Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ava had made a big mistake not researching the staff at Escargot.
As she pushed through the doors to the kitchen after walking through the fancy French restaurant, she reiterated the reasons she was even here for the night.
First, Judson had pretty much required her to go.
Second, she needed these cooking classes if she was going to boil water without burning it and have any chance of her secret staying safe.
Third, a distant third, if she ever wanted to cook half as well as her famous parents, she needed to stop microwaving frozen dinners and start preparing meals from scratch.
She was thirty-five, for crying out loud. She should be able to cook something.
After Emily had mentioned that Escargot offered classes on the nights they were closed, and then “accidentally”—Ava heard the air quotes even if Emily didn’t actually use them when she told Ava the story—shared that information in front of their boss, it was only a matter of time before Judson signed her up.
He’d called her into his office when he broke the news.
“Harper. Good. I’ve gotten you into that cooking class tonight at Escargot.” Her boss’s hair appeared as though he’d stuck a knife into a power outlet. She’d always respected Judson. But she hadn’t always appreciated his rule over her life. “I figured you could use the practice.”
This didn’t sound good. “Why do I need the practice?”
He looked up from the paper he was covering in red ink. Someone was going to have a bad day. “The editorial team decided to let you go to Jonathon Island for the Flavor Fest as a trial run.”
She suppressed a squeal of delight.
“We also decided that you should definitely take part in that charity competition, so we signed you up for that.”
“What? I can’t do the charity competition.” Seriously, she didn’t think she was a big enough celebrity for the charity competition.
“We talked about this. You begged me to let you go to that festival, so I figured you should be in on the action and not just reporting on it. The editorial board agreed. Signing up for that competition is not optional.” Judson had looked back at the paper in front of him and crossed out another line.
“You’ll be cooking for the good of mankind. Make us proud out there.”
So, yeah. She needed to learn how to cook. And fast.
Still, all her reasons fled as she spotted the chef for tonight’s cooking class. Zachary Sullivan. The same Zachary Sullivan she’d met years ago in Seattle before giving his restaurant a terrible review in her column.
This was the part of her job as restaurant critic and food reviewer for the newspaper that she hated: meeting the chefs in the wild.
She valued honesty in her work, but she still cringed when she had to say that some recipe or another just wasn’t working.
It wasn’t exactly the case with Zachary, but she still didn’t like the idea of coming face-to-face with him.
Besides, he didn’t know that her review was… a mistake.
The scent of garlic cooked in butter wafted over her as she stood in the doorway, half in, half out.
Ava looked around the kitchen. Gleaming stainless-steel cooktops lined the back wall.
Several island workbenches stood in a neat row in the middle of the room.
On each bench rested an assortment of cooking implements.
She should just leave.
She’d started to let the door swing closed when a gaggle of women pressed in behind her. They swarmed her and virtually carried her into the kitchen in their wake. The party of eight wore white T-shirts with pink lettering declaring them to be the Bridal Squad.
“Are you coming to this class too?” A tall brunette with Bride emblazoned on the sash across her chest grabbed her arm. “I’m so glad they offer these every month. I need to learn how to cook—and fast!” She smiled at Ava, and her eyes sparkled as brightly as the ring on her third finger.
“Um—” But she hadn’t gotten any further before Bride tugged her forward.
“Hi,” Bride said. “I’m Julia.” Then she pointed out several members of her bridal party.
Swept up in the group, Ava soon found herself at the gleaming silver aluminum workbench.
Okay, she could do this. Maybe Zachary wouldn’t even know who she was. After all, she’d signed up using her middle name. He stood with his back to them at the industrial stove, stirring something in a saucepan. Probably the source of the divine smell, if her nose had anything to say about it.
She sent a quick text to her mom.
Ava
Guess who signed up for her first cooking class
Mom
Good job! Just don’t burn the place down.
Thanks, Mom.
Though, it might be better than the alternative—Zach finding out she was here.
When she’d looked at this class through Escargot’s website, they hadn’t named the chef who was leading them.
She hadn’t even known that he was living in Chicago.
And didn’t he specialize in elevated Midwestern food, not French cooking?
A photo on the wall opposite, nestled underneath several other photos of the staff, confirmed her first quick glance. Chef Zachary Sullivan.
He slid the saucepan to the back of the stove and turned to the group. “Everyone here?” His intense green-eyed gaze roamed over the assembled women. “I think we’re expecting one more.”
“I didn’t think our chef would be so hot,” one of the bride squad, a tall blonde wearing false eyelashes, whispered to Ava.
She looked closer at Zachary. Sure, he could be considered good-looking.
If you liked eyes as green as new leaves in the springtime, hair dark and mussed, cheekbones so high and sharp they could double as knives in this kitchen in a pinch, and a hint of muscle showing under the rolled sleeves of chef’s white.
Yeah, if you liked all that, Chef Zachary was your guy.
He oozed attractive charm, and she bet he knew it too.
“Ladies.” He nodded at the group. “So glad you chose Escargot to celebrate tonight. It’s always a pleasure to have a kitchen full of beautiful women.
” Several of the bachelorette party twittered.
He seemed to have assumed Ava was part of the party because he included her in the nod.
Perfect. She wouldn’t disabuse him of the notion.
The kitchen door swung wide and hit the wall with a thunk. All heads turned to the young man who stood silhouetted in the frame. He bounded over to the middle of the room, where the rest of the group waited to begin.
“Sorry I’m late.” He ran a hand through his red hair, standing it on end. “My shift just ended. I didn’t think I’d make it at all.”
Ava put her hand up to stop a giggle. The young man looked a lot like the main character from that movie where a rat worked in a restaurant. Ratatouille? That was it. He looked just like Alfredo Linguini.
“No problem,” Zachary said. “You must be…” He looked at the class list. “RJ Edwards?” The kid nodded. “Fine. Try not to be late next time.” The smile that accompanied his words didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome, class. Let’s get started.”
Okay then. Not a fan of latecomers. Good thing Ava herself was always punctual. No reason for her to stand out. Zachary began handing out aprons.
“Okay, people. My name is Chef Zach. Welcome to Escargot’s Make-It-Monday.
” Zach moved back to the front of the group.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.
“Tonight we will learn about the common utensils cooks use, the proper usage of pots and pans, and the concept of mise en place, or having everything prepped for cooking even before you start. We will end the night making a simple sauce. For those of you coming back next week, I will show you how to pair that sauce with three dishes for three completely different entrées.”
Ava was definitely coming back next week. She needed to know a dish for her competition.
Zach stood up straight and began walking to one of the workstations on the far right of the room.
“Follow me, everyone.” Ava hung toward the back of the group.
Someone had laid out utensils and knives on the bench in several long, neat rows.
Zach began explaining each one and their proper usage.
Ava could feel her eyes glaze over by the time he got to the third knife on the display.
Surely the knife you used didn’t make that much difference, did it? She was here to learn to cook, not learn about utensils.
Reaching into her purse, she found a notebook and pen. Might as well make a few notes.
She jotted down some random words. Hopefully, they would make sense later.
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 you say your name was again?” The room was still silent as the class looked from one of them to the other.