Free Love in the Morning by Meg Benjamin

Desi how to make omelets. He still wasn’t ready to go live, but he was getting better. Once she had him up to speed, they could take turns on the omelet station.
    Once upon a time she’d had a great French toast recipe—sort of like pain perdu. She’d always made it to order, but she was experimenting with ways to mass produce it. And maybe they could have other things at the omelet station besides omelets—crepes and pain perdu and even pancakes. Those things would be a lot easier to make if they had another person in the kitchen, but she wasn’t about to ask Clark to hire somebody new. Best to keep her head down and keep doing her job.
    She saw Clark strolling the halls of the hotel now and then, towering slightly over the rest of the staff. This morning he’d been standing next to Colleen at the front desk, pushing his slightly shaggy brown hair out of his eyes with those nice long, tapered fingers.
    Stop it, Lizzy.
    Right. Enough of that. This relationship was strictly business. It had to be. No getting close to anybody around here.
    After they’d finally finished serving breakfast that morning, she helped Desi put the leftovers back in the walk-in and made sure Marco had gotten the kitchen cleaned up before he’d headed off to high school. She felt a little guilty about employing somebody that young, but he seemed so delighted to have the job that she wasn’t inclined to look for anyone else.
    â€œYou going to mix up the muffins?” Desi asked.
    Lizzy jumped a little. She hadn’t exactly been paying attention. “Sure. They can sit overnight.”
    â€œWhat kinds?” He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked a little like Clark, if you took off about three inches, fifty pounds, and a decade or so. Right now he had a determined expression.
    Lizzy shrugged. “Maybe zucchini. Blueberry and bran—those are pretty much standard.”
    Desi bit his lip. “How about applesauce? Apples are in season right now. We could make fresh applesauce in the buffalo chopper. I found a recipe on the Web that looks good.”
    Lizzy’s eyes widened. “You want to make muffins?”
    He nodded a little jerkily. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s your thing and all but I’ve been watching and I think I could do it. And I’m getting better at chopping stuff for the omelet station. It shouldn’t cut into my time too much.”
    He actually had been getting better at the chopping part of things. His knife skills were growing by leaps and bounds. Still, the muffins were their stock-in-trade—people were beginning to talk about them. Any that were left over they sold in the display case, and those went quickly.
    Clark snagged a muffin every day. Not that she noticed or anything.
    Lizzy shrugged. “You can try a small applesauce run. Let’s say a dozen for now.”
    Desi’s jaw became resolute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do ’em right.”
    â€œGood enough. Get the omelet fillings done and then you can work on the muffins.”
    She watched him set to work on the onions, his knife moving systematically. He had the makings of a good chef.
    So did you once.
    Her own jaw became resolute. She was a good chef. She’d been close to great once upon a time. All she needed was a chance to vindicate herself. A chance like the Praeger House.
    The kitchen door swung open and Clark stepped inside. He raised an eyebrow in Lizzy’s direction “How’s it going?”
    She wiped her suddenly damp palms on her thighs. “Fine. We’re fine. Breakfast went fine.” Geez, could you sound any more suspicious?
    Clark frowned a little, but let it go. “Okay, I need to talk to you. Let me take you to lunch.”
    I need to talk to you. The most ominous words in the English language. “Um…okay.”
    Desi glanced up from where he was chopping, his eyes anxious.