WHEN CHLOE GOT HOME, her father had left a note, saying he’d gone to an AA meeting. Good. He’d taken the right step. Pepper Spray’s tail stuck from beneath the couch, where she must have darted when she heard Chloe come in.

      Her message light winked, so she hit Play. “We need you A-S-A-P.” Natalie. “Save us from ourselves, Chloe. P.S., you can get oriented to your new job!” Natalie had so much energy. Chloe wasn’t surprised the dour Enzo had fallen for her.

      Chloe headed over, grateful for something to distract her from her father’s troubles and Riley, who crept into her thoughts anyway as she drove. She pictured his dark eyes, square jaw and his smile—slow to arrive and worth it when it came.

      She’d felt close to him. They shared tough childhoods, but hers had made her hold more tightly to the people she loved, while his seemed to have made him keep his distance.

      She’d enjoyed cooking for him. Next time, she’d do eggs Benedict…maybe crepes, since he’d wolfed the waffles.

      What next time? New Chloe had had a wild night of freedom and old Chloe had awakened to find her father in deep weeds. There was a lesson there. Never let down your guard.

      She was no martyr, of course. You helped loved ones, but you didn’t take over their lives or protect them from the consequences of their screwups. But if you could save them unnecessary pain, you had to try.

      She reached the Sylvestris’ small mansion in an exclusive neighborhood and pressed the buzzer, awed by the lush landscaping, the Doric columns, the statues, the huge fountain. Natalie was enthusiastic about everything she did.

      Chloe couldn’t wait to hit that cook’s dream of a kitchen, with deep sinks, the latest appliances, giant preparation island and every cooking implement there was. Delores, their previous cook, hadn’t cracked much more than the microwave, according to Natalie. She’d been hired as a favor to a friend, which was so like the Sylvestris, who were generous to a fault.

      In Chicago, Enzo’s family was “connected,” she knew. Maybe he’d had shady relatives and business associates in the past. Chloe judged people by her experiences with them. People could change, couldn’t they? If they couldn’t, life would be pretty pointless.

      What Chloe knew about Enzo was that he loved his family and treated his employees like relatives. Many were. Any niece or nephew who needed college money knew they had a job at Enzo’s. In the summer, there was practically a busboy or girl for every table. If Enzo had any faults, it was being too kind to people like Sal and his unsavory friends and some nephews’ and cousins’ kids Chloe found creepy or scary.

      “So glad you’re here!” came Natalie’s cheery voice through the speaker. She gave Chloe the code to let herself in from then on. A few seconds later, Natalie opened the huge front door, wearing a smear of batter across her stylish workout clothes, and releasing a gray mist and the smell of burnt food. “Thank God you’re here. My cooking went wrong. Come save us!”

      Chloe followed Natalie into the kitchen, where she saw a plate of burnt, doughy-looking pancakes.

      “Look what I did!” Natalie said, sounding triumphant. “I was upstairs getting the kids down and this happened. I’m hopeless.”

      “You had the heat too high, and probably not enough oil. Any cook can burn something if they leave it unattended.”

      “I used to love my mother’s pancakes. I wish I’d paid attention when she showed me. Teen girls are sooo much smarter than their parents, you know.” She sighed.

      “God, it stinks in here.” Charity, Natalie’s sixteen-year-old daughter, loped in for an energy drink from the fridge.

      “Not for breakfast,” Natalie said.

      Charity sipped, then curled her nose. “Get some freshener.” She looked over at Chloe. “So you’re our cook? I’m doing low-carb. South Beach, but no cheese and I’m going for gluten-free.”

      “Okay,” Chloe said, not impressed by her attitude.

      “Like I said, teens know it all,” Natalie said. “Low-carb this, South Beach that, gluten-free, mucous-free. What a pain.”

      “Ma, do some nachos, ’kay?” That was Ronnie, seventeen, hollering from the next room, from which Chloe could hear cars racing and the shouts and groans of guys playing Xbox.

      “Say please!” Natalie hollered back.

      “Pul-eez. And use good cheese, not that American crap.”

      “See how much we need you?” she said to Chloe with a sigh. “Not even my nachos are up to par. Let’s see if we have good chips.” Natalie led her into a pantry as big as a bedroom jammed with pricey gourmet items and piles of junk food. Chloe picked up a jar of truffle oil and a can of caviar, her mind racing with possibilities.

      Natalie grabbed a bag of tortilla chips and Chloe followed her to the equally packed refrigerator. “So, he says good cheese…” Natalie lifted a wedge of Havarti. “What do you think?”

      “Too sharp,” Chloe said. “Perhaps Muenster?” She reached for the container. “It’s creamy and melts well. We can add garlic and chili for zing.”

      “Perfect! I’m thinking you can really shape up the kids’ nutrition. Get Charity to eat more—she’s a stick and she hates veggies. Maybe add liquid vitamins? I don’t know. Ronnie’s a disaster. We bought him a weight bench and he uses it to stack gamer mags. Maybe girls will motivate him to get in shape.”

      She tapped her chin, then looked at Chloe. “Speaking of sex, how did your birthday date go?”

      “Oh, that. Uh, okay. It was…nice.”

      “Look at you. You’re all red. You did it. You got laid on your birthday! That’s fabulous!”

      “Not so loud, okay?” She hoped no one had overheard that.

      “Sure, sure.” Natalie lowered her voice. “I think it’s great. And not a word to Enzo, I swear. In the vault.” She brought her hands together like a closing door.

      “What’s in the vault?” Sal, the man who had ruined her father’s life and sobriety, gave Chloe a once-over from the archway. He’d bathed himself in a cloying cologne that made her nose tickle. She sneezed.

      “Bless you,” Sal said, grinning at her.

      “What are you after, Sal?” Natalie asked impatiently.

      “A Bud, but I can get it.” He leaned between them to get a beer from the fridge, then turned to Chloe. “What brings you to our kitchen, pretty lady?” Another once-over. Ish.

      “This is Chloe Baxter, Sal. She’s our new cook.”

      “Baxter? You related to…?”

      “Mickey? Yes, he’s my father.” Just leave him alone. She fought to be pleasant.

      “And, hey, you work at Enzo’s, right? You’re a hostess.” He pointed a finger at her, then clicked it like a trigger.

      “Yes.” Sal was a harmless flirt. If a woman actually took him up on his advances, he’d no doubt wilt like celery left out overnight.

      “So, you’ll be cooking…. I can’t wait.” He rubbed his stomach and licked his lips, just this side of lascivious.

      Chloe managed a curdled smile.

      “We have work to do, Sal,” Natalie said, making a shooing gesture. “And get Ronnie away from those hellish video games, would you? Every day it’s World War III in my house. Boom, crash, rat-tat-tat. Enough. Maybe show him how to fix cars.”

      “Possible, Aunt Natalie. I’ll see what I can do.” He looked Chloe over again. “Now if you’d like your oil changed, I’m ready anytime.” He winked. Gross.