thin, with a pale complexion, dark hair and a know-it-all expression. The other, standing next to an elderly man with an almost identical jaw and nose, was taller, broader, and also dark haired. Every now and then he would cut his eye toward the first young guy and frown slightly.
Tall, sturdy Lois, who had first contacted Eden about renting the kitchen, hovered at the periphery, keeping a close eye on her charges. During their initial conversation she had admitted that her own cooking skills were closer to survival level than teaching level, so Eden had offered to help with the class. Two hours a week for six weeks in the slower part of their catering year—March and early April—seemed like a decent way to give back to the community.
Lois had done all the groundwork, polling the men to find out what they wanted to learn, figuring out balanced menus with the help of a nutritionist, strong-arming a few of the guys into coming for their own health and well-being. All Eden had to do was instruct. Making food was empowering, and she enjoyed helping people move from intimidation to enthusiasm in the kitchen. She sensed that with this group, however, she might have her work cut out for her.
Several of the men appeared less than happy to be here, and Lois had told her that some had never fended for themselves before losing their wives. They ate whatever was handy, usually unhealthy fare. As for the younger two…Eden had no idea why they were there. Chaperones, perhaps?
“Shall we get started?” she asked as she walked over to the station where her demonstration was laid out.
Her remark was met by total silence. Finally a short, gnarled guy in a red plaid shirt growled, “What the hell. Why don’t we?”
Hearing Lois inhale deeply behind her, Eden smiled to herself. This guy she liked.
“WE’RE GOING TO begin with eggs,” Eden Tremont said. She was small and blond with cheerleader good looks. All the guys, even Gabe, seemed to be standing a little taller now that she’d started the class. “For some of you,” she said, “this may be new, for others it’s not, but practice never hurt anyone.”
Nick glanced to his left and then gritted his teeth. Again.
What in the hell was Marcus doing here?
Studiously avoiding his eyes, that’s what, which made Nick nervous. Marcus had somehow adopted Lenny, one of Gabe’s closer friends and an ex-cop, and was working at the counter right next to Nick and Gabe.
Eden quickly demonstrated what she wanted the guys to do, then set them loose and started circulating, calling out instructions. Gabe stood staring at his bowl. Nick shifted his weight impatiently, but kept his mouth shut, having learned a long time ago how to handle his grandfather.
“She said whip the eggs until they have some air in them, kid,” Lenny said to Marcus, whose hand was a blur as he beat his eggs with a fork, “not turn them into a foamy mess.”
Gabe exhaled heavily and morosely broke an egg, reaching into the bowl with one of his thick fingers to try and get out a piece of eggshell. He cursed under his breath.
“Gimme another egg,” he said after wiping his hand on a paper towel. Nick handed him another from the carton they were sharing with Lenny and Marcus. As soon as he could get Marcus alone…
“Don’t you want to join in?” Eden Tremont asked from behind him.
He turned. “I, uh, am just here with my granddad.”
“You can still cook.”
“I haven’t paid for the food or anything.”
“I’ll bill you,” Eden said. “I’m billing him.” She jerked her head toward Marcus, who was now ahead of everyone else and pouring his eggs into a pan. They practically exploded on contact.
“Too hot,” Eden said, stepping over to lower the heat under the pan. “Everyone, please make sure your burner is set on low heat.”
“I thought you said you were here to learn to cook, so you wouldn’t have a heart attack like I did,” Gabe said.
“I can learn by watching.”
Eden came back and set a clean skillet on the counter in front of Nick. “Use this pan. Cook some eggs. Make your grandfather happy.”
Gabe gave a soft snort as he started stirring his eggs in the bowl. A few minutes later, he said, “You know, she’s cute.”
“Yeah.”
His grandfather tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. “Aren’t you ever going to start looking again?”
Nick sucked in a breath. It’d been over two years since he’d lost his wife in a car wreck. And no, he hadn’t started looking again. “This isn’t the time to discuss this, Granddad.”
“When is?”
Nick shook his head and reached for an egg. He cracked it on the side of the counter and the whole thing blew up in his hand, splattering yolk on his shirt and pants.
“Good one,” Marcus said.
Nick gave him a shut-up-or-you’ll-be-wearing-an-egg look. The accountant took the hint and went back to his stirring.
“Thin-shelled egg,” Eden Tremont said from behind Nick. “They need to feed the chickens more calcium.”
“Good to know,” he said, glancing down at the yolk spots on his pants. Eden smiled at him and he smiled back, wondering what it would take to get her to trust him.
“The cleanup towels are over there by the sink. Just throw them into that container when you’re done.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
“This is lame,” Gabe said as he poured his eggs into the pan, but Nick noticed he was smiling a little. His grandfather had never been much of a cook.
“Maybe,” Nick said, “but I learned some things about eggs.” Such as milk wasn’t good to use for scrambled eggs. Water was better.
Once they finished cooking, Eden talked about various kinds of bacon—beef, turkey, pork and a soy product she called bacon-oid. The guys got a kick out of that one, but when she offered them a taste they seemed to think it was a reasonable alternative for those who couldn’t eat regular bacon due to the high-fat and sodium content.
Lois had nodded with happy satisfaction during the mini lecture. Indeed, the old guys seemed more prone to listening to a pretty and petite blonde than to a woman who looked as if she could wrestle them into submission if they didn’t eat right.
While Eden was talking, Nick pretended to pay attention as he debated which of those closed door across the room might hold a computer and how he could get at it. There was a computer in the front reception area, but he doubted it was linked to financial accounts. He would check it out, though. When he got the chance. It probably wouldn’t be during cooking lessons, due to the open layout of the place.
Every now and again he caught Marcus shooting small glances his way. Another problem.
Oh, yeah. He and Marcus were going to have a discussion, and soon, because Nick was damned afraid of what the accountant
