A/N: This is my attempt at a modernized Emma in the world of the Food Network. Feel free to tell me what you think.

Title: Cooking with Miss Woodhouse

Rating: T

"I did it!" I told Andrew Knightley as we sat at the head table and watched the newly married Nina Taylor and Charlie Weston dance their first dance together. "I got them together."

Andrew didn't hesitate to laugh at me. "Emma, let me explain something to you. Just because four years ago you casually mentioned to me that MAYBE Nina might have a crush on the guy who owns her favorite coffee shop that does NOT mean that you got them together. You never even met Charlie until after they started going out."

I gave him my best evil eye, something that I normally saved my students. "I don't care what you say, Mr. High-and-Mighty. I got them together. You just can't understand."

"Yeah, I don't understand. You've got that right. I have no clue how your mind works, Miss Emma Woodhouse."

"That is because you are a boy and boys cannot understand the intricacies of the female mind."

"Oh great," Andrew sighed. "I'm once again just being thrown out as a dumb boy. I'm twenty-six years old but I'm still constantly being labeled a dumb boy."

"That's because you are a dumb boy," I replied. "You're the dumbest of the dumb boys."

My name is Emma Elizabeth Woodhouse and I'm twenty-six years old, just like Andrew Knightley. I've wanted to be a matchmaker ever since watching Yenta cluck around in Fiddler on the Roof when I was eleven and I've wanted to be a cook since the first time my mother, the great chef Daniela Woodhouse, let me help in the kitchen. I got my associate's degree in culinary arts and then got a job working at a classy restaurant in Highbury, Michigan. And then I wrote a few articles for the local newspaper-just recipes, do it yourself type stuff. And then somehow, I was discovered by the Food Network; this admittedly had something to do with my mom's friends from her career as a chef in New York City. Two years ago, I got my own show-Cooking with Miss Woodhouse. And Andrew, my childhood best friend and next-door neighbor, got a job as my producer. And the best part is that they shoot the show in my kitchen. So I teach the world how to cook; it's pretty fantastic.

But after college, he got his own apartment in the Donwell Estates apartment complex while I moved back into my dad's house to take care of him. My dad is a widower in his early seventies and he hates being alone-even for a few hours. He likes knowing where his family is and being able to feel secure that they're there for him. When my older sister, Ava, married Andrew's brother, Jack, Dad hid from the world moaning and groaning about the evils of marriage and how no one should ever abandon their family. I ignored him some days and others I did my best to placate him. It really depends on my level of patience after a day in the kitchen.

"I don't see why anyone would ever want to get married," my dad sighed as I drove him home from the wedding that night. I'd managed to get out of helping to clean the reception hall because Nina knows what my dad is like.

"You married Mom," I reminded him.

"That was thirty years ago. Things were different then," he protested. "Poor Nina has to leave her parents. Think about poor Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, Emma. Just think about them. They're left all alone in that big house of theirs with no one to care for them in their old age."

This sort of logic seemed backward to me but I stuck with the basic facts of the situation. "Dad, first, Nina moved out of her parents' house when she graduated from college. And secondly, Mr. and Mrs. Parker moved to Arizona because of Mr. Parker's job right after that. And thirdly, they live in an apartment. They're not rattling around any big old house."

"But don't you remember when poor Ava married Jack and had to move all the way to Washington D.C. to be with him? Why did they have to move? They could have lived with his parents or with us. I would have loved to have had them with us. I hate having her so far away. It's unbearable, Emma, simply unbearable. They didn't need to go to Washington."

"Dad, in case you've forgotten, Jack's job is in D.C."

"He could have commuted. It's not that far," my father protested. "I can't stand having Ava so far away. And now she has Carson and there's another baby on the way. It's just obscene. They're simply too far away. And they never visit. And they didn't even come to poor Nina's wedding."

I sighed. "Okay, Dad, I'll talk to Ava soon and see when they can visit. But she was just here with Carson last month. And the new baby is due so soon; it's not good for her to be traveling."

"If she were here, Dr. Parker could take care of her. And she could live with us."

