Page 36 of Knot Playing Fair 2

FIFTEEN

Mia

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, with my stress levels through the roof and a restaurant reopening staring me in the face, I did what any self-respecting chef would do. I went shopping.

Not clothes shopping, or jewelry or electronics or any of the other retail therapy items that people who didn’t cook for a living might have gone shopping for, mind you. Instead, I made a beeline for my favorite specialty food shop in Midtown. The owner knew me by name and greeted me warmly, immediately falling into a conversation about some of the unusual produce items she’d sourced since I’d last been there.

As I’d hoped, she had both bottled bergamot orange juice and dried bergamot peel in stock. An idea had struck me earlier as I was wandering around the empty house at loose ends, and now I marched purposely up and down the aisles, grabbing anything that looked interesting as I continued my conversation with Zohra over the shelves.

“You’re reopening soon, then?” she called.

“We hope so,” I told her, grabbing a fresh coconut in addition to a couple of cans of coconut cream. “I want to freshen up the menu, though. Give it a bit of a boost.”

Zohra laughed melodically. “My dear, you already have one of the highest accolades it’s possible for a restaurant to get! I don’t think you need to worry.”

I winced internally at the reminder that I probably wouldn’t have that accolade for much longer. “Well, it doesn’t do to get complacent,” I said, forcing a smile as I hauled everything up to the checkout counter.

She smiled. “No, I don’t suppose it does. Here, let me ring you up.”

After a stop at the local fish market, I drove back to the house and set up shop in the kitchen. Princess took about thirty seconds to appear once I unpacked the sea bream, hopping onto her accustomed perch on the counter.

I shooed her off. “Nope. Not today, girl. Chef at work.”

She let out a meow that couldn’t have been more pitiful if I’d told her that workers at every cat food factory in the nation had gone on strike.

I grabbed a paper towel and some sanitizer, quickly swiping up the stray cat hair.

“Be good, and I’ll make it worth your while,” I told her.

Her tail twitched, but she didn’t immediately hop back up.

Setting to work, I fell into the familiar rhythm of measuring and chopping. I had a vision of the three dishes I wanted to create; it had come to me in a flash as I was missing the guys’ presence, and I just needed to expand on the details.

The others had taken Saturday off, at least partly in order to accommodate Nat’s visit. But after several days spent in the heat nest, and a few more recovering afterward, they were so far behind with work at the Hope Project that it wasn’t funny. They were there today, playing catch-up.

I’d been hoping they wouldn’t go overboard by staying ridiculously late, and happily, they didn’t. It was about six-thirty when I heard vehicles pulling into the driveway. A couple of minutes later, the connecting door to the garage opened, followed by footsteps and the sound of low conversation.

“Hi,” I called, loud enough to reach them. “Come to the kitchen when you get a chance—I need lab rats!”

The conversation paused. A moment later, Luca poked his head through the doorway. “Does it involve food?” he asked.

I gestured grandly to the breakfast bar, which was now loaded with plates and bowls. “Of course it involves food. Haven’t you heard? I’m, like, a famous chef or something.”

Luca laughed and came inside, plopping himself down on a stool. “One lab rat reporting for duty.”

I was glad to see him feeling more himself. Of course, he’d said all along that getting back to normality and his work at the Project was what he needed.

The others trooped in behind him, sniffing the air.

“I doubt the general population of lab rats is nearly this well-fed,” Zalen said, setting his briefcase down in an out-of-the-way corner. He quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of spices and ingredients, by the way.”

I hid my smile, only giving him a noncommittal hum in reply.

Luca’s nostrils flared. “Mia, did you make food that smells like the alphas? Because that’s both incredibly sweet and a tiny bit cringe.”

Byron snorted.

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