Fedora stopped at the grocery store on the way to Cole’s house to pick up the ingredients for the wonton. Ruth had given her a list—bone-in pork chops, green onions, ginger root, shrimp, canned bamboo shoots, and wonton skins—and Fedora had offered to pick them up. In culinary school, she’d learned how to make dishes from many different cultures, but no matter how skilled the instructor, there was no comparison between school learning and learning from someone’s mother. In Fedora’s experience, mothers made the best teachers. They possessed an authenticity that often transferred in the act of teaching and Fedora knew that even if Ruth had written down her recipe in great detail, her wonton wouldn’t come out as good as if Ruth showed her, one on one.

Having never been to Cole’s house before, she used a GPS app to find her way. Cole lived in Coronado, like a lot of current and retired Barracudas. Coronado had some of the most valuable real estate in California. It wasn’t unusual for homes to sell for seven figures.

Cole’s house didn’t fall into that category, but it was still head and shoulders above the shabby apartment building Fedora lived in. The Cape Cod-blue two-story looked modest and well-maintained. Lilies and birds of paradise brought a burst of color to the yard. His front porch had an old-fashioned swing, but unfortunately, his welcome mat had a dead bird on it.

“Hey,” Cole said when he opened the door.

“Watch out there,” she said, pointing.

He looked down and grimaced. “That’s a present from Harry.”

Fedora had heard of Harry’s championship hunting skills. Cole said he’d brought down so many birds, he felt obligated to hang cat-proof feeders from his upper balcony to try and make up for it.

“One of the reasons I don’t have a cat,” she said, sidestepping the tiny carcass.

“Cats are great.”

As if knowing they were talking about him, Harry padded over and rubbed his flanks against Cole, weaving between his legs.

“Cats are snobs.” As Cole took the grocery bag, Fedora circled the cat. “Hello, Harry. Nice to see you, Harry. See? He’s totally ignoring me. I don’t think he even knows his name.”

“He needs to get to know you first, that’s all.”

“Nice place,” she said as he shut the door.

“Thanks. I’ll give you a tour later. Is there anything in here that needs to be refrigerated? My mom’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, there are some pork chops in there. And the wonton skins should be kept cold too.”

He put the bag on the counter, dug out the two items and put them in the fridge. “So about last night. That was one hell of a kiss.” He glanced at her. “At least for me, it was.”

And boom, she was right back in Kookyland, where their roles were turned on their ear and her boss was now a potential lover. It blew her mind that they’d had hard-on-to-hoohah contact last night for a solid four seconds. She’d gotten so turned on, she’d gone right into the shower and aimed her massaging showerhead right where it would do the most good. But it hadn’t been enough.

“I’d be in agreement on that,” she said.

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

She’d been stupid to get involved in this in the first place. Cole was her boss, and therefore off-limits. Even though her sex life was her own private business, she knew from personal experience that it could all too easily spill over into work and that was never a good thing.

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s unprofessional and it causes major problems amongst the staff, feelings of resentment and jealousy. Believe me, I’ve seen it.”

“All right. I can understand that, but it wouldn’t be the same thing. You gain no advantage from sleeping with me, other than the obvious mind-blowing pleasure. I don’t set your hours. I don’t directly assign you tasks.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a bad idea all around. Trust me.”

A knock on the door announced Ruth’s arrival. Carrying a small plastic grocery bag, she looked chipper in white slacks and a bright pink top and a flirty black beret.

“Good morning, honey. Good morning, Fedora,” she said. “Did you get everything we need?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she answered, gesturing to the array of ingredients on the island counter.

Ruth nodded, adding a bag of dried shitakes and what looked like fresh water chestnuts to the pile. “Wonderful. Let’s get these mushrooms soaking.”

“When’s it going to be ready?” Cole asked.

“Give us an hour,” Ruth said as she and Fedora washed their hands.

“That long?” Cole almost whined.

Fedora smiled, picturing Cole as a little boy, eager for his mom to finish cooking some yummy Chinese delicacy just like she’d been anxious for her own mother to announce the chilaquiles or the sopa de pollo was done.

