Free Fearless Love by Meg Benjamin Page A

something was going down he needed to find out about.
    He pulled Fairley aside after lunch service was over. “What happened?”
    “Happened?” Fairley looked confused. “When?”
    “In the kitchen during lunch. What was it?”
    Fairley’s forehead was still furrowed. “Nothing. Lunch service was fine.”
    “Horseshit. Something’s going on in there.” Joe folded his arms and drew himself up to his full six three. Fairley stood maybe five ten, and Joe wasn’t above using a little unsubtle intimidation.
    Fairley shrugged. “There was a blow-up during lunch prep, but it didn’t amount to much. Your runner yelled something at Kevin. The prep cook took her outside to cool off.”
    “Yelled something? Why?”
    Fairley shrugged again. “Who knows? Pressure, most likely. Sometimes people who haven’t been in a kitchen environment aren’t used to that kind of stress. They can break down if somebody pushes them too hard.”
    Joe narrowed his eyes. MG was a novice, but she hadn’t struck him as the type to blow under pressure. She hadn’t had any problems up to now. “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. Then again, maybe she’s feeling threatened—Kevin’s done prep work for a lot longer than she has. She’s pretty much an amateur. And it shows.”
    Joe’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure whether that particular dig was meant for him or for MG, but whichever it was, he didn’t like it. He gave Fairley a long cool stare. “She’s doing okay. Everybody starts somewhere.”
    “Right.” Fairley gave him a faint smile. “Absolutely right. I’ll keep you informed about anything else that comes up.”
    “Do that.” He watched Fairley head back toward the kitchen. Family meal was still underway, although several people had already left. He could stay where he was and have a great view of anybody else leaving.
    MG came out maybe five minutes later.
    “Hey.” He walked toward her, trying for an easy smile. No use making her think he was a stalker right off the bat.
    She gave him a tired smile. “Hey.”
    “So how’s the kitchen treating you?”
    It might have been his imagination, but her smile seemed to dim slightly. “Okay. I’m just a little beat.”
    “Yeah. End of the shift.” He gestured toward the wicker chairs at the end of the veranda. “Take a load off.”
    She looked at the chairs longingly. “I should get home and feed the chickens.”
    “I’ve got beer,” he said, putting his hand on her elbow to move her closer to the chairs.
    She gave him a long look. “What kind?”
    “Odell. From Colorado. Good stuff.”
    MG gave him another look, then collapsed onto a wicker settee. “You’re on.”
    Joe grabbed two bottles from the mini-refrigerator in his office, thankful he’d remembered to reload it for once, then carried them back to the veranda.
    MG gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. Just what I needed.” She took a long pull from the bottle. “Oh, man, that’s good.”
    Joe took a swallow from his own bottle, letting the cool, hoppy brew slide down his throat. He limited himself to one beer a day, but he appreciated the good stuff. “Yeah, they do good work. So—first week in the kitchen. What have you learned?”
    She frowned briefly, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “I have sucky knife skills. I’m not sure I know the difference between broccoli and broccolini. Pasta water is a gift from the gods. And people around Konigsburg seem to eat salad by the truck full. That about sums it up.”
    Joe took another pull on his beer. “All true. And the difference between broccoli and broccolini is that broccolini is actually broccoli’s first cousin on its mother’s side.”
    MG did a double take, then laughed. The late afternoon sun shone through her hair, turning the gold to red. He felt a quick kick of heat, which he ruthlessly suppressed. Do not hit on the exhausted prep cook. “So everything’s working for you?”
    “Yeah, sure. Thanks for bringing me on here. It’s been great.” But