run out and get another chef before the end of the day. “I understand,” she said with as much cool professionalism as she could muster.
    “This is my cell phone number.” He gave her a business card and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
    “My pleasure.” As his long fingers clasped her hand, she caught the scent of his skin. Not the food preferences she sometimes picked up, but simply his skin, himself. It smelled of rain hitting the earth on a summer evening. “I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”
    “I’ll look forward to that.”
    Their hands were still linked. Palm to palm. Eye to eye. She liked him. She thought she could trust him.
    And yet, there was some darkness about him, sad and lonely, lingering in the air around him. Now she caught another scent, still not food, but a waft of old-fashioned perfume. She didn’t move for a moment.
    He didn’t move away. The air