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An hour. Jenna forced a smile. “Sure. Let me know.” She
pulled a business card out of her pocket and wrote her cell on the back. “Give me a call.”

“Will do,” Caitlin promised as they headed for the door. “We love your little store.”

 

The afternoon went pretty much like the morning. A few customers drifted in, there were a handful of sales, mostly driven by the coupons Violet had printed. Jenna made more trays of appetizers, which brought in people, but when they found out she didn't have recipes, they drifted away.

By five, Jenna felt tired and discouraged. She looked around at the full shelves, the carefully planned stock she'd been so proud of, and realized operating a successful business was more complicated than she'd ever thought. She needed a plan and some knowledge about the market and a good dose of common sense. Something she'd apparently missed out on when she'd been busy learning how to debone a chicken.

At exactly six, Violet locked the front door and turned the sign to indicate they were closed.

“It was a pretty good day,” she said cheerfully. “Nearly five hundred dollars in sales.”

Jenna nodded. “Great.”

Considering the cost of the goods they'd sold, her over head and salaries, not to mention the ten percent off coupons, she was probably in the hole about two hundred dollars. And that was just on the first day. Imagine how much she could fail in a week.

Violet crossed to her. “It's okay,” she said. “This will get better. People will start to talk about the store, and before you know it, we'll be bustling with activity.”

“Bustling?” Jenna managed a smile. “There's a word I haven't heard in a while.”

“It works in this situation. We'll be slow for a while, but things will get better. You'll see.”

“I know you're right,” Jenna lied.

Violet tilted her head. “Want to get a drink? I know a bartender who makes a mean margarita.”

“Thanks, but my mom's expecting me for dinner.”

“Okay, sure. Tell her hi from me.”

Violet left and Jenna quickly followed. No matter where she looked, all she had seen was potential. Now she felt as if she'd been playing a game where everyone knew the rules but her. The worst part was, the only person she could blame was herself.

She crossed the parking lot to her car. On the drive over, she would have to figure out how to spin her day so her parents didn't worry. They were already concerned enough.

As she slipped into her car, she heard the sound of laughter and glanced up toward the store next door. Only Ewe was busy with customers. Dozens of people held baskets overflowing with brightly colored yarn. She could see through to the back where a large table was crowded with knitters. A tall, handsome man moved toward Robyn, put his hand on the small of her back, then kissed her.

Jenna turned away and started the engine. Deep inside, she felt a stab of something that could only be envy. But whether it was for all the happy people filling her neighbor's store, or for the fact that she missed having someone special in her life, Jenna couldn't say.

V
iolet passed out the list of ingredients to the half dozen customers sitting in front of the kitchen area of the store. It was the third day after opening and the first day of Jenna's classes. Yesterday had been a little better, with more people dropping by. Sales had been unimpressive, but she knew that could grow with time. Assuming they had time.

If she wanted to complain that it seemed as if Jenna had opened the store without much of a plan, she was just as guilty of leaping without looking. After all, she'd come to work for her without much in the way of guarantees. Still, her gut said this was the right thing to do. And if her gut had made its first mistake, she would simply find another job and start over. It wasn't as if she hadn't done it countless times before.

Jenna adjusted the mirror over the portable cooking table. “Can you all see what I'm doing?” she asked.

There were a few murmurs of agreement.

“Good. I thought I'd start with a quick tip on how to chop onions. It's fast and easy and will keep your fingers out of the way of a sharp blade.”

Knives, Violet thought, making a mental note. They could do classes on different kinds of knives. What they were used for, how to care for them. That would encourage people to buy knives and sharpeners and knife blocks.

Jenna continued her lesson, explaining how to cut the onion in half, through the root, then peel it.

“Slice this way,” she explained, demonstrating, “at an angle. Then turn the onion and slice it.”

The slices fell away at a speed that was practically a blur. Jenna ran her fingers through the growing pile of onion, easily separating the slices into neat diced pieces.

“I didn't know how to do that,” one woman murmured to her friend. “That's clever. I wish she'd let us practice.”

“Me, too,” the woman next to her answered. “I don't want to watch someone cook—I want to do it myself.”

Violet agreed. But Jenna seemed determined to be the only cook in her kitchen. She had great ideas about products and even flow in the store, but she wasn't intuitive when it came to customers. Violet could only hope that Jenna's funding was generous so they could keep going until all the kinks were worked out.

Violet didn't get it. Jenna was nice and obviously intelligent. But clueless. It was as if she woke up one morning and said to herself, “I'm going to open a kitchen store.” The total lack of advertising was problem enough, aside from the awkward people skills.

Jenna dropped the diced onion into sizzling butter, then smashed a clove of garlic and quickly sliced it. Chicken came next.