“Patience is a virtue,” Ruth said, dumping some shitakes out of the bag and into a bowl of hot water.

He sighed. “Okay, I’ll be upstairs working out.”

“Men. Do they ever grow up?” Fedora asked after Cole left the room with a decided slump to his shoulders.

Ruth laughed. “To me, he’ll always be my baby.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“Cole has two older siblings, a brother and a sister. Sam lives in San Jose. He works in the tech industry. Shannon is a stay at home mom right now, but she used to work in retail.” She opened the package of pork chops. “Will you get Cole’s cleaver out? We’re going to need it.”

Suddenly in a panic, Fedora glanced around. She had no idea where he kept his knives and as his girlfriend, she should know by now.

There was no knife block, no magnetic strip either, which meant he kept his knives in a drawer. If he were logical, he’d keep the knives and cooking utensils close to the prep area, so she tried there first. No knives. Next drawer. No luck either.

She laughed in what she hoped was an easygoing manner. “So many drawers in his kitchen. I can never remember which one has the knives.”

“You’ve cooked here before, I’m assuming,” Ruth said, checking on the shitakes.

“Sure. Lots of times,” Fedora said. “Aha! Knives.” She pulled out the wooden-handled cleaver.

Ruth smiled. “Good. You mince the pork while I clean the shrimp.”

And so it began. As expected, they had to chop everything into small pieces. Ruth shared bits of knowledge as they cooked. She didn’t use ground pork even though it was easier because she liked to control the fat content.

“Not too small,” Ruth said.

“For the texture?”

“Yes, that and I think the experience of eating it is better when you can tell you got some shrimp in that bite versus water chestnut in another.”

“Where did you get the fresh water chestnuts?” Fedora asked, picking up the little black skinned vegetable.

“There’s a Ranch 99 not to far away. I stopped there this morning on the way over.”

“Oh, I wish I’d have known,” Fedora said. “I’d like to have gone there with you.” There, she’d have gotten some more valuable lessons. She’d been to Asian markets before, but been baffled because many of the labels weren’t in English.

After all the ingredients were chopped, Ruth dumped in some dark soy sauce, sesame seed oil, and a splash of sherry, then mixed with her hands. It smelled amazing.

“Now we roll them,” Ruth announced, after washing her hands again.

Fedora watched carefully as Ruth demonstrated how to place the wonton skin, which was basically a square raw noodle, on her palm, just so. She then deftly used a chopstick to grab about a teaspoon and a half of the filling, placed it on the noodle, then used the chopstick again to roll it until the filling wasn’t visible anymore.

“Now you use your pinky to get some of the egg and dab it here. Good. Here comes the tricky part. You take this corner and that corner and twist and pinch, like so. The egg is the glue that keeps it together.”

Fedora’s first wonton didn’t turn out very well. It looked sad on the tray next to Ruth’s. Even Harry turned his nose up at it, leaving it alone and investigating the bag of dried shitakes instead.

“It’s a little loose,” Ruth said. “Roll tighter at the beginning. I’ll show you again.”

On Fedora’s third try, she nailed it. Her wonton looked exactly like Ruth’s.

“Excellent. You’re a fast learner,” Ruth said.

“Thank you.”

“Now tell me, did you always want to be a chef?”

“I did. Other kids were watching Powerpuff Girls or Fresh Prince, I was watching Essence of Emeril and Molto Mario.”

“I remember those shows. I liked that one about desserts with Debbi Fields. Remember her? Mrs. Fields’ Cookies?”

“I loved those cookies. That used to be one of the high points when I went to the mall, getting a Mrs. Fields cookie.”

“Did you know near the end of the business day, they’d put all their cookies on sale? You could get them cheap.”

“Yes, I did! Sometimes I’d be seeing a movie with my friends or family and the movie would let out at just the right time.” She glanced at Ruth. “You’re making me nostalgic.”

“So, you went to culinary school?”

