If You're Lucky by Yvonne Prinz Page A

midmorning on Thursday, one of my baking days at the Inn. I generally bake Sundays or Mondays and always on Thursdays when I’m out of school and the Inn is full. Today I was making apple frangipani tarts. The pastry dough was cooling in the walk-in and I was peeling apples. The order of things, the pastry, the fruit, the assembling of desserts, it all appealed to me. I was happiest when I was working in this kitchen with all its activity and smells and sounds. I could disappear into my music or I could stay in my corner and eavesdrop on the goingson.
    Marc surveyed the small mountain of apple peels. “
Tarte aux pommes
?
” he asked.
    â€œYes, with frangipani.”
    â€œ
Bon.
” He scratched his head. “I think we serve just a nice whipped cream with that, maybe almond scented,
alors
?”
    â€œSure, fine.”
    â€œGood morning, Marc,” said Jeff, lifting the lid off a big pot of something simmering on the stove. Marc slapped his hand. Jeff retreated back over to me.
    â€œHey, did that new guy start yet?” I asked, casual as possible, eyes on my paring knife. I already knew that he had.
    Jeff grabbed a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth. “Fin?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHe worked last night. Excellent waiter . . . and
so
attractive.”
    I glanced over at Marc. He never had anything good to say about the waitstaff, particularly new waitstaff. Everyone was an idiot until he decided otherwise.
    â€œMarc, you like him?”
    Marc looked up from expertly chopping shallots. He would rather I address him as “Chef Marc” and he likes to pretend that idle kitchen chitchat is beneath him, but he was quick to respond.
    â€œHe picks up the plates immediately when I set them down. Not like some of these idiots smoking outside while the food sits and sits. I could keeeees him, this Fin.”
    Jeff beamed. “And he’s a Sagittarius. You know what that means,” he said, all singsongy.
    â€œActually, I don’t.”
    â€œSagittarians are very compatible with Aries and Leos. And, as you know, I’m an Aries and Miles is a Leo.”
    Marc looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. I smiled. Jeff saw me.
    â€œWell,” he said indignantly, “when I first met Miles, I wouldn’t even consider dating him until I had my astrologist’s blessing.”
    The couple had not considered my astrological sign when they hired me. They tasted my pecan tarts at a fundraiser and hired me on the spot to “make a few desserts.” Somehow, the job had morphed into full-blown pastry chef.
    Jeff popped another apple slice into his mouth and glanced at his slim wristwatch. “I better go finish the wine order. I promised Fin I’d help him move in this afternoon.”
    â€œMove in?”
    â€œHe’s moving into the redwood cottage. He’s going to do some work on it for us and he’s got some fabulous ideas for the landscaping too.”
    And he was gone. I stood there with a long tail of apple peel dangling from my knife, watching the swinging door, wondering if I’d heard him right. Only the most important friends of Jeff and Miles were invited to stay in the redwood cottage, and that was usually just for a weekend.
    After I got the tarts into the oven and I’d cleaned up my corner of the kitchen, I wandered out to the porch and sat on the vintage porch swing flanked on both sides by distressed terra-cotta pots planted out with rosemary and oregano and placed just so by Jeff. I pushed myself back and forth on the swing with one foot. A light breeze carried the low-tide smell of rotting seaweed in from the shore.
    I started thinking about last night. I’d washed and dried my hair, pulled on my favorite jeans and a T-shirt, walked down the hill, and waited for Fin outside after the dining room closed. I hadn’t seen him since Sonia and I ran into him at the beach, days before. When he emerged from the back