Bethany Davis peered in her rearview mirror, smoothed a few strands of flyaway blonde hair into place and added a swipe of sandy pink lipstick. The time on her cell phone showed that she was still five minutes early for her interview. She glanced at the blue front door of Quinn’s Pub and felt butterflies in her stomach. She’d been back in Quinn Valley for almost two weeks and she needed a job, fast. The chef position at Quinn’s was the only local opening she’d seen advertised, and she really didn’t want to have to commute to Lewiston which was over an hour away.

The original plan had been to come home, spend a week with her mother and then head back to Manhattan. But, her mother had downplayed how serious her condition was. She needed her and truth be told, Bethany wanted to stay. She’d always planned to return to Quinn Valley someday. And now that she didn’t have a job to return to in New York, she didn’t need to rush back anytime soon. But her savings was dwindling, and she needed to get something, anything soon.

But, could she work at Quinn’s Pub? Would they even want her? To say she had mixed feelings was an understatement. But, beggars couldn’t be choosers. She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse and got out of the car.

Barely a minute after she knocked on the front door, it opened and Bethany felt as though she’d fallen back in time. Ryder’s mother, Marcia Quinn, stood there, just a hair over five feet tall, with her chin length shiny brown bob, her warm blue eyes and the smile that made everyone feel right at home.

She looked exactly the same as Bethany remembered, except maybe there were a few tiny lines here and there and a slightly thicker middle, but she looked wonderful. And she immediately pulled Bethany into a bear hug.

“You look just as lovely as I remember! Come in, let’s have a cup of tea and catch up, shall we? You’re still a tea drinker?”

Bethany nodded and followed Marcia into the well-equipped kitchen that was a sea of spotless stainless steel. Marcia stopped at a coffee station and poured hot water for both of them and added tea bags.

“Milk, sugar or honey?” she asked as she slid the cup towards Bethany.

“Nothing, thanks.”

Marcia added a splash of milk and a heaping spoonful of sugar to her cup and gave it a stir.

“Let’s go get comfortable, shall we?” She led the way into the dining room and to a booth with soft padded seats. Once they were both settled and sipping their tea, Marcia began the interview.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been gone from Quinn Valley. How long are you planning to stick around?”

Bethany smiled. Marcia never was one to beat around the bush. And she could understand her concern. She didn’t want to be replacing the position again in a few months.

“My intention is to stay in Quinn Valley.”

Marcia looked pleased to hear it. But also a bit confused. “Your resume is impressive. You’ve worked at some fine restaurants in Manhattan. Why would you leave that?”

Bethany took a deep breath. She knew some would think her decision was crazy. She was at the prime of her career now and it wouldn’t be difficult to find a new position in NYC. She’d had several offers already as soon as word got out that she’d left her last role.

“I never intended to stay long-term in Manhattan,” she began softly. “I love Quinn Valley and it was always my intention to come back here when the time was right.”

“And the time is right now?” Marcia leaned forward in her chair, listening intently.

“It’s as right as it’s ever going to be. I was going to stay in Manhattan another year or two,” Bethany admitted. “I still have things to learn and when I came home, it was just going to be for a visit. But, I’ve changed my mind and have decided it’s time to stay.”

There was a long moment of silence as Bethany debated how much to share. But then Marcia asked, “How is your mother doing?” Her tone was so kind and caring that Bethany was surprised to feel her eyes watering as the emotion welled up.

It had been a stressful two weeks since she’d been home. Her mother was her rock, and it had been a shock to see her so weak and sick. She wasn’t sure, by the way Marcia said it, if she knew what was going on with her mother.

“She hasn’t been well. But she’s on the mend. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but she has breast cancer.”

“I did hear, and I’m very sorry.” Bethany wasn’t sure, but for a moment, Marcia’s eyes looked a bit damp.

“Thank you. It’s very treatable, stage one and has an excellent prognosis,” she assured her. “She didn’t tell me right away because she didn’t want me to worry. She’s had radiation and just finished with chemotherapy. It seems to be working well, but she’s been very tired and not up to doing much.”

“I can imagine. Please give her a hug from me. I told her I’d stop by whenever she’s up for company. We’re actually in a book club together and I see her often.”

Bethany smiled. “I’ll do that.” She looked around the room at the warm dark wood, polished brass trim and the light that poured through the large bay windows. It was a cozy place, and cheerful. She could imagine herself working there.

“I own a condo in Manhattan but will eventually put it on the market and buy something here in Quinn Valley. For now I’m staying with my mother.”

“I’m sure she is thrilled to have your company.” Marcia picked up Bethany’s resume, and they talked for a bit about the different restaurants she’d worked at and what the focus of each had been.

“I’ve heard of some of these places. Are you sure Quinn’s Pub will be enough for you? We’re not terribly fancy here.” For the first time, Marcia looked worried.

“I’m not interested in fancy. I like to make good food. Meals that people crave. Comfort food.”

Marcia looked delighted to hear that. “Really? What’s your favorite comfort food meal?”

