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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.
    â€œI didn’t know how to do that,” one woman murmured to her friend. “That’s clever. I wish she’d let us practice.”
    â€œMe, 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, butdespite 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.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œHi,” she said in a low voice, then sniffed. “I don’t care what it is, it smells delicious.”
    â€œI’m sure it will be. Jenna’s a gifted cook.”
    â€œI 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’tstarve.” 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,