“Yes, up in LA.”

“Is that where you grew up?”

“Yes. I worked at a couple of restaurants there then moved here to take over at Hat Trick.”

“Have you heard of Anson Lau? He owns quite a few restaurants back east and recently opened one here in San Diego.”

Fedora nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Jade West. It’s supposed to be superb. Dinner there is on my bucket list, but it’s also way out of my budget.”

“Cole and I have a reservation there on Friday night.”

“Lucky you! I’m so jealous.” Fedora put a finished dumpling on the tray with the rest. Reservations at Jade West had to be made months in advance.

“You should come with us. My treat.”

Fedora experienced a fleeting moment of joy and surprise followed by a hard slap of reality. “It’s Friday night. I can’t take it off.”

“I’m sure Cole will give you the night off. Let me go ask him.”

For an older lady, Ruth moved pretty fast up those stairs, too fast for Fedora to call her back and explain that as executive chef, she made her own hours. Oh well. It didn’t matter.

What did matter was she had a decision to make now. Should she say yes? Friday was one of their busiest nights and the Barracudas were playing, which meant it would be even busier. The staff could probably handle it, but she’d likely worry so much she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the meal.

And yet…dining at Jade West. Jade West! Holy crap. She’d pretty much chalked that up to a pipe dream. Sure, she could scrape up the money, but she wasn’t going to go by herself, and none of her friends was likely to shell out that kind of cash on one meal, not when they could buy a week’s worth of groceries instead. Even she had trouble with that idea. At times she’d thought she’d go there to celebrate something big, and now here was Ruth inviting her to go on her dime. Incredible.

The rhythmic thump coming from upstairs stopped. Despite her determination not to think of Cole as a sexual being, she still got a mental picture of him shirtless, running on a treadmill.

It was a disturbingly erotic picture.

Unfortunately, she all too easily imagined Cole gleaming with sweat, his muscles bunching and flexing as he lifted weights or performed a series of pushups or crunches. From there it was a short leap to thinking about what it might feel like to be underneath that hot body as he exerted himself in a very different way.

She wondered, if that anonymous person hadn’t called out last night and interrupted them and if Ruth hadn’t been waiting in the car, would she and Cole have gone inside to her bedroom? Hard to say. She had to admit she’d been pretty hot and bothered. Extremely hot and bothered. When he’d pressed her against the door and she’d felt the hard ridge of his cock against her privadas…she was getting aroused again just thinking about it. It was entirely possible, had the circumstances been different, she would have brought him inside and screwed his brains out.

In a way, that would have been ideal. Then she could have enjoyed it for what it was, chalk it up as a mistake, tell him so, and move on. But that hadn’t happened. Now, she was stuck wondering what kind of lover he was, knowing she’d never find out. There was no way she was going to jeopardize her position as executive chef at Hat Trick. She’d worked too hard and too long to get to this point. All too often she’d heard of inexperienced owners wielding too much control and tying a chef’s hands behind her back or making outright mistakes. She was so lucky to have the “three amigos” as she liked to call them.

From day one when they’d interviewed her, they’d acknowledged how little they knew about the restaurant business and let her call the shots, for the most part.

“It’s like this,” Flynn said. “Sometimes someone buys a team and thinks, because he’s been a hockey fan all his life, that he can suddenly stick his nose into everything because he’s an owner. Guys like that look at a team that’s not scoring and think the solution is as easy as getting more snipers or firing the coach. Hockey’s not that simple, especially now with salary caps. What works best is to hire a general manager whom you trust and then let him do his job. That’s what we want here at Hat Trick.”

At that interview, she’d thought it was probably a mistake for them to expose their weaknesses because there were unscrupulous people out there who would use that to their advantage, but she also decided to do whatever it took to get that job. She’d been in the trenches taking orders and shit in equal measure, learning what to do and what not to do for eight years, and felt more than ready to take the helm as executive chef.

