I looked around my gorgeous culinary school. The stainless-steel counters gleamed. The industrial mixers added a dash of color to the shine. The white floor, walls and ceiling set off the view from the floor to ceiling windows that framed the distant view of blue mountains. The sky, a deep cobalt with puffy grayish-white clouds was mirrored in every surface.

My name is Rylly Barr. This culinary school is the fruition of a lifetime of what I thought were hopeless dreams. After the death of my cheating husband, I got enough money from what was left of his estate to invest in my dream.

I looked up at my fourteen-year-old nephew who had recently passed my five foot eight inches in a growth spurt that threatened to strain my finances. Thank heavens it was summer. His too short jeans could become cutoffs.

Kohler is the only child of my oldest brother who is on location in the military. His mom was an intelligence agent (spy) in Afghanistan where she was killed. I became his guardian a few months ago because someone needed to watch out for him. Since he and I are a lot alike, I volunteered and have loved every minute of his living with me.

He flung his arm around my shoulders. “This looks great. I mean really, super great.” He looked over at Scott, his best friend and my quasi-adopted nephew who nodded, then looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I can’t wait for the restaurant to start serving food.”           His grin was sour. “My grandmother burned the casserole last night. That’s the fourth time this week and it’s only Wednesday. I’ll starve to death, probably by tomorrow night.”            I chuckled. Scott’s family lived with his grandmother who was frugal to the point of stinginess. I knew the thermostat had gone out on their oven, but she wouldn’t have it fixed. I pulled open the bottom drawer of the teaching table. “Here’s an oven thermometer. If she puts it on the top shelf of the oven, she can tell what the temperature really is. Maybe she won’t burn things so much.”

He took it and stuck it in his backpack. “How am I going to explain how I got this. I don’t want her to know I told you about her cooking.”

“Tell her I had an extra which is true. I gave it to you because I knew your oven wasn’t

working well lately. You told me about your attempt to make pizza.”

He heaved a huge sigh. “I did tell you about that.”

I looked at my watch. “We’d better finish the walk through. I know I’ve missed something but I can’t figure out what it is.”

I didn’t say much as we walked past the industrial refrigerators, the worktables, and the massive sinks and dishwashers. I checked the inventory lists on each refrigerator and in each closet and cupboard.

I couldn’t help watching the boy’s faces as we headed toward the restaurant where my best friend, Lynn was head chef. She would do most of the teaching for the cooking school, but the plan was for her to showcase my student’s successes as well as give them a chance to cook for patrons in a real-life situation, i.e. all the stresses for being a chef in a restaurant. 

As we got closer, the smells that seeped through the glass door made my stomach growl.

It had been a long time since lunch.

Kohler’s hand was shaking as he opened the door, holding it for me and Scott to pass through. The heat and humidity hit me like a fist. It was obvious that I needed to crank up the air conditioning. Once the restaurant was open, the patrons wouldn’t like the sauna atmosphere. I motioned for the kids to take a seat, then I walked back into the kitchen area. It was hot here, too.

“Lynn, you need to turn up the air conditioning. I’m melting into a puddle and I just walked in.”

Lynn looked up from what looked like won ton filling. “The air conditioning isn’t keeping up. I called the company three times but nothing happened. I couldn’t get past their voice mail.”

She gritted her teeth. “I hate voice mail. I double hate elaborate voice mails and I triple hate these guy’s voice mail. It takes my frustration level to a new high.”

I pulled out my cell and thumbed through my contact list. I pushed a number. “I’ll send this number to your phone. It’s the direct line to the president.” 

It only took a few minutes for me to explain the problem in terms that I probably shouldn’t have used, but Mike Dodds promised that he’d have a repairman there in less than thirty minutes.

“I forgot that you could take the skin off a person’s backside without using a swear word,” Lynn’s voice held more than a touch of admiration. “I need to take lessons from you. I get too angry, then I swear, then I feel stupid and back down.”

I grinned. “I never back down. It’s the Irish Barr in me that comes stomping out when I

get frustrated.

“I’d like to borrow some of that. I’ve got the wimpy Montgomery blood. You’d think Scottish blood would be fiery but mine must be mixed with North Sea water.” 

She looked around. “Are the boys outside? Are you all ready to taste test? Since the first day of the opening features Asian I made Yellow Curry with Rice, Singapore Rice noodles, egg rolls, and egg drop soup. I also made cream cheese and veggie wontons.”

“Yum.” I held open the door so she could set the huge, heavy tray on a stand next to a long table that had been decorated with Chinese dragons, Asian elephants, and small, white buddhas. The dishes were heavy stoneware with Asian designs. Even the spoons were heavy stoneware. Only the forks were American. There were slim, paper packets of chopsticks at each place.

As Kohler and Scott slid into their places, Lynn motioned for her assistants to join us. It looked like she had cooked enough for an army.

I put a spoonful of rice into my yellow curry, took a bite and nearly swooned. “I think

I’ve died and gone to heaven. This is scrumptious.”

Kohler and Scott had unwrapped their chopsticks and were awkwardly twirling them in the Singapore Rice Noodles. It took them a couple of minutes to manage the long rice noodles, but once they had mastered the technique they shoved the noodles into their mouths like they hadn’t eaten for a year.

“Wow! This is so good.” Scott managed to say around his mouthful of food. There was a tap on the front door of the restaurant. Kohler scrambled to his feet and hurried to let in Rafe Bishop, my contractor cum boyfriend and Evelyn Tegge, my event planner for the grand opening.

As the hot air hit him, Rafe said, “Man, it’s like an oven in here.”

Evelyn’s cobalt blue eyes narrowed. “I hope it won’t be like this tomorrow.

I smiled even though I rued the day I’d hired this woman. She wouldn’t get the reviews from me that she got from everyone else. She was a D-9 bulldozer with an overpowered engine and a tongue that could rip a person to shreds in a matter of seconds.

“The repairman is coming in a few minutes.” I thought I kept my tone neutral but Kohler looked over at me and frowned.

I nodded at his warning. We’d developed a system where he let me know if I was reaching critical mass. With my temper, I would be able to handle things for a while, then suddenly I would explode, scalding everything and everyone in sight. He was the one who’d suggested our system. I hated my temper but had a struggle controlling it by myself.        I took a deep breath, then rolled each of my ankles under the table. I’d discovered that loosening my ankles caused my toes to relax and I was less likely to explode. I’d burned my toes when I was three. When I got angry my toes got hot which ratcheted up my temper which made my toes hotter which--well you get the picture.

I looked up at Rafe, my newish boyfriend. “How was work?”

“It’s the same as usual—I’m not fond of my current employer, but I found time to make another visit to your Haunted Island. I met some of the people who live there including a real-live psychic with a fixation for the color purple. She even has purple streaks in her hair. She told me you’d have an interesting grand opening with an emphasis on ‘interesting’.”