Chapter One
Portland, Oregon
“I got the job,” Tara Tarleton whispered, staring at her laptop screen in disbelief. “I got the job?” she questioned, reading the email a second time.
Realization settled over her in a burst of unbridled enthusiasm. She jumped to her feet and pumped both fists into the air. “I got the job! Woo-hoo!”
In the midst of her victory dance around the bedroom, her roommate raced in, armed with a rolled up newspaper and prepared to do battle.
“If there’s another spider in here as big as the last one, you have to kill it yourself,” Ellen Meade said, waving the newspaper in Tara’s direction.
“Who cares about spiders,” Tara declared, embracing her friend in a jubilant hug. “I got the job!”
Ellen pulled away with a surprised look. “The job? As in the job on a southern plantation that you’ve not stopped talking about since you got back from your interview a month ago. That job?”
Tara grinned. “That’s the one!” She spread her arms wide and spun around her room, delirious with joy. “Oh, I can’t believe I’m actually going to be the pastry chef at Magnolia Rose Plantation for this year’s living history event.” The euphoric spinning came to an abrupt halt and her smile morphed into a look of panic. “I have so much to do! I need to let my boss know I’m taking a month off, and I’ve got to pack. I’ll need my spice collection and my knives. Maybe I should plan to ship some stuff ahead. Do you think I should…?”
Ellen laughed and gave Tara another hug. “I think you need to take a moment to let it all sink in, my friend. It’s not every day a dream comes true. You’ve always wanted to visit the South. Once you finished culinary school, you dreamed of cooking there. It’s so awesome you have this opportunity.”
“It is awesome.” Tara sank down on the corner of her bed. “I feel like I should pinch myself to make sure I didn’t make this whole thing up.”
Ellen playfully smacked Tara’s arm with the newspaper still in her hand. “It’s real, Tara. When do you leave?”
“Day after tomorrow,” she said, pointing to the laptop on her small desk.
Ellen read the message then turned back to Tara. “What can I do to help?”
“Go with me to tell my mother?” Tara asked with a knowing smile.
Ellen shook her head and backed toward the door. “You are on your own with that one. The shrieks of excitement when you tell her might shatter glass, or at least break a few eardrums. I’ll find some boxes to ship your baking stuff while you tell her.”
“Coward,” Tara teased. She grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. Her parents lived a few miles from the apartment she and Ellen shared. The two girls met when they were eleven and bumped into each other on the first day of school. They made a pact to battle the harrowing halls of junior high together and remained best friends, even fourteen years later.
After Ellen had graduated at the top of her class from law school, she took a job with a prestigious law firm downtown. Tara had no doubt her friend would one day become a partner, if not at that firm, then one with a similar reputation. Sensible and determined, Ellen had both feet firmly planted on the ground and her entire future planned out, right down to the month she would wed. The only challenge to her plans was finding a boyfriend who was potential husband material.
Tara, on the other hand, believed dreams were just a lot of hard work and a few heartfelt wishes away. After all, the invitation to work in Atlanta offered proof that her anything-is-possible outlook on life held a measure of merit.
Ten minutes later, she parked her car in the driveway of her parents’ two-story home. Tara rushed up the walk and gave a perfunctory knock on the vibrant magenta-colored door before turning the knob and stepping inside. Although the outside of the house looked like another cookie-cutter single family dwelling from the nineties, the inside transported guests to a time long past.
Through yard sales, estate sales, and second-hand stores, Melanie Tarleton had amassed a collection of furniture and décor that would have made any Victorian woman proud.
As a child, Tara hated the “old stuff” in their house, finding many of the pieces ugly and a few downright uncomfortable. The constant threat of bodily harm if she and her brother ever broke one of the antiques loomed over the house throughout her childhood. She likened her home life in her younger years to living inside a museum twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
As an adult, Tara could appreciate the work and effort her mother put into creating a showpiece from a bygone era.
“Mom?” Tara called, walking past the front room. Decorated to resemble a Victorian parlor, the floral wallpaper right down to the burgundy velvet tufted chaise lounge in front of the fireplace definitely looked the part.
A feminine voice carried down the hall. “In the kitchen, honey.”
Tara made her way into the sunny kitchen where her mom rolled out a crust for an apple pie.
“Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here in the middle of the week? I usually don’t see you until Sunday when you and your brother come for dinner. Have you heard from Peter? He had finals this week and was worried about how he’d do in his English class.”
“He sent a text that he aced it, or at least he thought he had.” Tara picked up a slice of apple from a bowl and took a bite. “I had some news I wanted to share with you.”