She did a good job of explaining what she was doing, but
despite that, the small crowd wasn't engaged. Several people shifted in their seats. A couple checked their cell phones. A woman on the end finally rose and headed for the door.

Violet followed her. “Thanks for coming.”

The woman nodded, glanced at Jenna, then back at her. “She's obviously a really good cook, bless her heart, but no one wants to be preached to. Not unless it's Sunday morning. I would have loved to get my hands dirty.”

Violet smiled. “I'll share that with Jenna.”

The woman pulled a business card out of her jacket pocket. “I work around the corner at the bank and I'd love to learn how to make a few things. If she starts offering classes that are helpful to me, you give me a call and I'll come back.”

“I will. Thanks.”

The woman left.

Violet stared after her, wondering how many others were going to bolt before the chicken was even half done.

The door opened, and Beth, Jenna's mother, stepped inside. She smiled at Violet.

“Hi,” she said in a low voice, then sniffed. “I don't care what it is, it smells delicious.”

“I'm sure it will be. Jenna's a gifted cook.”

“I want to tell you she gets it from me, but I'm more of a casserole kind of girl. I still remember when she was about eight or nine and I was making a chicken and pasta combo. I poured everything into the dish. But before I could crush the crackers and sprinkle them on top, Jenna gave me a very disapproving look and asked if I could please use something more original than saltines this time.”

Violet chuckled. “That would have intimidated me for sure.”

Beth grinned. “I'm not sure I cooked again for a week. Fortunately my husband loves to barbecue, so we didn't
starve.” She patted her left hip. “Although I could afford to lose a few pounds. With Jenna back in town I'm going to have to start going to my Weight Watchers meetings twice a week if I don't want to blow up to something the size of a building.”

As Beth spoke, she glanced at her daughter, love obvious in her eyes.

They were a close family, Violet thought. Something she couldn't relate to on a personal level. You can't miss what you haven't had, she reminded herself.

Beth moved to the rows of chairs and slipped into the back. As she sat, two other women got up and left. Violet watched them anxiously. This was worse than not having a class at all. At least then people felt free to wander around and possibly buy things. But with Jenna lecturing, they only wanted to slip out as quickly as possible.

And never come back, she added silently.

 

Thursday morning Jenna sat in Cianfrani's Coffee Shop, sipping her latte as her friends chatted. Kimberly had gotten in touch with her two days ago, suggesting they all get together for coffee. Jenna had jumped at the invitation.

It was probably wrong to want to escape her business the first week it was open, but that was how she felt. So far the week had been a disaster. Sales had actually dropped, which was hard to believe. Except for her mother, everyone had walked out of her cooking class before it was over. Violet assured her things would get better, but Jenna had a feeling her lone employee was not only lying but was probably already looking for another job.

Thoughts for later, she reminded herself, turning her attention on Caitlin, who was talking about the problems her kids were having in their exclusive private school.

“One counselor talks about downtime,” she was saying. “That children need instructional play to develop an imagination. I told her that my boys had spent the previous weekend trying to wallpaper the dog and imagination was the last thing they needed to work on.” She sipped her nonfat soy drink. “Bill thinks they should learn to sail. Can you imagine? They're six.”

“I know what you mean,” Jolene said with a throaty laugh. She had always been pretty in college and now she was beautiful, with platinum blond hair that tumbled in curly splendor halfway down her back. “If Taylor wins one more dance championship, we'll have to buy a separate house for her trophies and ribbons. Little Amber is already singing in church. We've talked to a few agents and
they're
talking children's Christmas CD.”

Kimberly smiled. “Little Jonathan is still throwing shutouts in Little League. I barely see him and Eric. They're always playing. We talked about having another one. A girl, this time, but I don't know. My stomach is finally flat again.”

“Tell me about it,” Jolene said. “I barely get in an hour at the gym. Did I tell you I have a new trainer? He's gorgeous. He comes to the house and even gives a postworkout massage.”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “Which kind?”

Jolene smiled smugly. “The good kind.”

The three women laughed together. Jenna tried to join in, but it was as if they were speaking a different language. She didn't know their husbands or their kids. She wanted to ask if any of them worked but already knew the answer.

Kimberly smiled at her. “You're so fortunate, Jenna. You only have to worry about yourself.”

“It's true,” Jolene chimed in. “I'm sure the divorce was difficult, but you got half of everything, right? So you're set.”

Half of nothing was still nothing, Jenna thought, even as she smiled and nodded. There had been a few thousand in savings. The only reason she'd had the money to open the store was because the City of Los Angeles had needed to expand a road. They'd bought up four houses, including the tiny place she and Aaron had owned. A neighbor had hired a slick lawyer who had gotten them all a tidy sum above market value.

Caitlin leaned toward her. “How was it?” she asked in a hushed tone. “The divorce. Was it awful?”

