“Ms. Lyndon?”

Hearing Max’s voice behind her, Summer slowly closed the cabinet door. She didn’t have to turn around to see the cold politeness in his eyes or the tight disapproval of his mouth. She was going to have to do something about this situation before long, she decided. But at the moment she was a bit tired, quite a bit hungry and not in the mood to deal with it.

“Yes, Max.” She opened the next door and surveyed the stock.

“Perhaps I can help you find what you’re looking for.”

“Perhaps. Actually, I’m checking to see how well stocked we are while searching out a jar of peanut butter. Apparently—” she closed that door and went on to the next “—we’re very well stocked indeed, and very well organized.”

“My kitchen is completely organized,” Max began stiffly. “Even in the midst of all this—this carpentry.”

“The carpentry’s almost finished,” she said easily. “I think the new ovens are working out well.”

“To some, new is always better.”

“To some,” she countered, “progress is always a death knell. Where do I find the peanut butter, Max? I really want a sandwich.”

This time she did turn, in time to see his eyebrows rise and his mouth purse. “Below,” he said with a hint of a smirk as he pointed. “We keep such things on hand for the children’s menu.”

“Good.” Unoffended, Summer crouched down and found it. “Would you like to join me?”

“Thank you, no. I have work to do.”

“Fine.” Summer took two slices of bread and began to spread the peanut butter. “Tomorrow, nine o’clock, you and I will go over the proposed menus in my office.”

“I’m very busy at nine.”

“No,” she corrected mildly. “We’re very busy from seven to nine, then things tend to ease off, particularly midweek, until the lunch rush. Nine o’clock,” she repeated over his huff of breath. “Excuse me, I have to get some jelly for this.”

Leaving Max gritting his teeth, Summer went to one of the large refrigerators. Pompous, narrow-minded ass, she thought as she found a restaurant-sized jar of grape jelly. As long as he continued to be uncooperative and stiff, things were going to be difficult. More than once, she’d expected Max to turn in his resignation—and there were times, though she hated to be so hard line, that she wished he would.

The changes in the kitchen were already making a difference, she thought as she closed the second slice of bread over the jelly and peanut butter. Any fool could see that the extra range, the more efficient equipment, tightened the flow of preparation and improved the quality of food. Annoyed, she bit into her sandwich just as excited chatter broke out behind her.

“Max’ll be furious. Fur-i-ous.”

“Nothing he can do about it now.”

“Except yell and throw things.”

Perhaps it was the underlying glee in the last statement that made Summer turn. She saw two cooks huddled over the stove. “What’ll Max be furious about?” she asked over another mouthful of sandwich.