fiery auburn hair. The other woman, older, was a petite, curvy blonde with big blue eyes and a ready smile. Violet had seen enough fake relationships to recognize real affection, maybe even love, when she saw it.
She’d already guessed their connection when Jenna turned and said, “Violet, this is my mom, Beth Stevens. Mom, this is Violet.”
Violet scrambled to her feet and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stevens.”
“Beth, please.” The other woman shook her hand, then touched the half dozen or so silver bracelets on Violet’s wrist. “I love these.” She fingered the black leather woven through a thick chain. “Do you change the cord?”
“I could but I usually don’t.”
“I should wear something like that.”
Violet did her best not to look surprised. Beth was elegantly dressed in tailored pants and a fitted long-sleeved shirt that had more than a passing resemblance to silk. Her jewelry was delicate and understated, except for a honking big diamond next to an eternity wedding band. Violet would guess the watch alone would cover her rent for close to a year.
So this was how the other half lived, she thought, curious rather than envious.
Beth studied Violet’s face. “You’ve conquered the smoky eye,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve tried and tried. I end up looking tired or as if I have makeup smudged over half my face.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “I suppose I should let it go. I suspect the smoky eye look is like a miniskirt. Ridiculous after a certain age.”
Before Violet could figure out what to say, Beth had linked arms with her. “So what are you two girls up to? Unpacking, obviously. Is it coming together?”
Jenna explained about the chart on the wall and how the store would be set up. Violet was caught up in the maternal hold of a woman she’d barely met. Normally she didn’t like to be touched by strangers. An unexpected backlash, given her previous profession. But there was something warm and welcoming about Beth. As if she were the kind of woman who took in strays of all kinds.
“I love the kitchen,” Beth said, leading Violet toward the rear of the store. “People are going to be so excited to learn new cooking techniques. With you right there, they can practice until they get it right.”
“Jenna’s going to be doing the cooking,” Violet said, not surprised that Beth had assumed the customers would get to do it. That was the plan that made the most sense. It was easy for people to drift away from a cooking demonstration.
“Oh.” Beth glanced at her daughter. “That will work, too, I’m sure.”
Jenna shifted uncomfortably. For a second, Violet almost felt sorry for her. Retail was its own world and not an easy place for the inexperienced. Wouldn’t Jenna have done better to open a restaurant? That was her area of expertise.
“Look at the beautiful ceramic bowls Jenna picked out,” Violet said, leading Beth toward a row of shelves. “Don’t you love how the colors pop?”
“They’re perfect. Very cheerful.” Beth smiled at her daughter. “You’re going to do very well here. I can feel it.”
“I hope so.” Jenna drew her brows together, looking more determined than optimistic.
Beth squeezed Violet’s arm, then released her. “I have a few errands to run, then I thought I’d get you girls some sandwiches.” She picked up her purse and pulled out a pad of paper. “Order away.”
After writing down what they would like, Beth hugged Jenna, then surprised Violet by giving her a quick squeeze, as well.
“I’m off.” She grinned at Violet. “You’ve inspired me to buy black leather.”
Jenna laughed. “Mom, that may not be a good thing.”
“I think I’ll let your father decide that. Back in a flash.”
Beth left in a swirl of perfume with the door clicking shut behind her.
“We need a bell for the door,” Violet said absently, thinking that Beth was unlike any mother she’d ever met or even heard of. “So we can hear customers come in if we’re in the back.”
“Good idea.”
Jenna jotted a note down on the pad she’d placed on the counter by the cooktop.
When she’d finished, she looked at Violet. “She didn’t mean anything by mentioning black leather.”
“I know. It’s fine.” Violet knew she was different from Jenna. From all of them. It wasn’t good or bad—it just was. She turned to her boss. “You must really take after your dad. You don’t look anything like your mom.”
Jenna smiled. “Not surprising. I’m adopted. Mom says I come from a tribe of redheaded Amazon women and she’s jealous.”
Adopted. Violet turned the idea over in her mind. There would be advantages of not knowing where you came from, she thought. “You two are really close.”
“We always have been. My mom’s my best friend.” Jenna wrinkled her nose. “That sounds so fake, but it’s true. She’s always been there for me.”
“Nice,” Violet said. “What about your biological parents? What are they like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met them.”
“Did you ever think about finding them?”
Jenna shrugged. “I never saw the point. I have a family. I’m not looking for another one.”
Because the one she had was so good, Violet thought, more bemused than jealous. It was like watching a zoo animal. They were cute and all, but nothing she could relate to.
She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be close to her mother. Hers had beaten her, same as look at her, and Violet had taken off when she’d been fifteen.
She’d lived on the streets for five long years before realizing that if she stayed there, she would end up dead before she was twenty-five. Change hadn’t come easy, but she’d managed.
And now she was here, she thought, looking around at the store, seeing it as it would be, rather than as it was.
Maybe Jenna didn’t know what she was doing, but she had Violet. Together they would make Grate Expectations a success. Jenna had class and money and something to prove, while Violet knew how to make it, no matter the odds. An unlikely match, she thought, but a good one.
Jenna added spices, one after the other. She quickly stirred the strips of flank steak, searing them with the spices, over the high heat. The late news played in the background and she was already on her second glass of wine.
Telling herself it didn’t matter, that no one would know, she picked up the bowl containing the sauce she’d created on a whim and dumped it in the pan.
The liquid snapped and boiled, reducing to almost nothing immediately. She rotated the pan, then used a spatula to flip the strips over one last time before dumping the contents onto the warm flour tortilla.