The table went silent. All three women stared at her intently, as if she'd done something extraordinary. Or terrifying.

“It wasn't fun,” she admitted. “But we'd grown apart.” Which was better than saying being with her husband had sucked the life out of her. She'd been left with little more than a few skills she didn't trust and a gut-wrenching fear that she was mediocre.

“Was there another woman?” Jolene asked. “Was she younger and prettier?”

“I, ah—”

“It wasn't another man, was it?” Kimberly asked. “I heard that happens a lot in California. That would be the worst.”

“Not worse than a woman,” Caitlin told her. “At least with a man you never had a chance. With a woman, you have the same parts.”

“Being left for any reason means you're still alone,” Jolene said, tucking a platinum blond curl behind one ear. “Do you think it's because you didn't have children? A child binds a man to you. At least that's what I tell myself.”

“A child would make things worse,” Caitlin said. “Then she'd forever be tied to her ex.”

Kimberly sighed. “He left her and now she's alone. To hell with him.” She toasted Jenna with her coffee.

Jenna felt like the ball in a tennis game, being slapped back and forth. She grabbed her coffee, sucked in a breath and prepared to lie her way to sanity.

“I left him,” she said quickly, before her blush could catch up with her. “He was holding me back. I came home because I wanted to and now I have the store. I can't believe how great it's doing. Speaking of which, I really have to get back to work. Violet is fabulous, but it's my responsibility. You know how that is. Being the one who makes it happen. It was great to see you three. We'll stay in touch, all right?”

She stood, gave a little wave, then quickly walked to her car. Once she'd backed out of the parking space, she drove to the other end of the parking lot and pulled into an empty space. Then she rested her head against the steering wheel and told herself that if she kept breathing everything would be fine. As long as she kept breathing.

Even as she drew air in and pushed it out, she felt her chest tighten and her eyes start to burn. Lying to her friends wasn't the answer, she reminded herself. Although the truth was equally impossible. What was she supposed to say? That Aaron
had
left her for another woman, but that she almost didn't care about that because the rest of it was so much worse? That she'd come home because she had nowhere else to go, and opening the store had been a stupid mistake? That would have been a conversation stopper.

And while she was being honest, Caitlin, Jolene and Kimberly weren't friends. Not anymore. They were women she used to know and little more. They were in different places, and she was…lost.

Which meant she had to do something about her life. But what?

 

The question plagued Jenna through the rest of the afternoon. She let Violet go early—it wasn't as if they had any customers—then closed right at six. After turning the lock, she walked through her empty store, touching the cool metal on the gourmet coffeemakers, the smooth surface of the mixing bowls.

The scent of cinnamon still lingered in the air. She'd made cookies earlier, in an attempt to entice customers. It hadn't worked.

She stood in the center of her store and turned in a slow circle. She liked everything about the space—the crowded shelves, the wide aisles, the cooking area in back. She liked the view out of the window, being next to the yarn store, leasing in Old Town. She liked it, but she didn't love it.

She hadn't wanted to make plain cinnamon cookies. She'd wanted to blend in ginger and try something fun like rose-water. She'd thought about going to the market and buying fresh spring vegetables, then making a red wine risotto with the crunchy, delicious vegetables served with a perfect roasted chicken stuffed with garlic and spices.

She'd heard two women complaining about all the ingredients they had in their pantries, items bought for a single recipe but never used again. When they'd listed a few, a dozen possibilities had occurred to her, and she'd almost spoken. But she'd been afraid.

She remembered experimenting with a salmon dish at the restaurant where she and Aaron worked. He was the high profile chef, the man who charmed customers, spending more time in the front of the store rather than in the back. He'd dazzled, while she'd worked the magic behind the scenes.

That night, it had been raining. Something that didn't
happen often in Los Angeles. The sound of the rain on the roof had made her think about murky seawater and all things green. She'd created a green sauce, then, borrowing from one of her favorite mole recipes, had added rich dark chocolate. While she hadn't been completely thrilled with the resulting color, the flavor had been perfect.

She'd offered a sample to a few regular customers, just to get their feedback. Aaron had swept in and taken the dishes from them. Worse, he'd apologized for what she'd made, as if she were some first year student who had burned toast. She'd been humiliated.

Later, when she'd yelled at him, he'd acted as if she was the one at fault. He'd had several of the staff taste her dish. One of the women had actually gagged. Jenna had been crushed, wondering if there was something wrong with her taste buds. Were they different from everyone else's?

During the divorce, she'd found out Aaron had been sleeping with the server, so her reaction was probably scripted, but the damage had been done. Jenna had started to question herself, to wonder if her instincts were off. As soon as doubt appeared, she found herself sticking to what was safe. She told herself it was the smart thing to do, but in truth, she was slowly dying inside.