“I know you don’t like to talk about your parents in your column, that’s fine. But this is for charity.” Judson waved a hand in the air. “And if you win, you can donate it to theHerald’s charity, Reading Is for Everyone.”
Open your mouth, Ava. Tell him you can’t cook. But the words stuck in her throat.
“I’ll let you know what the board says, but in my mind, this charity competition seals the deal. Consider yourself signed up for all of it.”
Gulp. Writing fourteen articles in ten days, no problem. Cooking anything more than a frozen dinner? Very much a problem.
She pushed the thought away. Time enough to deal with it later.
Sure, the job wasn’t secure yet, but Ava felt a hundred pounds lighter after having her pitch over with. She beelined forthe corner desk where she could see the top of her friend Emily’s curly brunette head.
“I think he’s going to go for it.” She pitched her voice low, but Emily squealed.
“Ava, that’s great!” Petite and always in a skirt or a dress, Emily Knox was the unlikely sports reporter for theHerald. The two had become friends after Judson sent them both on the same assignment, Emily to check out the Chicago Dogs, a local baseball team, and Ava to report on the food offerings at their park. Today, Emily wore a cream sweater over a calico sundress that brought out the blue of her eyes. “We’re way past the minor leagues now. If it doesn’t work out, you can always join me on the sports beat.”
“Nah. I love my job, you know that.” Ava shifted the folder in her hands.
“True. I don’t think I’ve ever known someone to love writing about food as much as you do. Though sometimes I suspect you’re in it for the free meals.” Emily raised her right eyebrow.
Ava grinned at her. “You caught me. When someone can’t cook, it helps to have a job where they’re required to feed you.” Except. Her heart seized. “One of the catches for this Jonathon Island assignment is Judson requiring me to sign up for a charity cooking competition.” She grimaced. Would Judson really make her go through with it?
“Why are you making that face? It sounds like fun.”
“You know I can’t compete in a cook-off. Everyone will find out my secret.” If her readers knew she couldn’t cook, they would laugh her out of publication. Ava Harper Chows Down was peppered with cooking tips each week. Tips she didn’t fully know how to utilize but had gleaned from the chefs she interviewed for her column.
Emily squinted. “How do you know you can’t cook if you never even try?”
“The one time I tried, it was a disaster.” She still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, the fire alarm blaring from her nightmares.
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“I mean, nobody died, and I didn’t burn the house down, but the way my mom reacted, you would have thought I’d…Anyway, I decided cooking wasn’t—” On Emily’s computer screen, Ava spotted two familiar faces. Her gut clenched. “Emily, why are my parents on your computer?”
Emily fumbled with her mouse, and her screensaver came up. “I’m catching up on past seasons ofLife Afloatover my lunch hour. I’m sorry. I should have asked you first.”
Ava waved at the air. “No. It’s fine. Are you on season three?”
“Yes.” Emily’s face became animated. “I love that they’re on the same ship this time. You can really tell how much they love each other.”
Ava stopped the automatic eye roll her eyeballs did whenever someone gushed about her famous chef parents, Leah and Aaron Harper. They’d been chefs on private yachts since long before she was born, and now they were regularly featured on the reality television showLife Afloat. An upstairs/downstairs-style TV program giving glimpses into the überrich lives of those who could afford luxury yachts and the staff that crewed them.
She didn’t have the energy for them today. “Yep. Season three is a favorite for lots of people. Wait until you hit episode ten.” Yeah, even though they never had time for her, she still made time to watch every episode. Really, sometimes it was the only way she could see them. Her parents were decidedly on the downstairs portion of the show, but the TV producers—and audience—loved them, so they were featured often, no matter which boat they were crewing.
“Did they really meet on a yacht?”
“Yep. Mom was the cook and Dad was a deckhand. She taught him everything she knew, and then they learned a bunch of stuff together. It’s pretty rare they end up on a boat together now. Not too many yacht owners are looking for two highly trained chefs.”
“Two chefs for parents, and yet you don’t cook.”
“Enough already.” Ava waved off her words. “They gave me a love for good food and a talent for critiquing it—that’s why I love my job so much—just not a talent for creating it myself.” Her heart twisted.
“Hey, you know what you could do? Take a class at Escargot.” Emily pushed a curl off her forehead.
“That French restaurant?” She’d heard good things about it but had never tried it out.
“That’s the one. They give lessons there on Monday nights, when the restaurant is closed to the public.” Emily tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “Yep. They have some the next few Mondays. I know they cater to beginners—my friend Michelle works there. I went to one of the classes for a girls’ night out. I got some very helpful hints from the chef.” Emily clicked around the website. “I just sent you the link to the sign-up.”
“Thanks. I’ll look into it.” The band across her chest loosened a notch. “Enough chat for now. I’d better finish that article about Mainstreet Eatery. Maybe this will be the one to wow the editors into giving me everything I’ve ever wanted.” A forever home where she could put down roots, plus the chance to chase the foodie stories she really wanted to tell? Yeah, she’d do anything for that opportunity.
