CHAPTER 1

Recipe For Change

Everyone in the kitchen, stat,” Ian calls as he comes out the back of the restaurant. Chefs and busboys around me begin to stub out their cigarettes, and I wait for Oliver as he takes one last puff.

This is weird. Ian and Amelie usually keep their businesses separate, yet today, the private chefs from Chef & Tell have been asked to Daisy, her restaurant. And her staff is here too—every single one of them.

“Must be big news,” Oliver says as he walks through the open door. His tired eyes meet my gaze over his shoulder. “Everyone’s here.”

We join everyone else in the crammed kitchen—though the dining room would be a more spacious setting, the lunch service is about to start, and the waitstaff just finished setting tables.

“All right,” Ian says, adjusting the cuffs of his black shirt as he turns to his wife. He rubs his hands together, and in the silent exchange between them, I sense a sizzling nervousness. Considering it’s Ian and Amelie, I wouldn’t be surprised if they announced they’re retiring and moving to South Africa or relocating to build houses in Haiti.

“We have some personal news we’d like to share with you.”

“Oh! Should we expect a mini-Ian?”

Amelie’s bobbed hair shifts as she tilts her head. “Because every woman my age with a piece of news must be pregnant?”

Ian’s eyes widen as he holds a hand up. “No guesses, please. And no, we’re not expecting.” He clears his throat. “As you all know, Chef & Tell, my venture of private chefs, is turning one year old soon.” There’s a general swell of excitement, and Ian placates the group with a wave. “Thank you, thank you. We’re still new, but things are going well. We have thirty chefs working with us and a long waitlist of clients.” Another round of applause, then, “So when a new opportunity presented itself, I figured...I think the restaurant and the company can both survive our absence for a while.”

Theirabsence?

“Amelie was asked to join the judges’ panel of The Silver Spoon.”

A series ofOohandAahrises from the crowd, and after a fresh round of applause, Amelie takes a step forward.

“Thank you so much. For those of you who don’t know, The Silver Spoon is a competitive cooking show. Filming lasts about a month, and I’ll need to be in Mayfield a week from today.”

“And I’m going with her,” Ian adds.

Oh. She’s leaving. They both are.

That effectively creates a wave of panic, and as a low murmur spreads, Oliver turns to me. “No head chef and no manager? It’ll beepic, man.”

I give him an indifferent shrug. Maybe he feels that way because he works here at Amelie’s restaurant, but as one of Ian’s private chefs, I work alone.

Well, Iwillwork alone once they assign me my first client. As of now, all I’ve done is meet Amelie after hours almost every dayto build my cooking skills, and take the course they asked me to ace: Cooking Techniques 101.

Gotta say, there’s nothing quite as humbling as twenty-year-old brats who can’t even tie their shoelaces helping me through a course I’m too old to take anyway.

But I guess that’s the price to pay for starting a new career at the age of thirty-seven. Raw talent, as Amelie describes it, but no basic training.

“Wait, so what’s going to happen with the restaurant?”

“Barbara Wilkow will step in and cover for me,” Amelie says. “She’s the head chef of La Brasserie, back in Creswell, so you’ll be in perfectly capable hands.”

“And who’s going to crack jokes and pretend to be working hard?” one of the line cooks asks Ian.

The crowd chuckles.

“You’re fired,” he deadpans, which causes everyone to burst into even more laughter. “Shane will help with management, and I’ll still work with all of you from Mayfield.” He points his finger at the line cook. “You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“Shane?” Oliver whispers.

Weed hasfriedhis brain cells. “Hassholm. The owner of the bakery out front. Desserts for Stressed People?”

He recoils. “Abaker?”