Page 184 of Knot Playing Fair 2

He pointed a finger in my face. “You are not helping.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and then descended into giggles.

Of course, it was at this point that Zalen burst into the bathroom, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. His excitement bubbled through the bond, effervescent.

“Mia! Nat! You’ll never guess what came in the mail!” He sounded ten years younger than his usual serious self.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s a letter from the North American Culinary Federation!” He waved the letter at us. “They’ve agreed to begin the process of official accreditation for the Hope Project’s new program!”

I sat bolt upright in the tub, splashing water everywhere, then slumped back down gingerly as my collection of unhappy muscles made themselves felt.

“That’s wonderful!” I said, already buzzing with ideas and to-do lists.

“It sure is!” Nat agreed. Then his face fell. “Oh my god. We have gotso much workto do.”

But I only smiled up at them. “Hey, now. We built a Michelin-star restaurant from the ground up, with no money and no experience. I think we’ve got this.”

Emiel, Byron, and a slightly pasty-faced Luca poked their heads in, no doubt having felt the excitement through the bond.

“What’s up?” Luca asked. “Did Zalen just win the lottery or something?”

My smile widened. “Sort of. Gather round, packmates. We’ve gotnews.”

EPILOGUE

Mia

Three years later

THE CONTRAST OF THEheat from the Elderflower Inn’s kitchen and the bitter January chill outside made my cheeks tingle as I barged in without warning during Shani’s dinner service.

I probably looked like a crazy person as I waddled in, panting heavily, with a toddler held against my hip and my phone brandished above me in my free hand.

“Shani!” I yelled, my voice high-pitched and shrill. “Oh my god,oh my god!”

My former sous chef, usually an unflappable anchor in the kitchen, whirled toward me so fast that she very nearly tipped a skillet off the gas range.

“Mia? What is it? What’s happened?” she said, taking in my unhinged appearance with wide eyes.

Everyone else in the kitchen had turned to look at me as well. They were faces I already knew... I’d taught most of them myself in the Hope Project’s culinary program. In my supporting grip, little Trixie laughed and waved an arm wildly, shouting, “Mama! Mama!” as I wiggled the phone.

“The new Michelin Guide just published!” I announced to the room at large. “Congratulations, Shani—you’re a Michelin Star chef, babe!”

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