Page 52 of Cookbooks and Demons

Rafferty himself had given her no further clues since yesterday. He had made her breakfast again that morning and then accepted graciously that she needed to run into work and then had been just as gracious when she returned to take him to the tasting for dinner. She didn’t know what he was doing with himself while she was gone. Her place hadn’t been overwhelmed by another feast for a thousand, but she figured he was at least getting a lot of good rest…

She furrowed her eyebrows as something occurred to her. “Rafferty … where are you sleepingat night?”

Chapter 27

It Wasn’t

Even Good

Rafferty looked at her side eyed. “I…” Then he grunted a sigh. “I am in the kitchen,”he said.

“You’re sleeping in the kitchen?!” she said, surprised.

“Not exactly in the way you are thinking,” he said cryptically.

“I guess I’m picturing you laying on the tiled floor,”she said.

“What else is in the kitchen?” Rafferty asked. “On your tiled floor?”

It took a second, then she remembered, though for some reason it was difficult.The circle,she thought but didn’t dare sayout loud.

“Right,” was all she did dare, and they both nodded in their mutual understanding.

But she still had more questions. “So why are you restingin there?”

“It is decreasing the imposition of having me in your house,”he said.

“Okay, I can’t tell how you mean that.”

“Shh,” he hissed just as an older man approached their table.

The older man was dressed like everyone else in the room, in white chef’s clothes with a small toque over his head that fit close to his head. Yet despite his lack of an ostentatious toque, he wore a pin over his chest that read “Executive Chef.” He had his knobby hands clasped in front of his body as he approached the table and smiled a grin that lacked enough teeth.

“Welcome, welcome,” he said warmly. “You are Scarlet Kovacs, I presume?” he said in a thick Polish accent that almost was unintelligible.

“Oh, no, I am Helena Rhodes. I am representing Scarlet’s firm for this tasting for the Winter Rose Ball,” Helena said, standing up to take his hands. To her surprise, he stood a foot shorter than her, but she wasn’t quite sure if that was because he was so short or because of how badly he was bent over. At her declaration, the Executive Chef’s face fell.

“You are not Scarlet?” he asked, sounding hurt.

Helena felt awful at his distress. “I represent Scarlet,” she said, desperate to clarify. “I am her deputy for organizing the Winter Rose Ball. Scarlet couldn’t come today.”

It was a kindof truth.

The Executive Chef took his hands back from her a little too sharply, still looking like a hurt child. “I do not understand. What is this woman saying to me?” he demanded, looking around at the nearby workers who frankly hadn’t been paying attention and so had no idea what wasgoing on.

Helena tried not to be offended. “I’m sorry for the confusion,” she said and gestured for Rafferty to stand up. “If you would like, we can go?”

Please let us leave, please let us leave, please let us leave,she thought overand over.

The Executive Chef, who still hadn’t introduced himself by his name, crossed and uncrossed his arms in a petulant huff. “No, you will stay. I already cooked.” Then he seemed to think of something, and he pointed his finger to the ceiling to shake it at her. “You will tell Scarlet how good it is and she will come,” he declared as if by doing so it madeit true.

Helena had half a thought to argue about it but decided against it. This man clearly wasn’t used to being countermanded at all.

She turned back to Rafferty, who stood at his seat waiting for her to make adecision.

She shrugged. “We might as well stay and have dinner,”she said.

He grunted and nodded, then stepped over to pull out her seat again while the Executive Chef walked off muttering.

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