five, Jenna felt tired and discouraged. She looked around at the full shelves, the carefully planned stock she’d been so proud of, and realized operating a successful business was more complicated than she’d ever thought. She needed a plan and some knowledge about the market and a good dose of common sense. Something she’d apparently missed out on when she’d been busy learning how to debone a chicken.
At exactly six, Violet locked the front door and turned the sign to indicate they were closed.
“It was a pretty good day,” she said cheerfully. “Nearly five hundred dollars in sales.”
Jenna nodded. “Great.”
Considering the cost of the goods they’d sold, her overhead and salaries, not to mention the ten percent off coupons, she was probably in the hole about two hundred dollars. And that was just on the first day. Imagine how much she could fail in a week.
Violet crossed to her. “It’s okay,” she said. “This will get better. People will start to talk about the store, and before you know it, we’ll be bustling with activity.”
“Bustling?” Jenna managed a smile. “There’s a word I haven’t heard in a while.”
“It works in this situation. We’ll be slow for a while, but things will get better. You’ll see.”
“I know you’re right,” Jenna lied.
Violet tilted her head. “Want to get a drink? I know a bartender who makes a mean margarita.”
“Thanks, but my mom’s expecting me for dinner.”
“Okay, sure. Tell her hi from me.”
Violet left and Jenna quickly followed. No matter where she looked, all she had seen was potential. Now she felt as if she’d been playing a game where everyone knew the rules but her. The worst part was, the only person she could blame was herself.
She crossed the parking lot to her car. On the drive over, she would have to figure out how to spin her day so her parents didn’t worry. They were already concerned enough.
As she slipped into her car, she heard the sound of laughter and glanced up toward the store next door. Only Ewe was busy with customers. Dozens of people held baskets overflowing with brightly colored yarn. She could see through to the back where a large table was crowded with knitters. A tall, handsome man moved toward Robyn, put his hand on the small of her back, then kissed her.
Jenna turned away and started the engine. Deep inside, she felt a stab of something that could only be envy. But whether it was for all the happy people filling her neighbor’s store, or for the fact that she missed having someone special in her life, Jenna couldn’t say.
Three
Violet passed out the list of ingredients to the half dozen customers sitting in front of the kitchen area of the store. It was the third day after opening and the first day of Jenna’s classes. Yesterday had been a little better, with more people dropping by. Sales had been unimpressive, but she knew that could grow with time. Assuming they had time.
If she wanted to complain that it seemed as if Jenna had opened the store without much of a plan, she was just as guilty of leaping without looking. After all, she’d come to work for her without much in the way of guarantees. Still, her gut said this was the right thing to do. And if her gut had made its first mistake, she would simply find another job and start over. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done it countless times before.
Jenna adjusted the mirror over the portable cooking table. “Can you all see what I’m doing?” she asked.
There were a few murmurs of agreement.
“Good. I thought I’d start with a quick tip on how to chop onions. It’s fast and easy and will keep your fingers out of the way of a sharp blade.”
Knives, Violet thought, making a mental note. They could do classes on different kinds of knives. What they were used for, how to care for them. That would encourage people to buy knives and sharpeners and knife blocks.
Jenna continued her lesson, explaining how to cut the onion in half, through the root, then peel it.
“Slice this way,” she explained, demonstrating, “at an angle. Then turn the onion and slice it.”
The slices fell away at a speed that was practically a blur. Jenna ran her fingers through the growing pile of onion, easily separating the slices into neat diced pieces.
“I didn’t know how to do that,” one woman murmured to her friend. “That’s clever. I wish she’d let us practice.”
“Me, too,” the woman next to her answered. “I don’t want to watch someone cook—I want to do it myself.”
Violet agreed. But Jenna seemed determined to be the only cook in her kitchen. She had great ideas about products and even flow in the store, but she wasn’t intuitive when it came to customers. Violet could only hope that Jenna’s funding was generous so they could keep going until all the kinks were worked out.
Violet didn’t get it. Jenna was nice and obviously intelligent. But clueless. It was as if she woke up one morning and said to herself, “I’m going to open a kitchen store.” The total lack of advertising was problem enough, aside from the awkward people skills.
Jenna dropped the diced onion into sizzling butter, then smashed a clove of garlic and quickly sliced it. Chicken came next.
She did a good job of explaining what she was doing, but despite that, the small crowd wasn’t engaged. Several people shifted in their seats. A couple checked their cell phones. A woman on the end finally rose and headed for the door.
Violet followed her. “Thanks for coming.”
The woman nodded, glanced at Jenna, then back at her. “She’s obviously a really good cook, bless her heart, but no one wants to be preached to. Not unless it’s Sunday morning. I would have loved to get my hands dirty.”
Violet smiled. “I’ll share that with Jenna.”
The woman pulled a business card out of her jacket pocket. “I work around the corner at the bank and I’d love to learn how to make a few things. If she starts offering classes that are helpful to me, you give me a call and I’ll come back.”
“I will. Thanks.”
The woman left.
Violet stared after her, wondering how many others were going to bolt before the chicken was even half done.
The door opened, and Beth, Jenna’s mother, stepped inside. She smiled at Violet.
“Hi,” she said in a low voice, then sniffed. “I don’t care what it is, it smells delicious.”
“I’m sure it will be. Jenna’s a gifted cook.”
“I want to tell you she gets it from me, but I’m more of a casserole kind of girl. I still remember when she was about eight or nine and I was making a chicken and pasta combo. I poured everything into the dish. But before I could crush the crackers and sprinkle them on top, Jenna gave me a very disapproving
