Anson held out his hand. His grip was strong, bordering on too tight, as he greeted me. “Ezra, I’ve heard a lot about the menu options you sent to Carson. I’m not sure how we’re going to choose from all this food. It looks and smells amazing.”
I rubbed the nape of my neck, struggling to look anywhere other than the floor. I took a deep breath, remembering that Shiloh was counting on me. This wasn’t only an opportunity for me but for Shiloh’s Sweets as well. I’d heard people chattering about the event, and it sounded as though it had the potential to become the next big thing.
“Thank you. Carson suggested I should let my imagination go wild. I’m not sure he knew what he was getting himself into.” Someone chuckled, and I bit my bottom lip to keep from rambling even more.
I jolted as someone squeezed my shoulder. When I glanced to my left, Carson stood beside me, offering me a reassuring grin. “I knew. You might not be in the spotlight, but that doesn’t mean word hasn’t spread about the magic you whip up in the kitchen. You’re the perfect man for the job.”
Anson announced that everyone had arrived and the meeting was starting. I watched as everyone took their seats around the room, surprised by the lack of formality.
“Why don’t we start with the food?” Carson suggested. “I’m not sure about anyone else, but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m going to be able to focus on the rest of the meeting if we don’t get to sample what Ezra so kindly put together for us.”
I could see the audience’s eyes light up, their anticipation palpable. As I finished presenting the sweets, my initial anxiety melted away. This was my world, and I was in control.
Summoning a shaky smile, I replied, “Thank you, Carson. Let’s start with the desserts. Everyone knows that’s the best part of any meal.” As I began sharing my vision, my passion for baking overshadowed the initial anxiety. Whenever my voice faltered, I only had to look to Carson, who was quick with a nod or wink, encouraging me to continue.
Shiloh and I had spent hours experimenting in the kitchen, honing my ideas into the ideal combination of flavors to make the event memorable. The initial dishes I presented to the committee consisted of classic homey recipes with an elegant twist. They weren’t merely the centerpieces. They narrated the heart of Harmony Grove through every bite.
The soft hums and moans of delight were a huge boost to my confidence. Everyone’s attention was split between my words and the food. That was fine by me. The less I had to say, the better.
The cranberry cheesecake bites were my first showstopper. “These,” I began with a flourish, lifting one for everyone to see, “are bite-sized delights. The rich, creamy cheesecake is complemented perfectly with a tart cranberry topping, and the buttery graham crust offers a touch of sweetness. It’s a burst of the holiday spirit in every mouthful.”
This was the sort of presentation I’d hoped to give but had thought impossible. It helped that the men and women in this room were friendly. None of them were my friends, but they weren’t strangers. And given the mission of Harmony House, they wouldn’t shun me for being the awkward gay man.
I moved on to the next item, the white Christmas pavlovas. “Pavlovas are a classic dessert. We’ve sized them down to a bite-sized portion and adorned them with fresh white cream and seasonal berries, hinting at a snow-covered winter landscape. They’re light, airy, and melt in your mouth.”
Finally, I brought forward my personal favorite. “Now, this,” I said with pride, pointing to a beautiful glass showcasing layers of decadence, “is our chocolate mousse and brownie trifle. It begins with a layer of moist, fudgy brownie, followed by a velvety chocolate mousse. Topped off with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, it’s a symphony of textures and flavors, promising indulgence in every bite.”
I glanced around the room, gauging the committee members’ reactions. They leaned in, eager, and I felt my confidence swell. “Of course,” I added with a modest shrug, “there will be an assortment of iced cookies as well—simple yet festive.”
Their eyes were on me, some filled with wonder, others with curiosity. The room was buzzing with anticipation, and I felt like I’d truly captured the spirit of Harmony Grove in my creations.
I turned my back to the room and pulled out the index cards I’d created for the savory foods. While I could talk about desserts until their eyes glazed over, savory was newer for me. I should have started there so the presentation didn’t fall flat. After giving them a few minutes to finish their dessert samples, I drew in a deep breath.
“Now,” I said, false bravado in my voice, “for the savory items. Shiloh and I spent a lot of time brainstorming and experimenting in the kitchen. We wanted something that would be both traditional and innovative.”
“Imagine mini pot pies, their crusts golden and flaky, filled to the brim with a sumptuous turkey and vegetable medley. Then there are the small skewers, each holding a bite of honey-glazed ham, offset by the tangy burst of a pineapple chunk.
“As this is an event for the kids, we wanted to make sure there was plenty they’d enjoy as well,” I continued. Carson and Anson wandered around the room, offering samples to the others before sitting with their plates piled high. “We’ll have creamy mac and cheese bites, breaded and lightly fried, pigs in a blanket, and meatball skewers with a cranberry dipping sauce.”
The group seemed enraptured, nodding and whispering, surely imagining the delightful spread. However, I couldn’t help but notice Carson. He was usually the epitome of focus, but today, his attention was solely on me. Every gesture I made, every word I uttered, seemed to pull him in further.
As I continued describing the dishes—the puff pastry bites filled with cranberry and brie, the mini sliders with tender roast beef and horseradish cream—I felt a weight in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t anxiety or apprehension, but rather an awareness of Carson’s gaze. It was as if there was an invisible thread connecting us, growing tauter with each passing second.
Amidst my descriptions, our eyes met. The clamor of the room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in a silent world of our own. Those few seconds felt like an eternity, loaded with unsaid words and emotions. The intensity of his gaze mirrored my own tumultuous feelings: surprise, confusion, and a hint of something more.
The spell was broken as someone cleared their throat, pulling me back to the present. With a slight shake of my head, I continued with my presentation. Yet, that moment with Carson lingered, casting a subtle hue over the rest of the evening.
After the savory descriptions, a few attendees raised their hands with questions.
A woman I knew frequented the bakery spoke first. “Are there vegetarian options for some of these delicacies?”
I nodded. “Of course. Both our savory and sweet items have vegetarian variants. We’ve ensured there’s something for everyone. Maybe Carson can send you the complete list of options I sent him so you can choose. I wasn’t able to make samples of everything and bring them with me tonight.”
Another gentleman, dressed in a sharp suit, asked, “Any chance for some gluten-free pastries?”
“Absolutely,” I responded. “Of course, there’s not a way for Shiloh to guarantee zero cross-contamination because flour tends to get everywhere no matter how much we clean. We’ve already discussed coming in the Monday before the event so we can clean the equipment, make treats that are as safe as possible for those who need gluten-free, and individually package them.”
Not only did that appease the man, but he seemed impressed by the detailed explanation of how we hoped to make sure no one was left out. A lot of people thought gluten-free was as simple as changing out the ingredients, but Shiloh was always honest with his customers about the fact it would be impossible to guarantee zero-risk without a completely separate kitchen.
