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she’d ever find getting up at five anything but grim. She felt as if she were operating mostly on caffeine and poverty, with a soupçon of determination thrown in for good measure. The fact that she could even think of the word soupçon at this ungodly hour was maybe an indication that her brain was beginning to function, although the rest of her body was still far behind in spite of two cups of coffee.
    She parked in the same spot she’d used the day before, then carried her eggs into the kitchen. This time the green-haired woman barely glanced at her. “Joe,” she yelled, “delivery.”
    LeBlanc emerged in his Super Chef suit. She still hadn’t quite gotten used to him in his kitchen whites. Yesterday he’d lounged against her fence post in a Hawaiian shirt so vivid it seemed to vibrate in the sunshine. And now here he was in that spotless jacket, his shaved head covered by the black cap.
    “Hey, Miz Carmody. Right on time.” He grinned at her again. At least her toes didn’t automatically curl anymore when he did that. On the other hand, other parts of her body were definitely taking notice. Apparently LeBlanc was more effective as a wakeup than coffee.
    “Hi.” She held up her basket. “Seventeen this time. I might have a couple more when I get back home.”
    “Good enough.” He took the basket out of her hand and unloaded the eggs into a bowl. “You can toss the basket and your jacket in the staff room. You’ll need an apron, but there’s a stack of them back there, along with kitchen towels. Hey, Darcy,” he called, turning toward the woman with the green tips.
    She glanced up at him, then at MG, her forehead furrowing. “What?”
    LeBlanc nodded in her direction. “Your new assistant. Get her set up, okay?”
    Green hair’s furrowed forehead transformed to a full-fledged frown. “Huh?”
    He sighed. “I said I’d find somebody to help you with the prep work. Meet MG Carmody, your new assistant. You can show her the ropes and work with her until she finds her footing.” He gave the woman a long look that seemed to have some significance MG couldn’t fathom.
    After a moment, green hair nodded, still frowning. “Okay, sure. I can do that.” She turned toward MG. “Come on. You’ll need an apron. Then you can get to work.”
    “Darce?” LeBlanc arched an eyebrow.
    She paused, looking back at him questioningly.
    “You might want to introduce yourself.” His voice sounded carefully neutral.
    She blew out an exasperated breath, then shrugged. “Darcy Cunningham. Now come on. We’ve got stuff to do.”
    MG grabbed her basket and followed the rapidly disappearing Darcy Cunningham down a hall at the far end of the kitchen and then to the left.
    “Staff room’s in here,” she said quickly. “Hang your stuff on the rack over there. You have any money with you?”
    MG blinked, then shook her head. “Just the five bucks I got for the eggs.”
    Cunningham shrugged. “Keep it in your pocket. We got no lockers or anything secure back here. Same with your keys. Here.” She thrust a red bib apron in MG’s direction. “Put this on. You ever wear one before?”
    MG shook her head. “Not like this.”
    “Knot it around your waist.” She pointed to her own apron where she’d pulled the cords around her waist to tie them in front.
    MG dropped the apron over her head and did as she was told. “Do I need anything on my hair?”
    Cunningham squinted at her, then grimaced. “Yeah. Board of Health regulations say your hair’s got to be covered if you’re doing prep.” She glanced around the room, then grabbed a baseball cap with a beer company logo. “Use this. It’ll do for now. Bring your own hat tomorrow.”
    She turned, heading back toward the kitchen without checking to see if MG was following. MG hung up her jacket, dropped her basket on a chair, and trotted after her.
    In the kitchen, Cunningham was already setting up her cutting board again, her chef’s knife in her hand.