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butcher helped by pre-cutting all the pieces of meat I needed for the pot-au-feu . Nana always gave me plenty of freedom, but working with large, sharp knives when I was alone was a definite no-no. I was able to manage the dicing of the vegetables on my own though. Nana did give me a helping hand with the crème brulée.”
    “And a chef was born.”
    “I have to admit I’d been bitten by the cooking bug. Everyone there gushed over the quality of the meal and I knew I wanted to feel that sense of victory again.”
    Taryn looked at him and noticed for the first time the man he really was. She’d heard so much talk about him… how tough and brutal he could be, how unforgiving. Many rumors circulated about the number of sous-chefs he’d fired, all for minor offenses.
    But as she looked at him now, she saw the little boy who’d found a passion thanks to the loving hand of a sweet old woman he called Nana. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe he was just one of those horribly misunderstood celebrities.
    She looked into his brilliant blue eyes, eyes made all the more intense by the dark waves of hair that framed his face. As much as she enjoyed the thought of ending up in his bed, she was pleased with this side of him. Maybe it was for the best.

Chapter 3
    The week continued with the same leisurely and casual pace as that quiet and intimate lunch. Taryn and Errol discovered each others’ little quirks, their strange idiosyncrasies and one or two neurosis.
    Errol had an almost military discipline when it came to keeping his kitchen clean. No sooner was a dish no longer needed that it was cleaned, dried and put away. Taryn tended to leave things lying around until her space was a tad crowded then she would rush to clean everything at once, something Errol told her to correct.
    “I know,” she had said. “Clean as you go. My mom has told me often enough.”
    Errol counted out every chop as he cut any vegetable, while Taryn always chimed one potato, two potato .
    As they worked on a variation of a gazpacho, Taryn leaned against the counter and looked at Errol. “What’s your take on molecular cooking?”
    “A silly, modern trend.”
    “Did you ever try it?”
    “No, but I’ve tasted the results of a few who have. Either they didn’t have the technique down or the desired result was not what I want when I sit down to a meal.”
    “So, I guess then that we won’t be touching on that in class.”
    “Not in my class.” He threw three zucchinis into a food processor and pressed the button until they were pureed.
    “Tomorrow, right?”
    “Yep. You ready?”
    “I’ve been ready for the past week. I’ve been ready from the very moment I learned I’d been accepted here.”
    “You know, the Institute must have seen real talent in you. Few applicants are accepted.”
    “I know,” she gushed.
    The next day, Taryn sat front and center in the class of eighteen.
    “Today,” Errol said after everyone had introduced themselves to the class, “we’re going to start with a basic run through of different cuts of beef; which cuts to use in soups, which to grill, and which to roast.”
    With the help of a PowerPoint presentation, he showed the class the various cuts and gave examples of the best ways to prepare each.
    “When preparing a sauce to accompany this cut, what base can you start with?” Errol asked.
    “A roux,” Taryn said as she shot her hand into the air.
    “Interesting, Taryn…. And how would you prepare your roux?”
    “I heat up a saucepan and melt a few tablespoons of butter then add the same amount of flour. Then it’s just a matter of adding a sufficient amount of liquid, like a really strong tea.”
    He nodded his acceptance of her answer. “How many of you have attempted to string up a top blade chuck roast?”
    A few students tentatively raised their hands, including Taryn.
    “How many of you have prepared a rack of lamb?”
    Again a few tentative hands rose.
    “Okay, so I’m going to