PART TWO:

That night, they all went to the Church to eat the fish Chelsea had caught and Ferena and Pierre had prepared. She stared at her portion. It was lemon pepper. What really got her was that everyone was saying how great it was, like she'd never made fish for them before. Sure she wasn't the best cook, but it was decent. She was actually good at making desserts more than anything else.

She sighed as she picked at her fish. No matter how good it actually tasted, her anger towards the stupid boy made it taste sour in her stomach. She sighed and stood up. "Sorry, but I'm not feeling well. I'm going home."

"Oh! Chelsea, I'll go with you." Erik offered but she waved him off.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine." She exited the Church and headed down the path towards her house. She opened the door and flopped down on the bed once more, curling into a ball under the sheets before falling asleep.

The next morning dawned and Chelsea awoke to the calming sounds of the birds and the feel of sunlight on her face. She smiled as she stretched and sat up. "What a beautiful day."

She hopped out of bed and tied her hair back in it's kerchief before heading out for the fields. She smiled as she neared the gate, but then she saw something that wiped that happy smile off her face. There, standing with Erik and Natalie, was an obnoxious purple hat. That's right! I forgot about him! She groaned. She grabbed the watering pail and headed into the field.

"These look like they'd make some really tasty dishes!" The eighth generation Gourmet was saying. "They're nice and firm, and have a very good color. Quite fine as tomatoes go."

Natalie smiled. "You sure know a lot, Gourmet-san!" She looked up when she noticed the other farm girl. "Oh hey! It's Chelsea!" She smiled as she greeted her friend. "Feeling better?"

"Not really." She sighed as she started watering the plants, deliberately ignoring the blonde boy squeezing tomatoes.

Erik looked over at the farmer. "Chelsea? I think these tomatoes are ready to be picked. What do you say? You're the expert after all."

Chelsea bent down to inspect the vegetables. "I think they're ready." She gripped the red ball and pulled it off the vine, adding it to the basket that Erik had brought with him. The other two farmers smiled and finished picking the ripe tomatoes off the plants.

The farmer continued to water the plants and checked the other crops as well. They deemed some of the corn ready as well. Once the produce was picked, the sorted it in piles of what they were going to keep and what they would sell. Pierre looked over their shoulders. "Are we eating these?"

Erik nodded. "I bet Chelsea can make a really good vegetable soup with all the vegetables we've grown! She makes good salads, too."

The gourmet groaned. "She's cooking again?"

Chelsea just scooped the produce to keep into the basket and stalked into the kitchen. She put most of them in the fridge and took out other vegetables and a pot, starting a soup. "Jerk. Why can't he just shut his mouth and leave me alone. He doesn't do any of the work, so he can't complain if the way I make things isn't the way he likes them." She viciously started chopping the vegetables, not really paying attention to what she was doing.

"You shouldn't cook when you're angry. It's gonna make the food taste bad."

Chelsea ignored him and continued chopping. Pierre's annoying voice piped up again. "You should cut the vegetables all the same size. That way they cook more evenly."

The farmer slammed down the knife. "Don't tell me how to make soup! It doesn't take a rocket scientist!"

"No, it just takes someone with minimal cooking skills."

She wheeled around to face him, lobbing a glob of mushed up tomato at him. "Get out of my kitchen! Just leave me alone and be happy we're feeding you at all you freeloader!"

Pierre stood in shock as the tomato juice slid down his face. He reached up a hand to his face, frowning when it came back red. He glared at her. "You really are impossible! All I'm trying to do is help!"

"Well I don't want your help! Just leave me alone!" She screamed.

"Fine! Go ahead and screw up everything you make because you're too pig headed to take advice from someone with experience!" He then turned and stalked out to the kitchen to go get cleaned up.

Chelsea frowned as she finished chopping. How dare he call her pig headed! Grrr! He really got on her nerves!

That night, she didn't even look at him as she brought in the pot of soup for everyone and she noticed that, while he ate what he was given, he kept making stupid faces. That really ticked her off and she excused herself early once again, going home to sit and scream into her pillow.

This continued on for the rest of the week and the constant bickering was really taking its toll on the girl. She couldn't concentrate on her farm work and the fields were suffering. Tarou suggested she limit herself to fishing and foraging while she was in these moods and all but banished her from the fields. She sighed as she picked up her basket and headed out towards the woods.

She passed the field where everyone, even the stupid purple pain, were working. Pierre looked at her. "Umm. . . Miss Chelsea?" She stopped her walking and turned to glare at him. "Uh, could I talk to you?"

"You're already talking to me." She said as she started moving again. He sighed. "No, I meant . . . in private?"

She looked at him, then behind him to where Natalie and Erik were nodding. She sighed and nodded, gesturing to her basket. "Fine. We can talk while I'm gathering."

Pierre nodded and walked with her. It was quiet for a while before the young man spoke up. "I-I'm sorry for ruining your fish. It's your house and I should have let you make it however you wanted."

She turned to him a scowl on her face. "That's right! You should have! You know, I may not be the best cook in the world, but everyone seemed to think I did just fine." She huffed as she collected wild grasses to be shipped. "You know, I do know how to bake. Cooking is alright, but baking is fun."

"Oh? You bake?"

Chelsea nodded. "It was probably my cakes that you were getting from the mainland."

Pierre stared at her. "Those were yours?! Why didn't you say anything?!"

