1

Liza

The clanking of dishes and the scent of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen, spiking my adrenaline just enough to make it to the finish line. I’d been up since the early hours of the morning, working tirelessly to deliver a meal worthy of their expectations. Carefully, I placed my final touches on the brunch I’d prepared for my regular catering client.

“Heads up.” Adam, one of my kitchen staff, whizzed by me with a platter of fresh sweet rolls that had come out of the oven seconds earlier. “Liza, where do you want these?”

“Take them to the table, please.” I maneuvered around a steam table, squeezed between two servers, and stopped to wipe crumbs from the edge of a plate before it left the kitchen. “This one’s ready to go, too.” Crumbs were a given on a plate of toast, but not on one I was sending out onto the floor.

My staff followed my orders without comment or complaint, but with elegance and a certain kind of grace only those in the food service industry understood. It was like a perfectly orchestrated dance, each of us with a specific task or role that needed to be completed within a specific time frame.

We’d had some close calls in the past, but my company had a reputation for producing quality meals that made my clients happy. Happy clients ensured return business and word-of-mouth advertising.

My passion for food developed at an early age, probably the very first time my parents ever took me to the local farmers’ market to sample the delicious fruits and vegetables grown in our area. I could even remember exactly what I’d worn, the sun on my face, and the juiciness of the first strawberry I’d popped into my mouth. Nothing about that day had been bad.

From that moment, I was hooked. According to my mom, I’d pretended to go to the farmers’ market every day, coming in from the outside with a bag filled with grass and roots slung over my shoulder. Once I had my ingredients sorted and washed, I spent the rest of the day cooking in a toy kitchen I’d received for my sixth birthday.

Now, I spent my time in other people’s kitchens, creating meals I never ate, and I loved every second. Most especially, I loved the praise and hearing how much other people liked my food, my recipes, and my little finishing touches.

“That should do it for brunch.” I wiped my hands on the rag I kept tucked into my apron string for easy access, then turned my attention back to preparing meals for the Hollifield family. Cassidy hired me from time to time to prep lunches and dinners to make their hectic lives easier. I was happy to oblige, especially since she paid me so well.

“How’s it going in here?” Cassidy asked with a dazzling smile as she rounded the corner. “It all smells so delicious.”

Cassidy was the type of woman who could make friends with a bullfrog; she just had that golden personality that drew people to her. I supposed that was part of the reason she held these fancy shindigs so often.

“We just finished up.” I turned to face her. “I hope you and your friends enjoy your brunch.” I loved putting them together, and her friends were my clients, but occasionally she had others in—sometimes the higher-ups in the pack—and it always made me nervous.

A crash caused us both to jump.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” My newest hire, a younger girl in college, swooped quickly to the floor. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”

I crouched to help her. “It’s all right. If you don’t break a plate on your first day, it’s plain bad luck.”

She smiled at me and wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. We all screw up around here.” I gestured to the other staff who smiled and nodded. “The true test of a waitress is keeping your attitude in check and never letting the client see that you fucked up.”

“I’ve already got another plate ready to go.” Adam stood at the kitchen door. “Come on.”

The girl stood and dumped the broken pieces and ruined food into the trash. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

Smiling, I wiped my hands on the rag tucked into my apron. “Of course.”

“Sorry you had to see that.” I returned to Cassidy’s side. “The kitchen life isn’t quite as glamorous as you’d think. Hopefully, this won’t change the way you look at my food.”

Cassidy squeezed my shoulder. “Are you kidding me? Anything you touch in the kitchen is a masterpiece, Liza. You’ll make someone a very happy wife someday.”

Damn it. Here we go again. I would never tell her my real opinion—that I didn’t think women had to find a man to be happy. I was happy just as I was, and I certainly didn’t need a man to make it so. I could cook for myself, please myself, be myself, and I had no one to answer to. I sure as hell wasn’t going to fuck that up by adding a man into the mix. Besides, there wasn’t much for a man to do unless he cleaned the gutters at the house and the business premises. And I could do that myself, I just chose not to.

Her lips curled into a sly grin. “It’s really not that difficult, Liza. If you’d simply attend one of the lunar mating ceremonies, we’d have you matched up in no time.”

Lunar mating ceremonies were a meat market free-for-all, and I wanted no part of them. Cassidy, without much respect for boundaries, had a tendency to encourage me to find a mate, and this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d pushed a ceremony on me. It was probably because we were around the same age, but Cassidy was already brewing baby number three while I hadn’t even started looking for a man. I wasn’t sure I ever would.

I was as single as they came, and I didn’t mind it at all. My sole focus was on my catering business, and I considered myself a happy, successful, independent woman. I didn’t need more.

Sighing, I huffed out an exasperated breath, but it didn’t quite have the gusto it deserved, either. “I appreciate your concern, Cassidy. I’ll think about it.” Mostly as my brain grumbled through it. “Right now, though, you need to go get ready while I make sure the table is set for brunch.” And that was the end of it. Period. Big fat end of subject.

It helped that she didn’t argue with me and rushed off to touch up her makeup, so I took a reassured breath, but then reality hit. Who was I kidding? After she spent the next twenty minutes trying on every maternity dress she owned until she found one which matched the theme and the expected attire of her guests, she would find me and thrust me into the spotlight. Hightailing it out without notice was my only hope.

I joined my staff on the large patio where brunch would soon be served. Small cans of fuel were set up beneath the chafing dishes to keep the dishes warm.

“This looks fabulous, guys.” I adjusted a vase of flowers that adorned the center of the table, pulling a petal with a browned edge from one of the red roses. “Guests should start arriving at any moment. Let’s get out of the way.” The tablecloths were pressed, the silver had been shined.

My staff nodded and made their way back into the kitchen.

I stepped back and admired the setup. The table was laid with snowy white linens, and each plate had a custom-crafted spread of food. Proud of my accomplishment, I took a few moments to gaze at the arrangement. We handled details. All of the details. This was a no-worry setup for which we were paid premium rates, and in my humble opinion, we earned it.

Car doors slammed in the distance—my sign to move back into the house.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t know the women who would be in attendance today—I worked for a lot of them—but coming from a middle-class family didn’t exactly lend itself to mingling with the rich unless it was work-related. We just didn’t have a lot in common. They were the invited guests, and I was the help. I was fine with that, but I was courteous because some of them were my clients.