“I don’t want to let everybody down.”

Another serious look. “That is about them. Not about you.”

“I guess . . .” I thought. “I don’t want to let myself down. I want to do the right thing.”

He nodded, once. “Then you will.”

I snorted. “You can’t know that.”

“I know. For three months, I have watched you. Once you decide on something, you don’t let anything stand in your way.”

Wow. A compliment.

“Thank you,” I said. A pause. “That’s a good thing, right?”

Laughter leaped in his eyes. “I have always found perseverance a very attractive quality,” he assured me.

Warmth flooded my chest. I grinned back. “Well, that’s a relief.”

More than a relief. It was reassurance, validation on a level I hadn’t known I sought or needed.

Our eyes held. My smile faded. I shivered a little, all over.

“You are cold,” he said, concerned.

My cheeks ignited. I was burning up. I wound my hair around my hand, resecuring my ponytail. “I’m fine.”

“You should keep moving.”

“Yeah.” Before I did something else, said something more, to make a bigger fool of myself. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

I started to go, aware of his eyes on my back.

“March.”

I turned hopefully. “Yes, Chef?”

“You are on the schedule tonight, yeah?”

I swallowed my disappointment. Of course he didn’t keep track of my hours. My comings and goings were of no interest to him. Unless . . . “For three months, I have watched you.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Good. You can do family meal.”

The meal before service, when the restaurant was closed. Responsibility for the staff meal rotated. It was an opportunity for Chef to try new recipes, for Ray to use up leftovers from the night before, for Constanza to make her killer asado de bodas and tortillas. Being asked to cook was an honor, an accolade, an assurance I had a place in the kitchen.

I belonged.

Here.

My smile started deep inside and grew and bloomed. “Yes, Chef.”

CHAPTER 8

Meg

The sky was still dark outside our kitchen windows as I made my way downstairs. John was already up, making breakfast with the twins.

“Pancakes, Mommy!” Daisy announced with glee. “I help.”

“Frozen toaster waffles,” John said, before I could speak. “I figured they had enough fun with flour when Trey was here.”

I smiled. “It smells wonderful, whatever it is.”

Like butter and syrup, like the Saturday mornings of my childhood. DJ was coloring at the table, a purple crayon gripped in his stubby fingers, singing softly to himself. “Wish you a merry Kissmas . . .” My heart melted.

“Coffee.” John handed me a mug. “I figured you’d need it to face the farmers’ market.”

“Thanks.” I took a sip, hot liquid and guilt scalding my throat. He was being so nice.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked.

I swallowed. “The market’s open until two.” After that, I needed to drive to the farm, feed the goats, make the bank deposit . . . No, that had to wait until Monday. “I’ll be back before dinner. In time to get ready for Sallie’s party.”