Page 2 of With a Cherry On Top

I hold back an eye roll. The one perk of not having spent half my life in the kitchen is that I’m not nearly as arrogant as some of these people.

“He’s a baker, yes,” Ian says. When Oliver realizes Ian’s heard him, he awkwardly crosses his arms. “But if I were you, I’d focus on his reputation rather than his cooking skills. He’s managed events for years, where he’s been lovingly referred to as Mr. Asshole.”

Oliver swallows.

“Clever,” I comment, enjoying his sudden tension. “Because Hassholm sounds like ass?—”

“Yeah, I get it,” he mumbles.

With a satisfied smirk, I focus on Ian and Amelie.

“Guys, I promise, I wouldn’t have signed off on the opportunity if I wasn’t sure the restaurant would be in the best hands.” Amelie’s usual patient smile is accompanied by a slight tension at the corners of her brown eyes. “This is really important to me. My father was a judge on the show, and you might remember him as?—”

“Le dictateur,” someone says.

“Exactly.” Amelie’s shoulders stiffen. “I’d like to leave another sort of legacy. I want to be part of helping a new generation of cooks, and guarantee at least one of them a really bright future.” She looks around. “You all know how much I love my kitchen. This wasn’t an easy decision.”

Some of the crowd settles, but there are still plenty of worried faces. I can’t begin to imagine what the head chef leaving must mean for the restaurant cooks, but it’s probably like a captain abandoning the ship.

Sure, she’s getting them another captain, but things will be weird for a while.

“Okay, well, that’s it from us. We’re happy to take any questions, and the door to my office is always open, okay?” Ian’s lips bend in a dashing grin. “Now, back to work. Or go home—whichever applies.”

As everyone begins dispersing, Oliver jerks his chin at me. “I’m off until dinner service. Want to go grab a beer?”

A beer? “It’s midday.”

“So?”

Oh to be twenty-four.

I open my mouth to tell him I have a daughter who’ll be out of school in a few hours when Ian calls my name.

“Coming.” I walk toward him, patting Oliver’s shoulder. “Rain check on that beer.”

Ian gestures at me to follow him into the office and once I close the door behind me, he drops on the chair. “How’s it going?”

“Good. You?”

He shrugs. “A little worried those people will burn down my wife’s restaurant.”

I take a seat opposite the desk. “This is a great opportunity for Amelie.”

“It is. And with her family history...you know.” He brushes a hand through his dark blond hair, his muscles shifting with the movement.

The complicated relationship with her cold, stern father who died almost a year ago and the non-existent relationship with her absent mother? Yeah, I’m aware.

Amelie and I have spent what must be hundreds of hours over the last year in the kitchen, just the two of us, cooking. Prepping. Studying recipes. And talking, for hours and hours.

She’s basically family at this point.

Ian waves the thought off. “Anyway, I really think it’s the right decision.”

“I’m sure it is. And it’s only for a month.”

He hums, then laces his fingers together over the desk. “Which brings me to today’s order of business.” He grabs a folder then hands it over. “Your first client.”

My first . . .what?

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