morning, and she might have already missed breakfast, but it
was also Sunday.
“Am I too late for something to eat?” she asked, hope lacing
every word.
Jean turned to her, smiling kindly. He had a permanently
frazzled look about him, but he did have the kindest eyes. His
uniform was slightly askew, and without thinking about it,
Haley closed the distance across the huge kitchen, grabbed the
black lapels of the white chef’s coat, and fixed the first three
buttons and smoothed it straight.
Jean stood there, astonished, until she was finished.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Old habits.”
“Your dad is always immaculate, no doubt,” Jean said. It
was the first time he’d mentioned her father. The only
acknowledgement from him that he knew who Robert Watt
was. And, in the cooking world, Robert Watt was basically a
celebrity.
Haley grinned, dispelling the sudden tension. “No doubt.”
She looked around and spotted nothing out on the counters.
The place was immaculate. A lesson from the tongue lashing
they’d taken yesterday. “Can I have a banana? Do simple
things like bananas exist here?”
Jean grinned. “They do indeed.” He pointed to the cupboard
beside the fridge. “Over there. In a bowl, bottom shelf. I can
make you pancakes, if you like.”
“Did I miss the meal already?”
“No. Miss Finley just requests that I have the fridge
stocked. I don’t serve a big meal for anything. She’s not on
any special diet, but dinner is the only time she wants
something hot. A shake or a salad is enough for her. I make