But my brother-in-law has a job in D.C. And Carson attends a preschool in D.C. right now. "If she were here, she couldn't be with Jack," I reminded my dad. "And Jack needs to be in D.C. until Christmas."

"Well, I'm her father. She should want to be with me."

I sighed. It was at moments like this that I gave up with my father. He doesn't really think about what he's saying. I've heard people call him selfish and controlling and I don't like that description of him. He just likes things a certain way. But I don't mind. He's my daddy and I love him but he is impossible.

"Dad, when Mom was pregnant with Ava, would you have rather had her with you here? Or would you have preferred that she was with Grandpa Maloney in Chicago?"

"That's easy," he replied. "I wanted her with me."

"Now how do you think Jack would feel if we took his wife away from him while she was pregnant?"

"That's different," he protested. "Your mother was my wife. Ava is my daughter."

I sighed and pulled into the driveway. After opening the garage and letting Dad out, I pulled in and park the car. Then, I hauled all of my things, which include purse, shoes, make-up bag, my bouquet, and the throw bouquet that I caught, into my bedroom and then ignored Dad's suggestion that I go to bed and instead settled down in front of the TV in my pajamas to watch whatever happens to be on. I'm not very picky at eleven-thirty at night. And so I watched ALF reruns until two in the morning and then went to bed.

Monday morning, I was still exhausted from the weekend. And when I came downstairs to my kitchen/studio, Andrew was Mr. Perky. I hate that guy; Andrew, not Mr. Perky. I don't know who Mr. Perky is. Well, Andrew but that's beside the point. I'm supposed to be Miss Perky; that's the role I play on the show. But I only become Miss Perky after about three cups of coffee-minimum. Andrew, being a natural morning person, doesn't understand and accuses me of being addicted to caffeine. He just does not understand me or my needs. Nina gets me; Nina is a caffeine addict. She's one of my assistant producers and fabulous. And now they're giving me a new personal assistant; I scared off my last one. Her name is Halley Smith and she's supposed to be like twenty or something, fresh out of college. I don't know how she feels about coffee or caffeine; they didn't let me interview her before they hired her.

"Hey, Red," Andrew greeted me when I walked into the kitchen.

I stuck my tongue out at him as I poured my second cup of coffee and then added hazelnut creamer. "My hair is auburn, not red," I said after drinking half the cup.

"Sorry," he said. "But 'hey, red' sounds a lot better than 'hey, auburn.' So you're stuck. Plus, in The Philadelphia Story, Cary Grant calls Katharine Hepburn 'Red.'"

"I hate Katharine Hepburn," I replied after drinking the rest of the cup and pouring cup number three.

"But you love that movie."

"God, you're annoyingly persistent."

"Okay, you know what, Red? I'm going to go away and never bother you again."

"That would be ideal," I replied. "And stop calling me Red."

"I'll think about it," he said walking out of the room.

Just then, a small blonde girl walked into the kitchen. "Hi," she whispered. "My name is Halley Smith and I'm supposed to be Ms. Woodhouse's new assistant."

"I'm Emma Woodhouse," I replied, thinking that this girl couldn't even be the twenty-years-old that the recruiter had told Andrew that she was. She looked like she was about fifteen and there was no way she could fit into a cable cooking show. So I decided to greet her with a warm smile and then I'd take her under my wing and make her fit into the world of my cooking show.

"How are you doing today?" I asked her.

"I'm goo-fi-fine," she stuttered. "I-this is my first TV show."

I smiled. "It's mine too. Don't worry; it's not too stressful. And lucky you, you'll never be on camera."

"I don't want to be on camera."

I laughed and patted her shoulder; she was shaking. "Don't worry; you won't be on camera."

She took a deep breath. "This is my first job since school. I'm really nervous. I've never worked for anyone famous before."

"I'm nobody special," I told her. "I just cook in front of a camera crew a couple times a week, stop in at the restaurant, work on the cookbook, and do publicity. And I have a social life."

"But you're on TV. You're famous."

I smiled. "Halley, I'm really just a cook."

"I'll bet your boyfriend doesn't think that," she replied.

"I'm single," I told her.

