“I’d love to try,” I said, having no recollection of the desserts offered here.
Still, there were never more than four or five desserts on a menu. If I wasn’t familiar with the processes, I could practice at home until I mastered them.
Lucas narrowed his eyes, considering me. “We talked about so many things. Your passion for baking never came up. Why?”
“It’s not something I think about,” I said. “It’s become such a part of me it never occurs to mention it. It would be like telling someone my hair is brown.”
He nodded. “All right. If you have a little time, why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”
“What about the interview?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we set a time for me to come back and answer questions?”
“This is the interview,” he said. “I’m in a hurry to find a good pastry chef. I just hung the sign this morning, and here you are. I think that’s fate. Don’t you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Great. Come.” He waved his big hands, urging me to follow him.
We rounded the desk and crossed into the busy kitchen where everything was stainless steel and white, save the cement floor with its rough gray texture.
“This is where the magic happens,” he said, hooking an apron over his head and passing another into my hands.
I chastised myself for the inappropriate thoughts his wording conjured, though Alicia would wholly approve.
Around us, men and women in matching aprons glanced curiously in our direction. Chefs turned strips of meat on a grill and checked the contents of their ovens. Others tossed salads and ladled soup into bowls. Waitstaff hurried through a swinging door to collect plated meals or place new orders with the kitchen.
“What do you know about soufflés?” Lucas asked, pulling my attention back to him. “They’re a staple on every French restaurant’s menu in this country. I try to switch up the options seasonally, but soufflés are always popular, as are sweet crepes, and crème brûlée. Paris-Brest, tarte tatin, and mille-feuille are regularly on rotation.”
I focused on his words, pushing thoughts of his watching staff from my mind. I had only made soufflés in classes at the country club. My crème brûlée was decent, but I hadn’t tried making either of the other desserts he mentioned.
“Ah, and chouquette,” Lucas added. He looked heavenward and performed a chef’s kiss. “Mémé made the best chouquette I’ve evertasted. If you can touch her talents on that one, I’ll be on your doorstep for dessert every night.”
I laughed, and he clutched his heart, clearly still thinking fondly of his grandma’s baking.
Lucas returned to business by pointing to a workstation with something already in progress. “The oven is preheated. The chocolate is melted and cooled. Now, I’ll add the yolks here. You handle the egg whites there.” He lifted a bowl into his arms and nodded toward a grand mixer. “Stiff peaks, then add the sugar and beat.” He began his portion of the work. When I didn’t move, he said, “Accélère!”
I didn’t speak French, but the meaning was loud and clear. I turned to the mixer and got busy.
When I finished, he upturned a palm in the direction of the chocolate. “You know what comes next.”
“I fold in the egg whites.”
Lucas passed me a spatula, then stepped away, allowing me room to work.
I blended my portion of the recipe with his, careful not to lose volume. I moved the combined contents to a prepped baking dish without waiting for additional instruction.
“Nicely done.”
“Thank you.”
Lucas donned oven mitts and gently set the soufflé into the hot oven. “Do you have thirty minutes to stay and check your finished work?”
I fought the urge to smile and nodded soberly instead. “Yes, chef.”
His kind eyes twinkled. “Well, then. Let’s see what we can accomplish while we wait.”
I had an idea or two.Darn my newly dirty mind.
The unexpected notion that I hadn’t ever really been in love, or felt loved, romantically, hit like a hammer to the heart. My marriage had been a continuous power struggle, one which I’d continuously lost, and it had never been a partnership. Robert wasn’t my best friend. He didn’t help me or comfort me, and even when he said he wanted me, the words only applied to my body, never my mind.
