“In that case, I would love your feedback. Thanks!” Then I wondered how I would show him the recipes. Would I print them out and bring them to work? But work was busy, and we didn’t often have time for things like that. Should I drop them in his mailbox? Invite him over?
He must have been reading my mind. “You could send them by email, I guess, or you’re on Facebook, right? Friend me, and send the recipes in a message.”
Yay. Yay, yay, yay.
“Sure, I’ll do that.”
And half an hour later, I did. He accepted my request right away, and then I scoured through my files to find some recipes that could be winning material.
Maybe that was what the vision had been about. My chocolate ganache cake! But how would Leo get to taste it, unless he was secretly one of the judges, or unless… I asked him to try it? Was I supposed to do that?
Anyway, I’d send him the recipe and go from there. Plus a few others.
My sisters were asleep after their thrilling Valentine’s Day dates, while I sat on the couch by myself in the living room, getting romantic with some recipes. I was trying to choose some that would impress not only the judges, but Leo too. I wanted him to know I was serious about wanting to be a chef. I wasn’t all about cupcakes and chocolate mousse. I had some unique and original ideas. And I was determined to give this competition my best shot.
I sent a few files and then went and got ready for bed. I could check in the morning for Leo’s reply, if he’d had the chance to look yet. He might not be able to look at them right away; it could take as long as a week. He was always so busy.
I checked my email then was about to turn off my phone when I got a Facebook ping.
Serena. She heard pings! Plural. But this was only one ping.
Leo had replied.
I’ve chosen what I think are the three best recipes for the competition. The chocolate ganache cake, the butterfly sponge, and the mixed berry cream log roll.
I smiled. And now I was hungry.
Thank you so much! I’ll get to work practicing them, and get my family to score them so I know which one to make for the contest. :)
Ping!
Happy to help. Good idea to put the mixed berry puree into the actual cake batter for the log roll. Just make sure it doesn’t get too moist.
Cool. I was getting a live Facebook baking lesson.
I will! Thanks again.
I was tempted to put an emoticon with the smiley face blowing an air kiss, but resisted my stupidity.
I grabbed a small glass of water and turned off the kitchen light, then went to turn off my phone.
Ping!
Wow. Serena was right. Which meant…
If you like, I’d be happy to try your recipes once you’ve made them.
Leo would get to taste my baking creations!
This was one vision I definitely wanted to see come true.
Really? Your opinion would be so helpful.
In fact, if you need any help trying out various baking techniques, I’d be happy to help you out a bit. I have three Sundays off a month, so if you want, I can come over and observe your techniques, or I’ve got a great kitchen setup at home, You’re welcome to bring your ingredients over here.
Was I seeing things? Was the Leo Pearce actually offering to mentor me?
It took me a while to figure out how to reply to such a generous offer. I eventually settled for: That would be amazing, Leo! I can pay you, of course, since I’d be taking up your precious spare time.
Don’t be silly; there’s no need to pay! Baking is one of my favorite things, and I’d love to pass on some of the skills I’ve learned. I know how much you want this.
I read his message, and my mind went somewhere else entirely.
I mean, I know how much you want this TV opportunity.
Oh, yes. And the other this.
Getting to spend time with Leo in the kitchen. Learning skills from a professional. And being up close and personal with the guy I’d been crushing over for far too long. Yes, I want this.
I glanced at the time on my phone. 11:59.
Looks like I did get a Valentine’s Day gift after all.
Chapter 10
I wished there was a way to speed up time. To fast-forward to something you were looking forward to. Then again, sometimes I wished I could pause time, during those moments you wanted to last forever. Sometimes I wished I could just pause time when I was looking at Leo, right in the middle of one of his smiles, so I could savor it. But I also liked the serious, brooding expressions he got when he went off into his own world. I could study his expression more closely then, and try to figure out what each of the creases in his face meant. Maybe the one between his brows meant he was thinking, the ones beside his nose were from his passionate concentration on his work, and the tightened cords in his neck were his anger.
Right now, I wanted to capture the moment he opened the door to his house for me. It felt like he was opening the door to friendship, to likeminded connection, and the beginning of something amazing. He looked relaxed, and moved more slowly than he did at work.
My first mentoring session.
“The kitchen’s this way,” he said. “You can put your bag of ingredients here.” He tapped the end of the counter with his palms, making a drumroll sound.
“A drumroll. Talk about pressure!” I joked.
“Sorry, I used to be in a band. Guess I still have some of the old drummer in me.”
I glanced around. “No drum kit in the house?”
He shook his head. “I sold it when Mom got sick. And anyway, by then I’d realized that I wasn’t going to make it big as a rock star, and should just stick to cooking.”
I remembered that I’d thought his hands looked like a pianist’s or sculptor’s. I wouldn’t have pegged him as a drummer.
“Speaking of music, do you like to have it on while you cook?” he asked.
I shrugged. “My house is usually too busy and noisy for music, unless I put headphones on, but my sisters and Mom are always talking to me, so I never bother.”
