Chapter 14

“Emeril Lagasse?” I’d long since stopped trying to get my kitchen crew to stop calling me chef.

“No.”

“Wolfgang Puck?”

“No!”

I grinned at the batch of dough I was preparing, then glanced up through my eyelashes. “All right, then, who?”

“Mr. Beaumont.” My crew were all young enough to have had Artemas as their chemistry teacher and always referred to him as Mr. Beaumont.

I felt a grin light up my face. Artemas and I had been friends since he’d driven up to Cambridge eight years before, and he usually ordered his favorite, a four cheese pizza I’d made especially for him, with mozzarella, fontina, romano, and parmesan, although every once in a while I’d convince him to sample a new pizza recipe I’d decided to try out, and I’d wait, holding my breath, until he gave it a thumbs up.

I continued working on the dough.

“He said to surprise him tonight and make him something special.”