At a section of the enormous stove, Julio stood in his apron and short chef’s hat, cursing steadily in several languages.

“Can’t decide?” he boomed. “Need more time?” He erupted with a stream of gutter Spanish that singed the already simmering air. “Don’t want mushrooms, want extra carrots. Assholes! Where’s my fucking plate, goddamn it.”

“Nothing changes,” Laurel said just loud enough for him to hear.

He turned, a scrawny man with beetled black brows over molten brown eyes. “You, don’t talk to me.”

“I’m not here to talk to you.” She turned away to approach the younger man who’d stopped drizzling raspberry sauce around a slice of chocolate cake on a dessert plate. “You must be Charles.”

“Don’t talk to him until he gets that done. You think this is a social club?”

Charles’s eyes rolled in a handsome face the color of freshly ground coffee. “Please. Just one minute.”

He completed the plate with a scattering of berries, added thin cookies around a bowl of trifle. As if by secret signal, a waitress scooped them up and out the door.

“I’m so pleased to meet you. So pleased.”

“Your soufflés were wonderful—the lemon one in particular. Thank you.”

His face simply lit up, Del thought, as if Laurel had switched on electricity. “You liked them? When I heard you were here I wanted to do something for you. The lemon. You liked the lemon?”

“Especially the lemon. Rich and fresh at the same time.”

“We don’t serve it yet. It’s new. I’ve been working on it.”

“I think you’ve perfected it. I don’t suppose you’d share the recipe.”

“You ...” His voice went breathless. “You want my recipe? I’ll write it down. Right now. I’ll write it down for you, Ms. McBane.”

“Laurel.”

“Laurel.”

Del swore her name came from the man’s lips like a prayer. When he scurried away to get the recipe, she turned to Del.

“I’ll be right back.”

When she walked off with Charles, Del slipped his hands in his pockets and glanced around. Julio guzzled from a water bottle and eyed him.

“Pork medallions.”

“That’s right. They were excellent.”

“Mr. Brown.” Julio acknowledged his due, then shifted his gaze to Laurel, back to Del. He said, “Hmm.”

He capped his water before striding over to where Laurel huddled with Charles. “I’m still mad at you.”

She shrugged.

“You left my kitchen.”

“With plenty of notice, and I came in on my own time to help train my replacement.”

“Your replacement.” He cursed and sliced a hand through the air. “Useless. He cried.”

“Some of them do once you’ve chewed on them awhile.”

“I don’t need crybabies in my kitchen.”

“You’re lucky to have Charles. Luckier if he stays and puts up with your crap.”

“He does okay. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t talk back.”