“In that case,” he said, “how about we try it today? Sometimes music can stimulate creativity and concentration and help with cooking.”
“Sure. What have you got?”
He took out his phone and scrolled through his playlists. “Here. It’s a bit alternative, but has some nice grooves.” He pressed play, and a slow, cruising instrumental tune played.
“What’s it called?”
“Oh, its just a list of various songs I put together. I create playlists for different types of food to enhance the experience.”
I smiled wide. “What an awesome idea. So, this is the…”
“Chocolate playlist, yep.” His face took on a slightly warm glow. “A bit silly, I know.”
“No it’s not! I think I’m going to do the same!” I nodded with enthusiasm. “Is there a playlist for butterfly sponge cakes and mixed berry log rolls?”
Any nervousness about talking to him had disappeared after my first day of work. It seemed easy now, like we’d known each other for years.
My eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to his Adam’s apple as it moved with his laugh. “Not exactly, but maybe I’ll have to work something out before your next session.” He helped me unpack the ingredients from the bag. “But I do have a playlist for sweet things, so that could work for the sponge cake, and then I have a fruity playlist for desserts involving fruit, so that could work for the log roll.”
“Do all chefs do this, or just you?”
He held up his hands. “I’ve never asked Sam. When I was doing my training in another place, there was always music, but it seemed random.”
“So you thought you’d put a bit more purpose into it?”
“Guess so. Sometimes it’s the little things that make a difference in how a meal or recipe turns out. Even the chef’s state of mind can affect it, because it impacts how the muscles in the hands and arms move.” He rolled his shoulders a few tim
es. “You need to feel relaxed and confident, especially when mixing things by hand.” He paused for a moment then added, “And my mom had a playlist. To help her heal. She said it helped her feel calmer and less scared about being sick.”
I liked how his creation of food playlists was kind of a tribute to his mom. “I can understand that. We played music sometimes for Savvy when she was in a coma. Serena had read that classical music could help the brain, so we played Mozart and Beethoven for her. She probably hated it, but she woke up, so I guess she’s not complaining.”
He nodded. “I’m glad she’s better. Riley’s been great ever since he and Savannah got together. His state of mind—everything.”
My thought was that it was due not only to my sister, but also to what my sister had told him about his father. Thinking your dad committed suicide and then finding out that he hadn’t after all must have been a huge relief, although bittersweet.
But Leo didn’t know the truth yet.
“So, here is the oven, obviously. What temp do you need to preheat it to?” His hand hovered near the knob.
“I’ll do it,” I said, turning it to the correct temperature. His oven was a better model than ours. I was jealous. “So now I just need to grease the cake tin and prepare the ingredients.”
Leo had said to not worry about bringing tins and saucepans and utensils, just the food, so he got out a round cake tin and some baking paper for me, and I grabbed my container of butter.
When the tin was prepared I put the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl, and separated four eggs, putting only the yolks in.
Leo checked the recipe I had printed out. “For greater efficiency, next time you could start by melting the butter and chocolate together, and then preparing the dry ingredients and eggs. That way the chocolate mixture can cool slightly. Sometimes the heat can affect the egg yolks, so it’s best to make sure they’re not exposed to immediate heat.”
“Okay, thanks.” I got a pen and drew a little arrow from step three to step two to swap them around.
It was weird having him looking over my shoulder while I made the cake batter. My family sometimes did it, but that was different. And his presence felt different, smelled different (no, he didn’t have BO like in Sasha’s vision; he smelled nice, manly and warm).
I stirred the chocolate and butter as it melted, and resisted the urge to dip my finger in and lick some. Or better yet, dip Leo’s finger in and lick that.
Oh God, my cheeks were burning up at the fantasy.
“This is good for me,” said Leo. “Watching and not being able to do anything myself. I’m tempted to give you a hand.”
“I’m like that in the kitchen when Mom’s cooking. I can’t help but interfere.”
“Goes with the territory.”
“Yep.”
It was quiet for a moment, and I could hear the ebb and flow of his breath and see his chest in the corner of my eye, moving slowly up and down as he stood beside me.
The near-silence abated when I turned the mixer on to beat the egg whites.
“No more than a few minutes for soft peaks,” said Leo. “I’m sure you know that though.”
“Yep, though sometimes I get lost in my thoughts and mix them for too long, and they end up a bit stiffer than I’d planned.”
“Easy to do,” he said through the noise of the mixer. “What do you think about?”
I was a bit taken aback by his question. I hadn’t expected him to ask me anything personal. “Um, well after I’ve mentally noted what the next step in the recipe is, sometimes I think about…”
You.
“…What I’m going to do on the weekend, what’s going to happen in the next chapter of the book I’m reading, or what homework I need to do. That sort of stuff, I guess.” I shrugged, and some of the egg whites almost slid up and over the side of the bowl. I scraped them down and mixed some more.
Leo put his hand on the kitchen counter next to the bowl, looking at me. “What do you really think about?”
“I really think about those things.”
“You think about other stuff too. I can see it in your eyes. They go somewhere else, sometimes.”
He saw that in me too, just like I’d seen it in him?
