She added a row of tiny mice chasing each other’s tails along the bottom of the page. Then drew a cat ready to spring. She’d just started on a column of tulips when she realized the room had gone silent.
Everyone’s eyes were on her.
“Did you care to join the class?” Zach stood in her personal space. He looked down at the mice and tulips. “If you’re not interested in what we are doing here, perhaps this class isn’t for you.”
Ava’s heart began to beat double-time. “I’m so sorry. Doodling helps me think.”
“Really.” He drew the word out. “What was the name of the final knife?”
“Um, cleaver?” She tacked on a smile for good measure.
He rolled his eyes so hard she worried he would sprain them. “Not even close. I just explained the use of the paring knife. A very important knife in a chef’s arsenal.”
She glanced at her notebook. Sure enough, near the end of the notes, she had circled and starred the words “paring knife.” Her hands were listening, even if her brain wasn’t.
“Again, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.” Closing the notebook, she tucked it back in her purse. “I’m fully engaged.” She needed to lock in.
His shoulders relaxed a notch, and he nodded once. “Good, because we’re about to work on our knife skills. What did yousay your name was again?” The room was still silent as the class looked from one of them to the other.
“Lea. Lea Harper.” She swallowed hard against the almost lie. But she absolutely couldn’t use her real name in case anyone recognized it from her column.
“Okay, Lea. Why don’t you take first position? We’re about to learn the proper way to chop vegetables. Using the chef’s knife.” Chef Zach reached across the table and picked up a knife about eight inches long.
Properly chop vegetables? Seriously, who did this guy think he was?
But she knew from experience that Zach was an excellent chef. She’d be learning from the best. So, properly chopped vegetables must be part of that. Even though Escargot didn’t take advantage of his talents, she certainly could.
Fine. If she had to chop a bushel of peppers in order to learn, she’d just have to do it. And she needed to focus, not lose track of what Zach was saying. Because she had to stay in this class. Her future depended on it.
Only a few more days and Zach Sullivan could kiss this job goodbye. As long as he wowed Paul Hawkeye or even Anne Green at the Flavor Fest in two weeks, he would be in high demand. Not stuck in this dead-end job where his boss all but guaranteed he would never advance to sous chef, despite his years of experience. Dani had been glad to hear he was coming. And since he’d said yes, she’d texted almost nonstop about details she was uncertain about.
Zach had a calendar in his apartment marking down the days until he was back on Jonathon Island. He could let his talentsreally shine. And hopefully ignore any snide remarks from the locals.
Tonight, though, he had to make it through yet another cooking class filled with beginners. At least this bachelorette party wasn’t drunk like the last time he had led one of these. And the kid wasn’t half bad. Speaking of which…
He made his way through the room. “RJ, can I speak to you for a minute?”
The kid’s red head popped up, light-green eyes widened. “Uh, sure.”
Zach tapped his clipboard. “My boss said you haven’t paid the fee for this class and to make sure to collect the money tonight.” In fact, Chef Louie had written in red ink and all caps: NO CHARITY CASES.
RJ ducked his head. “Can I pay it next week? I thought I’d get more in tips, but the front-of-house staff didn’t share them all like they usually do, so I’m short this week.”
How well he knew that feeling. There were plenty of lean weeks while he was putting himself through culinary school. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. We had someone cancel and forfeit their fee. I’ll apply that to your account.” And if Chef Louie had a problem with it, Zach would figure something out.
RJ’s eyes opened wide. “Thank you so much!”
Zach looked over the participants.
One of the blondes with the Bridal Squad wasn’t wearing her signature T-shirt. He’d noticed earlier that she looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. He stole another quick glance. A smattering of freckles trailed across her narrow nose and the tops of her round cheeks. Gray eyes sparkled. Pretty. And he usually remembered pretty girls. She’d said her name was Lea Harper, but that didn’t ring a bell. He looked her way again. She had her chef’s knife in both hands as she mangled a red onion.
Pasting on a smile he made his way to her. “Here.” He nudged her aside. “Let me show you.”
She turned to him, knife forward. He put up both of his hands. “Whoa, there. Knife on the bench.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Sorry.” She laid the knife down and stepped back.
“You want to grip the heel end of the blade between your thumb and forefinger and use the rest of your hand to hold the handle.” He demonstrated the technique. “That gives you better control and accuracy.” He chopped one of the onions before setting the knife back on the bench. “Now you try.”
