Sweet Salt Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

envy. It wasn’t about Julian. It was about loving and being loved in return. “You miss him.”
    “Yes.” She gathered herself. “Hence my blog.”
    “Go on,” Charlotte urged gently.
    Sitting straighter, Nicole wet her lips. “Well, you know I like to cook. And entertain.”
    “Martha Stewart Living .” It had always been around the house. Even now, there had to be a dozen issues stacked on the coffee table. Granted, a second stack held copies of New England Home, Summer Cottage, and Cooking Light, but the Living pile was higher.
    “My bible,” Nicole admitted. “It still inspires me, but since I never have exactly the same ingredients she does for, say, a roast duck or bouillabaisse—or the same materials for a centerpiece—mine come out a little different. So Julian and I were having people for dinner a lot—doctors, hospital administrators, friends who’d bring friends—and afterward they’d ask for recipes, or menu suggestions, or how to arrange wildflowers in a vase, or where to buy grass-fed beef. After a while, I thought it’d be cool to have a place to post the information so that everyone could read it. Suddenly people I didn’t know were e-mailing. They were picking up on organic and local and homegrown.”
    “It’s a hot topic.”
    “I wasn’t thinking about that when I started to blog, but by the time the site was built, most of my posts had to do with eating organic, buying organic, supporting local farms and markets, and identifying restaurants that did the same, because that’s what people were asking about. I began tagging along with Julian when he traveled for work, so it wasn’t just Philadelphia, but Seattle, Denver, and Chicago. And it was Quinnipeague. People here didn’t give it a name, but they were living farm-to-table before farm-to-table was a movement. They didn’t call their produce organic, but they let you know that they didn’t use artificial pesticides and fertilizers, and you knew the result—all delicious and safe. Organic was ingrained in me. Majoring in environmental studies at Middlebury was a logical next step, but I swear I didn’t put two and two together until I started blogging about Quinnipeague. It’s amazing, Charlotte. Those blogs get the most responses. People love reading about local farms and hand-made goods and free-range chickens, and it’s all about farm-to-table.”
    “Hence Nickitotable.com.” Charlotte was still amazed. “How many people read you now? Say, a single post.”
    “Over time, maybe thirty thousand.”
    “And Twitter?”
    “The same number.”
    Charlotte sat back. “That’s amazing, Nicki. All from nothing in how long?”
    “Six years. Mostly the last four.” Pushing up, she was off for the kitchen again. “I have cookies.”
    “I’m stuffed, ” Charlotte cried, but the words of protest were barely out when Nicole returned with a dish of chocolate almond cookies.
    “From the café.” Settling back into the sofa, she retrieved her cappuccino.
    Charlotte took a cookie, but didn’t eat. “Did your dad know about the book?”
    “He knew I was talking with a publisher. He’d have loved this.” She frowned at her cup and said quietly, “I think about your parents, who weren’t there for you. Then I think about Dad and me. To be so close to a parent—I was very lucky.”
    “You still are. You have Julian and his kids. You have Angie. They keep you anchored. I envy you that.”
    “You do not,” Nicole scoffed with a small smile. “You love freedom. You love adventure . I’m the one who needs support.” She stood, pausing as she reached for the fruit. “You’ve had enough, right?”
    “For now.” But before she could tell Nicole to sit and relax, Nicole was collecting utensils and plates. “Did you finish the Australia story?”
    “I did.” Gathering up wineglasses and napkins, Charlotte followed her into the kitchen. “Seriously. You have an incredible life. Freedom has its downside. There are