“Where’s his mother?” she asked.
He swallowed, hating the question, mostly because it always made people sad. “Uh, she actually passed away when he was three weeks old. Car accident.”
Pepper’s expression softened but didn’t collapse into pity or even tears, which he sometimes got.
“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly and it sounded so genuine. “That’s a lot.”
“It’s…yeah. But he’s a great kid.” He nodded at Atlas, now fully asleep against her shoulder, one tiny fist curled against her collarbone. “Even when he destroys my culinary career in real time.”
“Your career will survive. The chef respects grit. Trust me.”
Trust her? She couldn’t have been at the job that long or Jonah would have met her. And he sure as heck wouldn’t have forgotten her.
“So, when did you start?” he asked. “I didn’t realize anyone else was even using this office.”
“I blew into town a few weeks ago and I think he took pity on poor little unemployed me.” A smile played at the corner of her mouth, like a private joke he wasn’t in on.
“Did you need pity?” he asked, intrigued.
“I needed…something.” The wistful note caught in her throat. “Let’s just call it a fresh start.”
“From?”
“New Orleans.” She said it with the authentic Cajun accent—Nawlins—that was utterly exquisite in her sandpaper voice.
Maybe he could ask her for coffee. Would that be against some arcane department rule? Students couldn’t date professors’ assistants?
“So, Pepper?—”
The sound of deliberate footsteps in the hallway stopped him just as the door opened and Broussard stepped in, knife roll tucked under his arm in case he needed a few sharp weapons.
He looked at Jonah. He looked at Pepper. He looked at Atlas, peacefully unconscious on her shoulder.
“I see you’ve met my daughter,” he said simply.
His…what? The floor did not, unfortunately, open up and swallow Jonah whole, despite his fervent wish.
Daughter. The freckles and the laugh and the raspy voice that gave him goosebumps wasBroussard’s daughter?
“Pepper, this is Jonah Lawson.” Broussard crossed to his desk and set down the knife roll.
“Oh!” Pepper’s face lit up. “You didn’t say your last name. Dad has talked a lot about you.”
He had? And what would happen to that internship if Jonah ventured into the dating pool with Chef Broussard’s beautiful,vibeydaughter?
He shuddered to think.
“Don’t get all puffed up, Lawson,” the chef said as he took the chair that Pepper had been in. “You have to nail the interview, wow Isobel’s staff, and, uh…” He glanced at the baby. “Get yourmise en placein order.”
He was pretty sure that was a dig at his life.
The chef narrowed his gaze and pinned it on Jonah, then Pepper, then back to Jonah. Not hostile, not exactly, but radiating a message that could be heard loud and clear:I see you, Lawson. I see exactly what just happened in this room. And I am filing it.
“Class notes are posted online,” Broussard said, opening his laptop. “Go home. Review the knife skills module. And figure out your childcare issues before the interview with Isobel, because I promise you, she will not find a screaming baby as charming as some people do.”
Some people. He didn’t look at Pepper when he said it. He didn’t have to.
Jonah took Atlas from Pepper with exaggerated care so as not to wake him and strapped the baby back into the harness. Atlas didn’t stir. Whatever Pepper had done, it had unlocked the deep-sleep mode that Jonah hadn’t known existed.
