With No Reservations

He shook his head and took a step back, an uncharacteristic darkness etched into his long-lashed green eyes.

“Okay. Miles, colander?”

“Ready, Miss Sloane.” Miles steadied it in the sink and backed away quickly.

“Hot water coming through!” Sloane sang in a high-pitched voice that made the kids erupt into laughter. She emptied the pot into the sink and turned her face so the steam didn’t burn. “Shoom! Shoom! Shoom!” She threw her hands up and down, mimicking the billowing steam to the kids’ laughter. Shaking the remaining water from the colander, she whisked it to the stove again and poured it in the pot with the finished roux. “Miles, Chloe, Davon. Do you have the rest of the cheese?”

“It’s ready,” Chloe said.

“Yes, Miss Sloane.”

Silence from Davon.

Miles sprinkled it into the pot—with clean hands, Sloane checked—as Chloe stirred. Davon stood back, watching with his arms crossed.

Sloane’s chest hitched as he swiped at a tear in the corner of his eye. Her little friend was usually so enthusiastic. And ornery. The others had to fight to share the energy and attention of the room with him.

“And the grand finale. Drumroll, please.” As the kids rapped their hands against the counter, their stomachs, thighs—whatever they could find—Sloane scraped in the turkey kielbasa and scallions and evenly distributed them in the cheesy mixture. “All done. Look what you guys made!”

Six small heads crowded around for a glimpse of the pot’s contents, and Sloane had to admit it looked amazing.

“Wow,” Samira said. “And we can make this at home?”

Sloane nodded and banged the spatula against the pot to free a clump of excess cheese. “It’s a lot better for you than the stuff in the box, too.”

“I bet it doesn’t taste as good.” Miles jutted his round chin.

“Okay, then.” Sloane raised her eyebrows. “You don’t have to try it. More for everyone else.”

Even though he was grinning and clearly knew she was joking, the fleeting look of panic in Miles’s blue eyes made her laugh.

“Oh, I’m going to try it.” He grinned.

Sloane sent everyone to wash their hands and scooped portions of healthier macaroni and cheese into disposable bowls.

Juan David was the first kid to return. Sounds of contentment escaped around his first mouthful of pasta.

“I agree.” It may not have been quite as cost-effective as boxed mac and cheese, but it was close. And it was tastier, judging by the satisfied looks on everyone’s faces as they devoured the meal. The flavors stood on their own—the whole wheat penne, chunks of hearty turkey kielbasa and crunchy little flecks of green onion.

When the last bowl had been scraped clean, Sloane said goodbye to the kids, making sure they all had their recipe cards and grocery lists in tow. And then as she was elbow-deep in suds and dirty pots and pans she felt a pair of thin arms wrap around her aproned waist.

“How you doing, Davon? Everything okay?” Sloane dreaded asking that question with these kids. Their lives were so unstable that she never knew what answer she was going to get.

Her suspicions were confirmed when he shook his head. “My mom’s been really busy with school and work. And my Big Brother Carl’s moving away, so he won’t get to pick me up from school anymore.”

Davon had a brother? What bad timing for a move with their mom in the thick of third-year law school. “But you’ll still get to see Carl at holidays and stuff, right?”

“Naw, Carl’s not my real brother. He’s just a guy from an agency. He has a kid my age and everything. But he was real cool.”

“It’ll be okay, Davon.” Sloane stifled a wince. “Your mom’s almost finished with school, and I know you’re going to get a new Big Brother soon.” She hated how lame those words sounded, too aware of the emptiness behind the platitude.

For a moment, Sloane could picture the faces of the people she’d known her whole life looking at her like she was a stranger after the accident, some with pity, but most fidgety and uncomfortable. Everything’s going to be okay, they’d placated her, probably to make sure she stayed quiet. We’re here for you. And then they’d avoided her.

His eyes widened as his aunt appeared in the doorway. “Don’t tell anyone I said anything, okay?”

“Okay.” Sloane waved at Davon’s aunt, who picked him up most days while his mom was in class.

“See you next time, Miss Sloane. And, uh, thanks.”

Her heart broke for Davon as she watched his aunt hurry him along. He was such a good kid. His mom had done a great job with him as she worked hard to build a better life for them after her husband’s death.

As Sloane’s hands worked to finish the dishes, she made a mental note to ask around about Davon getting a new City on a Hill Big Brother. Because if things weren’t okay in her little friend’s world, things weren’t okay in hers.

* * *

“WHAT KIND OF salad could possibly be so good that you’ve disturbed my reading?” Sloane’s neighbor stomped across the hall to her apartment that evening.

“Trust me, Mrs. Melone.” Sloane let the older woman in. “It’s life changing.”

This was their thing. Mrs. Melone pretended to be a crotchety old woman. Sloane played the sort of neighbor with lots of excuses that required the older woman’s presence. But in reality, they were doing each other a favor.

They both needed someone, anyone, to check in every once in a while.

Mrs. Melone was the wife of some sort of Old Hollywood producer who was always in LA. She was way too stylish to be crotchety. And if she were half as grumpy as she made herself out to be, she never would have agreed to try the salad that spun Sloane into a dancing fit that could rival the cheesiest of touchdown celebrations.

Never mind that it took Sloane three tries and ten minutes of coercing to get Mrs. Melone here. When she finally said the word bacon, Mrs. Melone was sold and grabbed her purse faster than Sloane had ever seen the woman move. Way faster than a woman working on her second hip replacement should ever move.

Sloane took her laptop from its usual spot on the dining room table and guided Mrs. Melone to the chair where the salad was still perfectly posed from its earlier photo shoot, complete with a bud vase of gerbera daisies that made the fresh greens pop.

The older woman made a big ceremony of shaking her head, dangle earrings clinking as she assembled a bite with the best proportion of romaine lettuce, bacon, bleu cheese, lemon-herb chicken and the creamy date and Dijon vinaigrette, then stuffed it in her mouth. Her eyes lit up.

Case. In. Point.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“This is...so flavorful.” Mrs. Melone shoveled in another bite.

Sloane grinned and leaned her elbows on the table beside her neighbor. “See, aren’t you glad I made you come over to try it?”

Mrs. Melone’s stylish silver bob snapped in Sloane’s direction, the scowl on her lined face churning as she chewed her salad. Then her lips curved in the slightest hint of a smile and she took another bite.

Victory!

“Did you get this recipe from the Cooper boy?”

The triumphant sound track came to a screeching halt. “What?” How did she know?

“Graham Cooper. The restaurant you’re working with.” Mrs. Melone made a clicking sound. “Oh, don’t act surprised. You’ve advertised it to the world on your website.”