“That’s awesome, Roberto. Thank you.”
The man placed two plates on the table.
Gracie stared at two beautiful pastries with golden flaky crust and a pile of white froth and sucked in a breath. “Is that a cream puff?”
It looked a lot like her signature pastry, the very delectable dessert that had put Sugarfall on the map.
“I call it a Clean Puff,” he said proudly. “The shell is made from almond flour and oat fiber, bound with egg whites and a touch of coconut oil.”
Seriously? “Or you could use butter, flour, and egg yolks for ap?te à chouxthat would bring you to tears,” she countered.
“Tears when I think about gut inflammation.”
She felt her shoulders drop. “I don’t think about things like that,” she confessed.
He chuckled. “Anyway, the filling is a protein cream made from a silken tofu base with vanilla plant protein and some natural sweeteners. On top is seventy percent cacao for chocolate, and a dusting of coconut. Go ahead, try it. I can give you the calories, fat, and sugar content, if you like.”
“I’ll pass on that, but not this.” She picked up a small dessert fork and took a taste. The first bite was… “Darn you, Marshall Hampton.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Also, I hate you.”
He laughed heartily. “Now, there’s the high praise I wanted from you.”
He wanted…praise from her?
She thanked him by taking another bite and closed her eyes. To a completely untrained and casual palate? It was perfection. Guilt-free and maddeningly satisfying.
“What do you think?” he asked. “I really want the opinion of a real pastry chef.”
“My opinion is…” She swallowed a delicious bite. “Please don’t hire that…that woman again to do a media blitz comparing my cream puffs to your Clean Puffs, because it will be game over.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “For me.”
His whole expression softened. “Hey, really, I’m so sorry about that card thing. That whole approach was a mistake. I don’t want people not to go to your bakery! I just want more to come to mine.”
So they were both feeling the pinch of competition. Gracie filed that and sipped her coffee. “Anyway, we do have to find that common ground for the good of our little community.”
“Agreed.” He braced his elbows on the table and leaned in. “What are you picturing for a gingerbread house?”
Gracie lifted her chin. “Well, gingerbread, for one thing. Actual gingerbread. With molasses, butter, eggs, flour. You know—ingredients that make people happy.”
He rolled his eyes. “And spike their insulin like a ski jump. Got it.”
“And lots of frosting,” she powered on. “I envision some snowy rooflines and icicle fondant dripping down the eaves. Gumdrop paths. It should look like the North Pole and smell like Christmas.”
Marshall nodded slowly, as though taking notes in his head. “Okay. Classic. Traditional. Sugary.”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms, bracing herself for his rebuttal, a little surprised at how relaxed she felt. Must be the…plant protein.
He rubbed his jaw. “See, I was thinking more…modern. Straight lines from almond flour panels instead of gingerbread so it holds longer. We could do windows made of isomalt.”
She winced at the mention of the sugar-free substitute, even though it was known for making great “glass” on baked goods.
“Maybe a roof tiled with protein crisps,” he finished.
She stared at him. “Protein crisps. On a gingerbread roof.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he said with a grin. “They’re surprisingly architectural.”