"That sucks. You seem like the type of girl who could get an amazing guy. You should date that guy from The Office. He's cute. I bet you two would get along great."

"He probably has no clue who I am." And I had no clue which guy from The Office she was talking about. Dwight? NO! Jim? Maybe but I think that actor is dating someone.

A few minutes later, Andrew came back into the room with Joyce Bates, one of my assistant producers; she's probably in her mid-fifties and has never left Highbury for more than a week. "All right, Emma," he said. "Here's the thing. Halley doesn't feel comfortable being on camera tasting your food or any of the stuff Grace used to do for you. So Joyce is going to do that now."

"I still don't think this is that great of an idea," Joyce said. "I'm not the most outgoing person."

"Nina's on her honeymoon," Andrew said. "And Grace is gone. Halley is camera-shy. You're all we've got, Joyce. And I have faith in you. You'll be great."

"All you have to do is hand me things and taste stuff," I told her. "It's really simple. And talking is easy. It's just like normal conversation."

"But there are cameras!"

In all honesty, I'd said the same thing a few years earlier when my mom's old friend, Liz Coventry, pitched me the idea of a cooking show. I'd been terrified of the cameras. But I'd never told Andrew that. And I wasn't about to tell Joyce that. I had to pretend that I'd always been confident and comfortable in front of the cameras.

So I told her to take a deep breath. "Trust me. You'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Joyce asked. "But I've never done anything like this before."

I wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and noted that they were shaking. "You'll be great. I have faith in you. And besides, it's only for a week. Nina will be back in no time."

"Five episodes, Joyce," Andrew said in his no-nonsense way. "That's all I'm asking of you. Please, can you do it for me?"

Oh, he can be cute when he wants. And of course she gives into his charm. There was no question about that as soon as he smiled at her. He's charming and sweet and genuine. That's the problem with Andrew; he's real. He doesn't just use his charm to manipulate women. He just wants everyone to be happy.

And it happened, things went smoothly-like glass. We made a chicken dish using Asian sesame-ginger salad dressing as a marinade. Then I cooked up white rice and steamed broccoli and poured the same dressing on it as a sauce. And then I made an Asian-inspired salad using the same dressing. It was delicious-one of Andrew's favorite meals. I love it too; my dad hates it though. He's not much for exotic cuisine, which is funny because he married a chef. But it isn't really that exotic of a meal. But Joyce loved it. "This is so good," she raved after trying it. "And it's so easy to make. Even an idiot could make it."

I just kept smiling through that one. I want the stuff on my show to be simple but I don't want someone to say that it's so simple an idiot could do it. After we were done, I hugged Joyce. "You were great," I enthused. "I'm so glad you were there."

"Thanks," she said, blushing. "I was really nervous. I don't know if you could tell."

"Nope, you were a natural," I replied.

"Hey, Red," Andrew said walking by just then. "That was a great show."

"Stop calling me 'Red.'"

"Never," he replied. "I'll call you Red until you stop wearing Chucks during the show."

"Not happening," I told him. "I'll dress in cute clothes and look stunningly stylish. But the Chucks stay."

He laughed. "Then so does the nickname."

I sighed. "Whatever, just give me more coffee."

"You've had four cups already today."

"Five," I corrected him. "I had the three before the show and then two during the show."

"Emma, let's face something together. You're addicted to coffee and you have been since the eighth grade."

"I can quit coffee whenever I want."

"Bullshit," he replied before walking away.

"Joyce," I said turning back to her. "Do you think I'm addicted to coffee?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But my niece, Jessie Fairfax, met a crack addict once."

I smiled like I did whenever she mentioned her precious niece who was an aspiring chef at some vegetarian restaurant in Toledo or Cleveland or somewhere else in Ohio. I kind of tend to zone out when Joyce starts talking about Jessie…or just when she talks in general. She's really boring and repetitive. And she likes to drone on and on. "Poor Jessie," she was saying as I came back to reality. "She just wants to help other people but there are so many confused people in this world. There are so many people who turn to drugs and alcohol to solve their problems."

"It's a tragedy of our modern society," I told her. "But I've really got to go talk to my new assistant."

