I nod, falling into step beside her easily. "How far is the drive?"
"Two hours or so depending on traffic." She pulls a set of keys from her pocket and clicks the fob, and a black SUV at the edge of the lot chirps in response, lights flashing. "I should be back by early afternoon if everything goes smoothly, which it won't, because nothing ever does. But the team knows whatthey're doing today, Sofia can handle prep without me hovering, and Margot said she'd check in on them while I'm gone."
"Want company?"
She stops walking abruptly and turns to look at me as though I've just sprouted a second head. "What? Why wouldyouwant to come?"
I take a sip of my coffee. "Because I've got about a decade of experience dealing with suppliers. Farmers, ranchers, fishermen, foragers, the occasional weird mushroom guy who lives in a yurt and only accepts cash. Some of them are great people who care about quality. Some of them are pains in the ass. Either way, I know how to talk to them."
"And you're offering this out of the goodness of your heart?" She crosses her arms, eyebrow raised.
"I'm offering this because if your pop-up tanks, your father hangsmeout to dry and there goes my Seattle restaurant," I say honestly. "So this is one hundred percent self-interest wrapped in a convenient favor. I'm not asking to take over. You're the lead. I'm just offering to be backup. Moral support."
She exhales through her nose. "Fine. ButIcontrol the radio the entire drive."
"Deal," I say. "You can play whatever you want. French pop, death metal, whale sounds, audiobooks. I don't care."
"Don't tempt me," she mutters, already heading toward the SUV.
The first thirty minutes pass in relative silence while she focuses on the winding roads. Her playlist is mostly French, stuff I don't recognize but don't mind, and I crack the window to let the cool morning air in. It'll be hot by noon. Late September in the valley has mornings in the low fifties and by lunch the sun is hammering the back of your neck.
We take the Silverado Trail north at first, the two-lane road curving along the foothills with vineyards spreading out on both sides like some tourism board's fantasy of California. The valley fog is just lifting off the ridgelines and morning sun is coming through in long shafts, lighting up the vines. Green leaves starting to turn red and yellow in long tidy rows, and a few hundred yards off the road I can see a harvest crew working a block under portable lights left over from the overnight pick.
"Listen.” She clears her throat. “I'm sorry I've been so snappy with you. I swear normally I'm a reasonably pleasant person to be around. It's just my father is breathing down my neck about every detail, vendors keep ignoring my very clear and reasonable instructions, and you're here as a spy, which I know you claim you aren't, but I still have to assume you might be."
"You don't need to apologize." I turn to look at her. "I wouldn’t be thrilled with me being here either, if I were in your shoes."
"Yeah, well. You're not that bad. As far as unwanted surveillance goes."
"I'll take it," I say. "High praise."
"Thank you, by the way," she says. "For the compliment about the halibut dish the other day. I think I was a bit rude, but I actually appreciated it. It’s one of the dishes I’m most proud of."
"Youshouldbe proud. The whole menu is strong. I went through the course plans before I flew out and spent most of the time annoyed at myself for not thinking of half the pairings you came up with. The halibut was particularly impressive. I cook with it a lot since it's native to Washington, and you managed to do something I hadn’t thought of before."
The corners of her mouth curl up slightly. "I had a coworker at one of my dad's places who was from Washington, and he always raved about the fresh food you guys get up there."
"It's incredible. Seafood, berries, mushrooms, apples,cherries. The whole Pacific Northwest bounty." I glance at the vineyards passing by. "You ever been to Washington?"
"No, never. I don't really know anything about it other than fish guys at Pike Place Market,Sleepless in Seattle, and that the house fromPractical Magicis in some town up there."
"San Juan Island," I say. "That's where they built thePractical Magichouse. Or where it was before they tore it down after filming."
"You'vewatchedthat movie?" Her eyebrows go up.
"Of course I've watched it. I had a massive crush on both Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman when I was a teenager." I grin. "Plus it’s a classic. I’m pretty sure everyone has seen it."
She laughs. "I would have thought a girlfriend showed you that movie or something."
I shake my head. "I love movies, so I'll watch everything. And witches always kind of did it for me. The mysterious powers, the confidence."
She gives me a sideways look. "Of course they have."
"What, no fictional crush types for you?"
"I didn't say that. I've definitely got my own list." She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "And I get it, witches are very appealing. I always wish I was an Owens sister when I watch that movie."
I laugh. "Alright, so who's onyourlist then?"