Page 2 of Lessons in Lemonade

Dr. Leffers called one of his partners, and although I’m certain the surgeons here are fine, I just want to be cut open by one of our own, in my city, with our people. One of the team’s on-call private planes is currently waiting on standby to take me home, where I’ll be met by familiar faces and a hospital I know.

Home.

I can’t get there and away from here fast enough.

But as my eyes skip to the person behind security, what I’m not expecting is to see another familiar face walk through the door—someone I didn’t even know was here in Seattle, a person I’m not prepared to see but am so grateful for. Emotions flood me from every direction, my breath catching in my throat, and with that, the last of the very thin armor holding me together cracks.

I couldn’t stop the tears even if I tried. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, cover my face with the towel again, and as she wraps her arms around me and runs her fingers through my damp hair, I openly cry.

Ham-wich

Seven months earlier

EVERY DAY MY heart is at war with my brain, and every day the brain wins out.

I’ve learned over the last couple of years that there’s no point in allowing emotions to drive us, our behaviors, or our decisions. They make the most rational person irrational, and I find that’s no way to live.

Heart—everything happens for a reason. Brain—no, sometimes bad things just happen.

Heart—good things come to those who wait. Brain—no, good things come to those who hustle, work for it, and never give up.

Heart—if only I was a little bit prettier, taller, funnier, he’d like me more. Brain—no, you are gorgeous inside and out; if he can’t see what a badass you are, he’s not worthy.

Sure, there’s the romantic side of me that wants to believe there’s some truth to wishes made on coins tossed into a fountain, candles blown out on a cake, and shooting stars—after all, the idea of these originated from somewhere—but the truth is, it’s all fake and there’s no such thing as luck. Those are just dreams of the heart. The only thing that matters is what we can give each day and to make a promise to ourselves, originated from the brain, that we’ll live life to the fullest.

Hence why I’ve adopted the expression When life gives you lemons, make lemonade as my life motto.

Lemonade. Lemon martinis. Lemon pound cake. Lemon bars. As a chef, they all work, and depending on my mood—sweet, salty, bitter, or sour—I’ve been known to make all of them.

Just the thought of ooey-gooey pound cake has my stomach growling and me looking at the caterers as they put the finishing touches on the food stations around the tasting room of Wolff Winery.

Shelby, my soul sister, and I are here for the wrap party of the latest issue of Food Network’s All About the South magazine. In this edition, the magazine focused on farm-to-table local foods, and Shelby was hired to provide the magazine with restaurant recommendations across the southeast. Along with that, she was paired with Zach Wolff here at Wolff Winery to create food pairings for his wine. She spent a few weeks on site in the spring, working with Zach on the recipes, being filmed, and basically loving every minute of it.

Including him.

That’s right—they fell in love. I mean how could she not? It’s my first time here, but this place is magical, like right out of a fairytale magical, including the castle, which is the main structure of the winery. How crazy is that? A castle, here, in the middle of nowhere northern Georgia, complete with east and west wings, a ballroom for functions, a library, a sitting room, a dining room, a tasting room, and—well, it’s just exquisite.

And also overwhelming.

Needing a moment to myself before the chaos fully begins, I slip out past some of the few guests who have already arrived, heading to the back porch overlooking the rows and rows of full leafy vines at the base of the Smoky Mountains. As much as I love a good party, there’s a reason I choose to be in the kitchen. I’d rather be lost in a recipe or creating something new than have to entertain and make sure everyone is happy and good to go.

A bee buzzes by before it lands on a planter hanging over the railing. I take a deep breath in and slowly let it out as I watch it dip in and out of a tall stalk of lavender. The lavender here is plentiful, and the bees make the most delicious lavender honey, another element in the winery’s overall charm, and that reminds me I need to grab a few jars before I leave tomorrow.

“There you are—what are you doing out here?” Michelle asks from behind me. She’s standing in the doorway, looking concerned, so I smile brightly. I hate it when people are uncomfortable or unhappy because of me. Michelle works here at Wolff Winery, for Zach, and is quite possibly the sweetest person I have ever met.

“Nothing. It’s just so pretty. I know it’s almost noon, but I thought I’d step out for a minute to soak up some of this country air.” And a minute is really about all I got. I live in Charleston, which is only five hours away, but the air here feels and smells so different. It’s nice to be able to take it in while I can.

She moves to stand next to me, and I grin down at her cowgirl boots. While I am always in heels, and I do mean always, she’s always in boots. At least we’re consistent.

“It is beautiful here,” she says, staring out over the property. “Some days I pinch myself, expecting to wake up, because this has to be a dream.”

I know what she means; it’s how I feel when I’m standing in my restaurant’s kitchen.

Glancing back inside, she takes a few steps away and toward the party. “New people have arrived, and Shelby is looking for you.”

“Tell her I’ll be there in another minute. And thank you.”

She nods in understanding and leaves me.