"Halley Smith, she's so cute."

I nodded as I walked away looking for the aforementioned cute twenty-year-old. I wanted to get to know her a little bit and calm her down. I was looking for a new young, single girl friend now that Nina was married. And Halley-young, cute, probably single, and almost definitely extremely impressionable-was just what I was looking for.

I found Halley sitting on a couch outside my office. She had perfect posture and she looked like someone was going to shove her in front of a firing squad any minute now. She was petite and had a very young, naïve face. She had pale blue eyes, pale blonde hair, and creamy white skin. She was wearing twill trousers-probably because someone told her they would make her look more mature-with a bright red blouse, which was entirely too loud for her complexion, and conservative black ballet flats. And she was quivering like a leaf.

"Halley," I said with a smile walking towards her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," she replied shyly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be on the show today. I'm just really shy."

"It's fine," I told her. "I've had some pretty shy assistants before. I should warn you, Halley, I'm pretty demanding. I'm probably the most demanding boss you'll ever have."

"I doubt that. You seem really nice."

I laughed. "This is only your first day. I'm pretty sure I've scared some of my former assistants to death or landed them in therapy."

She smiled. "You seem so sweet."

"Appearances can be deceiving," I told her. "But let's get to work."

"So what do I have to do?" she asked me. "What does a personal assistant do?"

"You'll answer the phone, sort my mail, arrange my appointments, and whatever else I tell you to do. You'll bring me my coffee when I want it and the way I want it. And I'm very picky about my coffee. Didn't they explain all of this at the interview?"

She shrugged. "I was having a hard time paying attention. I was really nervous. The only thing I know about being a personal assistant come from watching Ugly Betty."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I can guarantee you that working for me will be much more boring than that. But it'll be intense. Working for me is a serious job, not just a game or a TV show."

"I'll try my best."

"That's all I asked," I told her with a smile as I opened the door to my office. "And don't forget to tell me when someone is here to see me."

And then I went into my office to browse recipes in my mother's cookbooks.

About half an hour later while I was contemplating seventeen different kinds of meatloaf, Halley burst into my office with a frantic look on her face. "There's a man outside with two cups of coffee. And he says he needs to talk to you. And I think he's Andrew. And I don't know how to call your office from my desk. And he offered to show me. But I don't know if I can trust him."

I disentangled my long legs from the easy chair in which I'd been curled up and walked over to the door of my office. "Calm down, Halley," I told her as I saw Andrew standing there with two paper cups from Starbucks in his hands as well as a large red folder tucked under his arm.

"Is it Andrew?" she asked me nervously.

I nodded. "Let me show you how to call my office from your desk and then I'll talk to Andrew. Andrew, I'll see you in two seconds."

Ten minutes later, I was finally done explaining how to press *162 to Halley and I went back to my office. "The new assistant seems high-strung," Andrew remarked.

"Didn't you hire her?"

He shook his head. "No, hiring of your personal assistant, according to the Food Network, is neither my responsibility nor is it yours. Rather, it apparently belongs to Ethan."

"Oh dear god," I moaned. Ethan Percy was one of Andrew's assistants. He was really nerdy although a good guy in general. He liked to talk and he'd never had a girlfriend-to my knowledge.

"What? You don't trust Ethan?"

"No, it's not that. It's just I would have liked to have had some say in picking my assistant. I thought you did that. Halley isn't even trained. I don't have time to train my assistant."

"I know. You have a show to plan. And that's why I'm here. I stopped at Starbucks to get you a raspberry mocha."

I picked it up as I sat down at my desk and took a sip of my favorite beverage. "What's up? What do the execs want now?"

"A theme for your show," he replied.

"I already air live," I protested. "What more do they want?"

"Jessie Fairfax is starting a new all vegetarian show."

"I like meat."

He laughed. "I'm thinking we should do a bunch of backyard barbecue shows. What do you think?"

"You'd have to help. You're really good with a grill."

He shrugged. "I'm game if you are."

"Awesome," I said.

Andrew nodded. "I'll call the execs and we'll get it underway. We can do it leading up to Labor Day."

A/N: Please review!