And so after that initial meeting, she’d observed Hat Trick for a few days—being unemployed at the time made that part easy—studied the menu, tasted and evaluated the food. Slater printed out some reports for her to evaluate and she immediately saw they were being overcharged by some of their vendors and that the scheduling was messed up.

Once she made a plan of action, she presented it to them, complete with ideas for dishes she wanted to either tweak or outright add to the menu. Cole told her later that after that meeting it had been a no brainer.

So, no, she loved her job and wasn’t going to screw it up, not when she’d finally achieved her goal of becoming an executive chef. Not for something as inconsequential as sex.

However, she was going to dine with them at Jade West. She wasn’t stupid.

Cole was startled when he turned off the treadmill and turned around to see his mother standing there.

He pulled the earbuds out of his ears and smiled. “Is the wonton done already?”

She crossed her arms. “Not quite. Fedora’s finishing up.”

“Then…?”

“You and I need to talk.”

She trained that steely gaze of hers on him and he felt like a little boy who had hidden his report card from his mother and was still hoping he’d gotten away with it. He wasn’t altogether sure his sweat now was all from working out.

“What about?”

“The fact that you and Fedora are lying about being a couple.”

Shit. He gestured for her to sit on the weight bench, but she didn’t.

“Don’t blame Fedora,” he said. “It’s not her fault.”

“Oh, I don’t. I hold Fedora completely blameless.”

Well, that was something.

She crossed her arms, another bad sign. “I think I know why you did it, but I want to hear it from your own mouth.”

Reminding himself he was a fucking grown man, he bit the bullet. “I don’t want you trying to run my love life.”

She frowned. “I have never tried to run your love life. I may have tried to guide you…”

“That’s just semantics, Mom. Every conversation we have, your first question is are you seeing anyone? And if I am seeing someone, you’re constantly pressuring me to get serious with her.”

She seemed to mull this over before sighing softly. “Well, forgive me for wanting to make sure my son is happy. I don’t want you growing old alone. Men tend to isolate themselves. There are studies about this.”

“I’m not lonely, Mom. I have lots of friends.”

She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You deserve a good woman to take care of and who will take care of you. It kills me to think about you coming home to an empty house every night.”

Something in her voice gave him pause. He wondered if she was the one who didn’t like coming home to an empty house. Maybe she was lonely herself. Guilt suddenly rose up inside him. He resolved to call Shannon and Sam and see if they couldn’t spend a little more time with their mom since they were closer.

“Regardless,” she said, shaking off whatever melancholy had come over her. “You lied to me, Cole. Not once, but repeatedly, over the course of weeks. You embellished the lie and talked an innocent woman into perpetuating it with you.”

Knowing she was right, Cole blew out a breath. “You’re right, Mom. I shouldn’t have lied. It was juvenile and stupid and I’m sorry.”

Except he couldn’t be one hundred percent sorry he’d done it, not when it had shown him a Fedora who was hiding in plain sight.

His mother’s disapproving expression softened. “Admitting you were wrong is a skill many men never learn. I’m proud of you, son. Apology accepted.” She went to him, pulled him down and kissed his sweaty cheek. “Now go take a shower. By the time you’re done the wonton should be ready.”

Cole followed her out of the room thinking he’d gotten off easy. If he’d been a kid, he would have been grounded for a week or more with no electronic entertainment and assigned a boring book to read and write a report on. He’d probably have gotten extra chores too. If the transgression had been particularly heinous, he might have been forbidden to go to hockey practice, which always killed him.

But she stopped at the head of the stairs and said over her shoulder in a flippant tone, “And expect a call from my friend, Sarah, the one in charge of the bachelor auction. I’m going to give her your number.”

Game, set, match.

“Also, cancel whatever plans you might have had for Friday night.”

“Why?”

“You, Fedora and I are going out for dinner again and this time, you two will be yourselves. No pretending.”

“All right.” He supposed he owed his mom that, at least—a dinner without pretenses.

“Because miracle of miracles, you’ve found a wonderful woman and I refuse to let you screw this up.”

Shit. Machiavelli had nothing on Ruth Wu Ripley.