She glared at him. "Maybe because you were being so whiny and butting in all over the place!"

Pierre stared at her. "Hey! I knew I'd seen you before! Didn't you used to work in a bakery on the mainland? In the city?"

Chelsea stared at him. "So? What if I did?"

"I used to come in there all the time! It was your mother's shop, right?"

"NO!" Chelsea screamed at him, but then realized just how loud she'd been and covered her mouth. "Ahem. No, she was my auntie."

"Oh . . ." Pierre bent down and started helping her pull up grasses. "So, how come you guys closed? I went to get a cake a while ago and there was a big 'closed' sign on the door, but no explanation." Chelsea was quiet for a long time and soon Pierre was thinking he'd said something wrong. "Miss Chelsea?" He looked over to her and noticed she'd stopped plucking grasses and was instead wiping her face with her sleeves. His face blanched. "Hey, are you okay?" He stood and moved closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Chelsea?"

She suddenly stood, knocking him backwards. Pierre fell sprawled on the grass. "Don't think I like you one bit, just because you saw me crying! I hate you!" She turned and stormed back towards the farm, entering her house and slamming the door.

"Jeeze, what was that all about?" He thought as he sat up, rubbing his butt where he'd fell. He looked over to the farmhouse and then down at the stains all over his jacket and hat. He brushed them off and pouted. "Well, I don't like you either! Lousy no-talent cook." He replaced his hat and headed back towards the farm.

Now that he'd figured out where the cakes came from, and that they were indeed the same ones from the bakery, he really had no reason to stay. Maybe I can use the radio and convince the boat to come back early. When he passed by Chelsea's house and heard the quiet sobs coming from inside, though, something felt like it was being thrown upside down inside him. He couldn't actually like her. Could he?

He walked through the town, thinking about it. There was nothing about her that was desirable. She couldn't cook worth anything. At least his mother could cook and satisfy his father. He thought about his dad. He judged all the local cooking contests in the towns and was usually gone most of the spring and summer seasons. But he did teach him all about cooking and enjoying someone's cooking (When it was good, at least. He'd heard horror stories from his father about some of the things people had allegedly cooked).

He was taught how to taste the different flavors and how they all came together in a dish. How to look for just the right texture in different dishes, making sure creamy foods were creamy, but not runny, and thick foods had a good consistency, not just lumpy. He really taught him to appreciate the fine art of food testing and use his passed-down tongue talents to his advantage. He was even planning on taking over for his father one day. Then his life would be filled with food and that'd be what he'd live for, to find the perfect dish made by the perfect chef. But was that what he really wanted?

Pierre sighed as he sat down on a bench in what he assumed used to be the town square. He'd never been left alone this long just to think about things, about what he was going to do with his life. But after coming here and seeing how these people were living, he really had to admire them.

And something had to be keeping Chelsea here. Really, he could see why the others would stay, but why didn't she go back to the bakery with her aunt and reopen it? No doubt their cakes were some of the best he'd tasted, but he also knew Chelsea wouldn't be a very good bakery owner. She was too harsh and took criticism badly. He scowled. That girl confused him.

"Hello Gourmet-san." Pierre looked up to see a kind, round face. "Oh! Good afternoon Pastor Roven." The man smiled as he sat next to the blonde. "What a wonderful day. How is the simple life treating you?"

Pierre sighed. "It's got its ups. And one big down." He said, thinking of the farmer girl.

Roven chuckled. "I'm sure for one who comes from such a big city, it's not very exciting. This is such a small town, but it's peaceful. It would be nice if more people could come and experience the joys of simple living from the bounty of the Harvest Goddess." Pierre silently nodded, not knowing what to say. "Well Gourmet-san, are you planning on staying long? I know you didn't find your bakery."

Pierre shook his head. "No, didn't find a bakery."

Roven smiled. "Instead you found our Miss Chelsea." He chuckled. "I'm glad. Miss Chelsea has been through a lot. As have all of Tarou-sama's family. They were first to settle here, you know?"

"No, I didn't know."

"Oh yes. Tarou-sama and his family were on a boat from the mainland. They were looking for a new start in life. Miss Chelsea was just looking for somewhere far away from her hurtful past, I believe. They were shipwrecked, and managed to get their small life boat to this run-down island. But now, the Island seems like it's coming back to life. They gave it a new life, as the Island has given them the new lives they were looking for." He smiled. "The Harvest Goddess always provides."

"I guess so." Pierre was thinking. Chelsea had a hurtful past? Maybe that's why she was crying when he mentioned her aunt. He felt bad for her.

"Well, it would be nice if you could stay. You seem like a nice young man, Gourmet-san."

"Thank you." He smiled and the pastor excused himself. Pierre sat for a while longer, thinking. Maybe. . . maybe he could help her? Maybe he could help the Island? He got up and hurried back to the farmhouse, a wonderful idea in his head.

Everyone was outside except for Erik, whom greeted him when he came into the house. "Hey Gourmet-san, what's up?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could use your radio?"

"Sure! You know where it's at." Pierre nodded and hurried to the storage room where the radio was kept. He picked up the receiver and turned it on. He smiled as he relayed a message that he hoped would help the town out. As he hung up the receiver, he chuckled. Now all he had to do was wait. And find out what was wrong with Miss Chelsea.

To be continued. . .