Melanie stopped rolling the piecrust and tipped her head to the side, studying her daughter. Both were dark haired with green eyes and the resemblance between the two women was strong. “Something exciting, I’d guess, by the look in your eye. What is it, honey?”
“I didn’t tell you this earlier because I wasn’t sure what would happen.” Tara picked up a spoon and stirred cinnamon into the bowl of apples. “Remember last month when I was out of town for a few days?”
“Yes. You told us you were out of town on a work thing. Did you lie to me? Were you off canoodling with a man?” Melanie wiped her hands on a dishtowel and narrowed her gaze. “Tara Scarlett Tarleton! I taught you better than that! I don’t care how old you are, you should know…”
Tara held up a hand to stop her mother’s tirade. “Mom! Just let me finish, please!” When Melanie snapped her mouth shut, Tara grinned. “It was a work thing, but not how you think. I was interviewing for a job. In Atlanta.”
“Atlanta!” Melanie threw her hands up in the air while glaring at Tara. “Doing what? Where?”
“It’s a position as a pastry chef at Magnolia Rose Plantation, just south of Atlanta. Each April, they do a living history event. Guests stay for the whole month and while they are there, they live just like it was 1860, before the Civil War started. They wear costumes and no electronics are allowed during the day. It’s unlike anything you can imagine. Anyway, the pastry chef who usually works the event is on maternity leave so they needed someone to fill in this year. They chose me, Mom! Out of four hundred applicants, they chose me!”
Melanie squealed so loudly, Tara clapped her hands over her ears and cringed. She opened her eyes when her mother wrapped her in a breath-robbing hug. The woman began jumping up and down in excitement while still holding tightly to Tara. “Oh, my sweet darling! That is amazing! So you get to cook on a plantation for the whole month?”
Tara tried to loosen her mother’s grip, but couldn’t quite escape her grasp or exhilaration. “That’s the plan, Mom. I leave day after tomorrow. I just found out a little while ago and came right over to tell you. It’s such an amazing opportunity and will look great on my resume.”
Melanie released her hold and stepped back. “How will Mr. Bonnell get by without you for a month? That bakery has doubled their business since you started working there.”
Tara shrugged. “I already talked to him about it. He has a few people who can help him out part-time. You know how Mr. Bonnell is. He encouraged me to try this and not worry about leaving him short-handed. As soon as I leave here, I’m stopping by to tell him the news.”
Melanie squealed again and bobbed up and down, rubbing her hands together. “I’m so thrilled one of us will finally get to visit the South. I’ve always wanted to go on a grand tour of plantation homes, but your father can’t get away from work that long. Maybe someday we’ll make it once he retires.”
“I promise you can live vicariously through me while I’m there.” Tara snitched another slice of apple and waggled it at her mother. “Will you tell Dad the news? I really should go. I don’t have much time to get everything together before I fly out.”
“Sure, honey. If you need anything from us, let me know. Oh, this is just so exciting. If your grandmother were still alive, she’d be beside herself with joy.”
“I know, Mom. I sure miss Grammy.” Tara hugged her mother then walked with her down the hall toward the front door. “Maybe I’ll sit under a magnolia tree and watch fireflies, just like she always talked about doing someday.”
“You do that, baby.” Melanie gave her a sly look. “And maybe you’ll be sitting under that tree with Mr. Right holding your hand.”
Tara rolled her eyes and opened the front door. “Why must you work my need to meet Mr. Right into every conversation we have?”
“Because you still haven’t found him.” Melanie grinned. “Once you do, I’ll never mention it again.”
“Bye, Mom.” Tara kissed her mother’s cheek then jogged back to her car.
The next stop on her list took her to the bakery where she worked. Mr. Bonnell looked up from the counter in the back where he formed fragrant cinnamon-laced dough into uniform loaves.
“Let me guess. You got the job,” the older man said, smiling at her.
Unable to contain her happiness, Tara nodded her head. “I did. They asked me to leave in two days. Are you sure you don’t mind me going for a month?”
Mr. Bonnell beamed at Tara. “I’ll make do just fine, Tara. My nephew and his son will help keep things running on schedule. Go on and have your adventure. You deserve it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tara said. She helped him finish the loaves of bread before she left with his blessing and words of encouragement. On her way home, she ran by the store and picked up several things she thought she might need, and then sped back to the apartment to pack.
In less than forty-eight hours, she’d be in Atlanta, ready to make her dreams come true.