A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

Taylor nodded. “That will give us time to eat what looks like a still-life prop.”

Sonja agreed with him. She’d arranged the platter to resemble objects for still-life painters. She motioned to the stools at the breakfast bar. “Please sit. I’ll get some plates and forks.”

Chapter Nine

Taylor’s forefinger traced the stem of his wineglass as he stared across the table at Sonja. Sharing dinner with her had exceeded his expections.

He had always been very selective when it came to dating. He knew it stemmed from not knowing the identity of his biological father and feared he could possibly be dating his biological half sister. He was certain he and Sonja did not share DNA because of her father’s military career. She’d said she was born in a hospital near an army installation on the Kentucky-Tennessee border, whereas the year before, his mother had given birth to him in a Newark, New Jersey, municipal hospital.

Taylor did not have what he thought of as a type when it came to a woman. He didn’t judge them by their appearance, but rather their intelligence and ability to hold his attention, and it was a plus if they shared the same interests.

Picking up the wineglass, he took a sip. “I think you missed your true calling,” he said as he smiled over the rim at Sonja.

“And what is that?”

“You should’ve become a chef. Everything was delicious, beginning with the cheese and fruit, and the rice, beans, and chicken were comparable to what I’ve eaten at La Casa Del Mofongo.”

Sonja shook her head. “I like to cook, but not enough to spend hours on my feet cooking for a lot of people. Been there, done that.”

Taylor sat straight. “When?”

“Viola didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’d been married.”

He blinked slowly. Although Sonja had said she didn’t have a husband or boyfriend, she hadn’t mentioned an ex-husband. “My sister and I don’t discuss you.”

Sonja gave him a long stare. “I was married while still in college. He—”

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want,” Taylor said, interrupting her.

“But I do, Taylor,” Sonja said in a quiet voice. If she hoped to have a normal relationship with Taylor, then he needed to know some of what she’d gone through with her ex. “I was twenty when I enrolled in an advanced art history class and got involved with my much older instructor. When I agreed to marry him, I had no idea I would become the quintessential trophy wife. I dropped out eighteen credits shy of earning my degree in order to become the hostess for his friends and colleagues.”

“How long were you married?”

“We lived together for four years. Once I felt I was being smothered I knew I had to get out, so I waited until he was scheduled to lecture at an exhibition in Denver and left.”

“Where did you go?” Taylor asked.

“I stayed with my parents at their retirement home in the Adirondack Mountains and sued Hugh for divorce. He countersued me for abandonment, and I was forced to commute between New York and Boston for court hearings. More than half the time they were postponed when Hugh’s attorney wouldn’t show up or he would have his doctor claim he was unable to appear because of a medical emergency. This went on for two years until he met someone else and decided it was time to let me go. Meanwhile, I’d moved downstate to live with my aunt and uncle. I enrolled at Pratt and finally got my degrees. End of chapter.”

Taylor pushed to his feet, rounded the table, pulled a chair close to Sonja’s and draped an arm over her shoulders. “It’s the end of that chapter and now a beginning of another, sweetheart.”

Sonja rested her forehead against Taylor’s. “I should’ve said ‘end of story’ because that’s a scenario in my past I don’t intend to repeat.”

“Are you talking about marriage, Sonja?”

“Yes.” The single word was flat, emotionless.

Taylor kissed her curls. “Not all men are like your ex.”

“I know that, Taylor. I just don’t want to marry again.”

“What do you want, muñeca?”

Sonja knew this was her opening to talk to Taylor about several ideas she’d thought of for Bainbridge House. “Do you remember when I talked to you about establishing a farm on the property?”

He laughed softly. “How can I forget. You did promise to put everything down on paper.”

“I did before I decided to scrap it.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Sonja turned her head slightly so Taylor wouldn’t see her grin of supreme satisfaction. His fingers gently stroked the nape of her neck as if she were a purring cat, and the gentleness in his voice indicated he could possibly be receptive to hearing her out. “Have you ever eaten at a restaurant with farm-to-table service?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“If you had, then you’d know what I’m proposing. I haven’t looked at the blueprints of the property, but with more than three hundred acres it wouldn’t take that much for you to erect greenhouses to produce fruits and vegetables year-round. The dining menu could change with the availability of whatever is in season. There’s nothing tastier than freshly picked herbs and greens to accompany a meat, fish or chicken entrée. Sorrel in a salad adds an intense lemony tang. Once you eat a fresh jicama slaw with mango, cilantro and lime you’ll want to order it over and over.”

Taylor’s fingers stilled. “What about chickens?”

This time Sonja did flash a smile for Taylor to see. “There is a distinct difference in eating an egg laid by a chicken earlier that morning and one in a supermarket refrigerated case.”

“What happens to the chickens once they stop laying?”

“You kill and eat them, Taylor.”

A beat passed. “When I asked my mother about Dad growing up at Bainbridge House, he’d told her they had sheep and ducks on the property.”

Shifting slightly on her chair to face Taylor, Sonja met his eyes. “Didn’t you say something disparaging about Old MacDonald’s farm?”

“Did I really?”

“Yeah. And