Bethany laughed. “That’s easy. I make an insanely good turkey pot pie. Or rotisserie chicken. It’s all good. My short ribs and mashed potatoes are pretty amazing too.”

“Those are both favorites of mine,” Marcia said.

“The short-ribs takes hours to braise, but if you have a leftover chicken or turkey on hand, I could whip up a pot pie pretty quickly,” Bethany offered. “We could keep chatting while I do it.”

“That’s a fabulous idea. I usually ask candidates to make a dish, but given where you’ve worked, I know you can do the job. If you don’t mind though, it would be lovely to see how you work and taste your pot pie.”

“I’m happy to do it and I’d love to get the feel of your kitchen. It looks like it has just about everything I’d need.”

Marcia beamed. “It does. I designed it myself. And we have a few roasted chickens in the refrigerator. I was going to make chicken salad, but we can use one for a pot pie.”

When they stood to head into the kitchen, Marcia froze for a moment as she faced the big bay window that looked out over the sidewalk. She looked like she’d seen a ghost or was maybe about to faint.

“Is everything okay?” Bethany asked.

Marcia turned her way and smiled though she still seemed a bit shaken. “Oh, everything’s fantastic. I just thought I saw someone I knew for a minute there. An old friend that I haven’t seen in years. But I’m sure it was someone else. Follow me.”

Marcia showed her where everything was in the kitchen and they continued chatting while Bethany worked. She quickly made a pie crust first and Marcia looked surprised when she asked for vodka.

“That’s a first,” Marcia said as she handed her a bottle of vodka.

Bethany added a generous splash of it to the dough. “I learned this trick a few years ago. A little vodka makes for a light and flaky crust.”

“Well, isn’t that something?”

Once the crust was done, Bethany moved on to a saute pan where she added a generous glob of butter and some sliced onions. Once they were browned, she added chicken broth and sliced cooked carrots and potatoes and shredded chicken that she’d tossed with a bit of flour, salt and pepper. She stirred it all together and a few minutes after the mixture thickened up, she poured it into a pie pan lined with the dough. She added the top crust, poked a few holes in it for ventilation and slid it into the heated oven.

While the pie cooked, she and Marcia continued talking, moving past her experience and onto people they knew in common in Quinn Valley. Marcia caught her up on just about everyone.

“Oh, and there’s another amazing chef in town. Do you like tacos?”

Bethany laughed. “Of course. Who doesn’t like tacos?”

“Right. Silly question. Anyway, you must stop by Ciran’s Taco Truck. He spent time in Texas and studied taco making. He’s also back with his high school sweetheart, Roxane.”

“I remember Ciran. I thought he was going to be a lawyer? Or maybe I remembered that wrong?”

“No, he was. He did. But tacos are his true passion.”

Bethany smiled. “Well, I’d much rather make tacos than be a lawyer too.” She hesitated and then asked the question she’d been dying to ask since she walked through the door. “How’s Ryder doing?” Marcia had mentioned everyone they had in common, except her oldest son.

A curious gleam came into Marcia’s eyes. “I’m so glad you asked. Ryder is fantastic. Better than ever. He’s away this weekend at his college roommate’s wedding. Otherwise he’d be here.”

“He still works in the pub?” Bethany had known it was possible, likely even, but she hadn’t been sure. She’d known he’d gone to college and was going to study business. At one point, she’d known everything Ryder wanted to do, all his hopes and dreams. But those dreams had included her and when she broke his heart, he’d cut her out of his life.

“He and Maggie bought me out a little over a year ago. Maggie runs the bar and Ryder oversees all the overall operations.” Bethany’s heart sank. Ryder was in charge. And there was probably no way he’d approve hiring her.

“So, I’ll have to meet with Ryder too?” She was already dreading it.

But Marcia cheerfully shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“No?” Bethany wasn’t sure if she’d heard right.

“Ryder gave me permission to hire whoever I like. I told him to trust me.”

Bethany wondered if his mother knew what she was doing. She couldn’t imagine that Ryder would be happy about this, if she was offered the job without his input.

“I can’t wait to try your pie. It smells delicious.” Marcia smiled as she changed the subject.

Bethany could tell by the smell that the pie was ready. Some chefs went by a timer and a recipe, but she went by feel and taste and smell. She pulled the pie out of the oven and it was perfectly golden brown. She found two small plates and a spatula and scooped some of the pie onto each plate. She looked around for forks and Marcia was holding two of them. She handed one to Bethany and took a bite.

Bethany watched and waited for Marcia’s verdict. Marcia took another bite, closed her eyes and made a happy sound.

“Mmmmm. Bethany, I make a good pot pie myself, but this is outstanding. Really exceptional.”

Bethany was pleased to hear it. Nothing made her happier than hearing that people enjoyed her food. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“I was going to offer you the job anyway,” Marcia admitted. “How soon do you think you could start?”

“As soon as you want me.”

“If you like, you could start tonight and work side by side with me. I could use the help as Saturdays can be busy.”

Bethany grinned. “I’d love to.”