Outside the Lines by Amy Hatvany Page A

recruit.”
    “Don’t let him fool you,” Rita said to me. “He’s sneaky.”
    “Have fun, you two,” Jack said. He disappeared out the door.
    “He’ll be back soon,” Rita said. “I was just giving him a bad time. He’s great about multitasking around here. He cares too much not to be.”
    “I can tell,” I said, thinking of how protective he was about his clients’ privacy.
    “He’s actually a total softy. Just serious about what we do, you know? He put a lot on the line to get this place off the ground. It’s his baby.” She nodded toward the stove. “Can you make a sauce for the potatoes? There’s milk and cheese in the fridge.”
    “Sure,” I said, again noting her attire consisted of jeans and a snug black T-shirt, this one embellished with the phrase runs with scissors . It felt a little odd to be the one in the kitchen taking orders instead of giving them, but I reminded myself that I didn’t go there to be in charge. I pulled one of the aprons off the wall and put it around my neck. “Anything special I need to be aware of in how you like things prepared?”
    “We don’t put nuts in anything in case someone is allergic, but other than that, have at it. I have complete faith in you. Jack tells me you’re a professional.”
    “Yeah, cooking is pretty much what I live for.”
    “Really? I live for sex.” She widened her dark brown eyes and gave me a suggestive, sideways grin.
    I laughed. “Well, I like to sprinkle a little of that in where I can, too. Though it helps if you have a partner.”
    “A pretty gal like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”
    I shook my head as I tied the apron strings behind my back. “That is very sweet of you to say, but nope. Not at the moment.”
    “You’ll have to let me do your chart. I’ll figure out when Mr. Right will show up.”
    “You do astrology?”
    Nodding, Rita set a potato on the cutting board and began to slice it. “What’s your sign?”
    “Libra.”
    “Oooh, the scales.” Rita set her knife down and rubbed her hands together conspiratorially. “You’re all about love, then. And balance.”
    “Well, I’m rarely balanced,” I said, and she laughed. “Where are the pots and pans?”
    Rita directed me to the correct cupboard and I began to build the sauce with a roux. They had margarine instead of butter, so I crossed my fingers, hoping the right chemical reaction would take place in order to thicken the sauce. The music filled the silence and we fell into a comfortable pace of my asking for guidance to find what I needed and Rita telling me where to look.
    After about half an hour, the sauce was coming together. Just as I was putting in the shredded cheese, a man with dirty blond dreadlocks stuck his head in through the doorway.
    “What’s for dinner?” he asked. He was gaunt and had black smudges on his face. “Smells good in here.”
    “None of your beeswax, Saturn,” Rita said playfully. She set the bowl of sliced potatoes she’d been carrying onto the counter, then stood on her tiptoes to reach for a bag of pink and white frosted animal cookies. She opened it and handed a few to the man. “Now, this is our little secret, right? Don’t go telling everybody or I’ll run out and won’t be able to give you any more.”
    “Would I do that to you, Rita? I think not.” He jutted his chin over toward me. “Who’s she?”
    She rubbed the man’s arm and smiled. “That’s Eden. She’s a bona fide chef, my friend.”
    “Nice to meet you,” I said, continuing to stir the sauce on the stove.
    He looked wary but nodded in acknowledgment.
    “You better not miss what she’s cooking up for you,” Rita said. “Now, scoot so I can get back to work!” He left, and Rita came over and dipped a spoon into the sauce. “Mmm. Tasty. We need to get the water boiling for the potatoes.”
    “We can pour the sauce right on the raw slices,” I said. “As long as they’re thin enough, they’ll cook in the oven just fine. How many