“I think about my life, my future, where it’s been and where it’s going. I think about my dad, and how unfair it is that he died—disappeared. I wonder why bad things happen to good people, and how can we make the world a better, safer place, and how sometimes life goes really fast and other times it’s slow, and I wish the happy moments could last longer, and…”
I only realized I’d stopped the mixer when my sentence trailed off into silence, and I took a breath.
The afternoon sunlight streaming through the venetian blinds cast rectangular shadows across Leo’s face, as though he had stripes. He squinted, then twisted the rod on the blinds, reducing the glare. My eyes met his.
He glanced down. “Your peaks are soft.”
“Huh?” I glanced at the bowl, then lifted the mixer up, the egg whites folding over into an arc. “Oh yeah, they are.”
I removed the mixing attachments and went to wash them in the sink so the egg wouldn’t stick. Leo touched my arm gently. “I’ll do that.” He took them and washed them under the running water while I folded the frothy egg whites into the cake batter.
I can’t believe I blurted all that out. How did he make me do that?
I was quite happy just to talk about weekends and homework and books, not delve into the mysteries and unfairness of life. It was as though when Leo opened that door to his house, he had also opened the door to something else in me, like his presence was somehow extracting the honest truth of who I was.
I was a bit scared of the rawness of it, to be honest. The vulnerability. But letting that out was also exhilarating. Maybe I didn’t have to always be happy, playful, friendly, and caring 100 percent of the time. He made me feel like it was okay to be true and authentic, even if it was a little ugly and uncomfortable at times. Not that I wanted to feel sad or negative, but it was good to give validation to those feelings so I could work through them and move forward.
“Here.” He held out the cake tin.
I scraped the batter into it and smoothed out the surface, then took the tin from him and placed it in the oven. I set the timer for forty-five minutes.
“After about twenty, you might be able to drop the temperature a little to keep from overbrowning the edges.”
I nodded. “Okay.” I set my phone timer for twenty minutes. Then I looked in the bag I’d brought. “Oh crap, I forgot the raspberries. I’ll go back home and get them,” I said, gesturing toward the front door. “Will I just come back in twenty, or will I come back right away?”
I didn’t think about what would happen while the cake cooked. Would we sit and talk? Would I help him with housework? Would we stand around awkwardly in silence? I should probably stay home until I needed to turn the temperature down.
“A good cook never leaves the kitchen unattended,” Leo said confidently.
“Okay, back in a sec.” When I reached for the door handle to open it, Leo grasped it before I did.
He paused, looked at me, and said, “Tamara. I think about those things too.”
Chapter 11
By the time I’d gone back and finished my mentoring session at Leo’s, I could hardly wipe the grin from my face.
“Went well, I take it?” Serena said, glancing up from her laptop.
“The cake was a success. I left some for him and Riley, and the rest is ours. Get it while you can.” I took it to the kitchen along with my bag of remaining ingredients.
“I’ll wait till after dinner,” she said. Then, “Did he say what I think he said?”
I nodded vigorously. “And I handed him the cake, just like Savannah said I would. And luckily he really liked it. At least, he said he did. I hope he wasn’t lying.”
“As if. Everyone likes your baking.” She peered closer at me. “You’ve got
a bit of…” She patted the side of her cheek.
My hand flew to my face, and when I removed it a small blob of chocolate ganache was on it. “Oh, man!” I licked it off. “Why didn’t he tell me it was there?”
“Probably didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“But I’m embarrassed now.”
Sasha must have overheard us because she came out from the hallway and said, “Shame he didn’t take the opportunity to gently wipe it off himself, then seductively lick it off his finger.’”
“Sasha!” I tried to whack her, but she was too far away. “Anyway, what are you doing Serena? Homework?”
“No.” She held the screen of the laptop and pulled it closed a little.
“Hey, what are you looking at?” Sasha went over and tried to look. “Hot guys online?”
“No, of course not!” She sighed and opened the laptop. “I’ve made a list of all the businesses in the state known to be using the Mountain Workwear uniforms.” She opened a Word document. “Next I’ll put them into a spreadsheet and add names of the key staff, then Google news events related to them and the company, and see if I can find anyone suspicious.”
“Does Mom know you’re doing this?” Sasha asked.
She shook her head and slid her hand down her side ponytail.
“Sounds like a lot of work,” I said. “Just be prepared for it not to lead anywhere.”
“I know.” She spoke in a high-pitched voice. “But it’s better than doing nothing.”
• • •
Serena’s words repeated themselves in my mind over the next day at school. Not just in relation to Dad, but in relation to Leo. Before working with him, before our first afternoon alone together, I did nothing. I simply fantasized about him, liked him from a distance, both wanting and not wanting something to happen. Desire and fear battled in my mind. Fear of rejection, or of being accepted but then being seen, really seen, and opening myself up to emotions I wasn’t sure I was ready for. But desire won out. I wanted to be ready for the emotions. I wanted to experience something. Even if my heart got broken. It would be better than nothing, better than not having an experience with him.
Taste Page 7
