I didn't sleep much the night before the preview, but my hands knew what to do.
I arrived at the hotel before five. The kitchen lights came on in sections, filling the tiled room with a pale gold glow. The cooks trickled in behind me, one by one. I started the coffee, put the biscuits in the oven, and checked the first delivery of apples.
For the first time in years, I wasn't trying to arrange my morning around Owen's appetite. I wasn't building one meal in the space between my work and his day. I was building the kitchen I had wanted.
At six, the potato cook came in wearing a jacket he'd forgotten to button. I showed him the griddle. June ran through the seating plan. Celia arrived with a clipboard and an expression that suggested she had already caught two problems before anyone else
