“Don’t drink it cold.” Before Ashna could finish the sentence, the cup in Trisha’s hands had been drained.

Ashna sighed and refilled the kettle. China and Trisha exchanged a speaking look. Something was definitely up. Trisha might be Ashna’s uncle’s daughter, but they had grown up together and were more sisters than cousins. Also, Trisha had the world’s most transparent face.

“Anyone want to tell me what this is about?”

China extracted a beer from the cooler. “Maybe it’s too late for tea.”

Trisha noticed the stack of mail Ashna had brought in earlier and started filing through it. The kettle whistled.

China and Trisha jumped.

“Okay, what’s going on? What do you two want?”

Instead of answering, Trisha picked out an envelope and waved it like a victorious flag. “I think we finally know how to get rid of these foreclosure notices.”

China took a gulp of beer and nodded.

“They’re just warnings.” Ashna snatched the envelope away. “And I don’t need any more of your harebrained ideas.”

Last week Trisha had tried to convince DJ, who was her boyfriend and one of the Bay’s hottest private chefs, to insist on all his offsite parties being held at Curried Dreams. DJ had been one of Ashna’s closest friends since culinary school in Paris. Ashna was, in fact, the one who had introduced DJ and Trisha, a matchmaking win she would always be insufferably proud of. But she was not going to let DJ hold his clients ransom for her restaurant. He had already done enough for her with the Menu She Couldn’t Cook.

Trisha made a face. “I’ve never had a harebrained idea in my life. Neurosurgeons can’t have harebrained ideas. It’s in the Hippocratic oath.”

Trisha was being only half facetious. The woman was abnormally brilliant and Ashna was obnoxiously proud of her cousin, but when it came to ideas for saving Curried Dreams, not so much.

Ashna sighed. “I’m sorry. I appreciate the effort. It’s not like I’ve come up with anything that works either.”

China and Trisha high-fived. Were her best friends high-fiving her failure?

Trisha grabbed Ashna’s hand, dragged her into the dining area, and pushed her into a chair with the stupid know-it-all smile Ashna was only too familiar with.

Looking at China for answers simply caused her friend to study her beer bottle.

“Now that you have a boyfriend,” Ashna said to Trisha, not attempting to hide her irritation, “shouldn’t you be home spending time with him instead of worrying about Curried Dreams?”

Trisha dropped into a chair across from Ashna. “First, you should smack me upside the head if I let myself get involved with someone who doesn’t understand how much you and Curried Dreams mean to me.”

Fair enough. But Ashna kept her eyes stubbornly narrowed.