“Betty!” he hollers, not even bothering to knock. “Brought my tools! You still got that loose step out here, or were you just tryin’ to get me over for the pleasure of my company?”
“Both!” Mom calls back sweetly.
I glance at Dee, who’s trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Moose lumbers to his feet and trots toward the door like he’s part of the welcoming committee with Mom.
Dee grins as she slathers toast with jam like she’s painting a masterpiece. “So. Big first day, huh? How does it feel to be the town’s newest culinary ingenue?”
I roll my eyes. “You make it sound like I’m starring in a Hallmark movie.”
When Mom returns from giving Dale his job, she sets a plate of eggs and potatoes in front of me with a little flourish, like she’s plating for the Queen instead of her youngest daughter.
“You might be,” she says cheerfully. “Secret restaurant, mysterious new boss, exclusive opening? Come on, Josie, that’s pure small-town legend material.”
“You haven’t even started yet, and people are already talking,” Dee adds. “Mrs. Lafferty told me at the post office she heard your new boss is some eccentric Michelin star guy who bought the old mill and cooks barefoot under the moon. Like a sexy culinary Bigfoot.”
“Oh no,” I groan, sinking lower in my chair. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” she says, beaming. “But even if that’s not true, you have to admit it’s kind of cool. I meanThe Marrow,Josie. That sounds like the kind of place people in LA have to wait six months for a table. And now it’s here. Andyou’reworking there.”
“Well, I’m just checking the place out today. Not starting work or anything. Not until it opens.”
“And when does it open? I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night. Maya dragged you out of herewaytoo fast.”
“Next week, I think. I hope. Depending on my cooking, I guess.”
“Exciting.” Dee wiggles her brows playfully. “Get me in on night one. I want to taste your food.”
I laugh softly, but my fingers tighten a little around the edge of my coffee mug.
I’m scared. Nervous that I won’t be good enough.
But I have to try, right?
I force a smile as I swipe a bit of jam off my plate with my thumb and pop it into my mouth.
“You’ll be my first official taste tester,” I promise.
Dee leans in. “Damn right I will. But don’t think that means I’ll go easy on you. I’m bringing a scorecard and everything.”
“Great,” I mutter with mock dread. “Exactly what I need. A food critic with glitter eyeliner and a vendetta against dairy.”
She winks. “You love me.”
I stare down at my eggs, trying to will my stomach to stop fluttering like it’s prepping for takeoff.
Because yeah, it is cool. My family is what drew me back to Silver Peak in the first place.
Well, that and the screaming pit of post-culinary school burnout and one too many shifts spent crying into the walk-in freezer.
The job offer was vague, just a call from some young woman saying I’d been hand-picked, with my name passed along by a former instructor who knew someone who knew someone. No job title, no menu info, no details at all except a start date, a time, and the address of a sleek-looking building that’s been under wraps for months.
And now the time istoday.
“I don’t even know what I’m walking into,” I admit, poking at my potatoes. “It could be some underground supper club. It could be a cult.”
Dee shrugs. “As long as there are snacks, cults aren’t the worst.”
“Dee.”
