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“It’s a bit disconcerting listening to someone who calls herself an old wife speak in those terms. About her nieces, no less.” Lark felt the words leave her mouth, belatedly realizing what she was saying. She turned sharply to see if Victoria would be mad, if Victoria would…

Victoria threw her head back and laughed long and loud.

“I like you, kid. Now go clean the freezer. I have some trauma where that monster is concerned and would rather not go in there at all.”

Lark ducked her head before carefully giving Victoria a look from beneath her lashes.

“Am I getting punished with extra-curricular cleaning for sassing you?” She felt her lips twitching and couldn’t hide it as Victoria laughed again.

“You catch on quick, songbird.”

Lark cleaned. And washed. And cleaned some more. She enjoyed physical labor. The uncomplicated rhythm of getting something done. Of putting muscle into it and seeing results. And it was easy. Comfortably so. Except… Except Victoria had been right. Of course, she had been. It was easy and uncomplicated because she could do better. Could do other things. Satisfying, challenging things.

Technically, she wasn’t here to chase the feeling of accomplishment that filleting and portioning the cod had given her. Those two jobs meant sous chef. Filleting meant one day wanting to cook it. Filleting meant something more… Lark blinked and pressed harder on one particularly difficult spot. One day.

One darn day…

“Songbird. Wash your hands, grab a piece of the cod, and follow me.”

Lark almost dropped her rag. Heart in her throat, she picked up her tools and bucket and followed Victoria.

It was true that the Tavern had been operating on a skeleton crew since the storm. It did so in the winter anyway, Lark gathered, the season only starting in spring and bringing tourists to the island in droves. But even in the dead of winter, and unlike several other business owners, Victoria kept the Tavern open.

Lark held her breath as Victoria shooed away Lucio, one of her sous chefs, and pointed toward a clean station.

“Well?”

Lark blinked. Lucio gave her a nod. Victoria tapped her fingers on the chrome surface.

“It’s baked cod. Traditional recipe. If it will make you relax just a tad, know that we are not keeping this place chef-y this week, and as I said, there is barely any risk of Michelin assessors dropping by. Not in the dead of winter with the season just opening up. Moreover, I am getting tired of bending over backwards to the whims of those people.”

Lark all but goggled.

“You refuse to chase the Michelin star?”

Victoria tsked.

“I started the Tavern on a shoestring. I did it because I was saddled with a bedridden husband who hated the sight of me. I had bills to pay and a home I needed to avoid. A restaurant seemed like the thing to do at the time. And then it grew. With Rhiannon’s investment. With my blood, sweat, and tears. The star was never a dream. But it sure is a nice boon.” Victoria nodded toward the cod. “So, cook the fish, songbird. The mayor has had her appetizer and is expecting the entrée.”

The fish came out exactly as she had wanted it to. Flaky, savory, just salty enough. Lark tasted the sauce twenty times. She watched through the swing doors as Victoria took the plates out to where a dark-haired woman sat regally, surrounded by three men, holding court. She did look like a queen, Lark thought. As the plates were gently laid on the table, Lark’s fingers went numb.

What if they hated it? What if they sent it back?

The back door of the restaurant opened with a bang.

“Victoria said you needed more chopped wood.” Seren, arms full, made her way carefully toward the immense firewood oven. As she set the stack down, she gave Lark a careful glance.

“Is there a bomb in the dining room I should know about?”

Lark wrung her hands but finally managed to tear herself from the little round window that showed the mayor picking up her fish fork.

“Oh, Paloma is here?” Seren’s voice was suddenly right at her ear, low and surprisingly comforting for scaring her to bits. Lark jumped up, even as Seren’s hand landed carefully on her shoulder, keeping her still. “Why are you…”

Seren motioned with her chin toward the dining room. Lark gulped and confessed.

“They are eating my fish.”

Seren’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead before she let out a low chuckle. Lark decidedly did not like how the sound felt like velvet on her skin. She absolutely did not like it.