A production assistant taps a microphone at the front of the auditorium. “Five minutes until we begin. Competitors, please take your places.”
I turn back to my station, my hands still shaking slightly. I can do this. I’ve worked with mystery ingredients before. I know how to think on my feet, how to adapt, how to?—
Movement in the front row catches my eye. Someone just sat down. I look over, barely curious, and my entire world stops.
River.
River Stone is sitting in the front row, his eyes locked directly on me.
My heart jumps into my throat. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t process what I’m seeing because it doesn’t make sense. River shouldn’t be here. We broke up three weeks ago, and he hasn’t contacted me since. He gave me the space I asked for, respected my decision to end things before they got too complicated, before I could get hurt.
I thought he was done with me. Thought he’d moved on. Thought the silence meant he’d realized I was right, that we were better off as just... nothing.
But he’s here.
Sitting in the front row in jeans and a gray t-shirt, his hair slightly messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. And he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in this entire auditorium.
He raises both hands and gives me two thumbs up.
Then he mouths three words that nearly break me:You’ve got this.
Emotion surges through me so fast and so fierce I have to press my lips together to keep from crying. My eyes burn. My throat closes up. Because River is here. After everything. After I pushed him away and told him I couldn’t do this, couldn’t let things go any further.
He came anyway.
I blink rapidly, forcing the tears back. I cannot cry right now. I cannot fall apart in front of cameras and judges and anaudience full of strangers. But holy Heaven, River is here, and I don’t know what to do with the feelings crashing through me.
“Welcome, everyone, to the Future Chef Challenge!” The announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, and I tear my gaze away from River to focus on the judges’ table at the front of the auditorium.
Three judges sit behind an elegant wooden table—Chef Marie Dubois, a renowned pastry chef whose cookbook I’ve studied religiously; Chef David Kim, who owns a Michelin-starred restaurant in Atlanta; and Chef Patricia Wells, a culinary school professor known for being tough but fair.
“Today, twelve talented young chefs will compete for a full scholarship to the Georgia Culinary Institute,” the announcer continues. “They’ll be creating three courses—an appetizer, a main, and a dessert—each featuring a mystery ingredient that will be revealed at the start of each round. Let’s meet our finalists!”
They go through the introductions one by one. When they get to me, I give a small wave, trying not to look as terrified as I feel. The cameras zoom in, and I can see my face on the big screens—pink-streaked hair, pale skin, eyes way too wide.
I look like a deer caught in headlights.
“And now,” the announcer says dramatically, “let’s reveal the first mystery ingredient!”
A production assistant wheels out a covered tray and sets it on a table at the center of the cooking area. My pulse is racing. This is it. Whatever’s under that cover will determine my first course.
The announcer whips off the cloth with a flourish.
“Truffle oil!”
Relief floods through me so powerfully I almost laugh.
Truffle oil. I’ve worked with truffle oil. River bought it during his panic shopping spree that first day I came to cook for him. I’ve researched it, and used it. This is familiar territory.
I glance at River without meaning to, and he’s got both arms raised in the air like I just scored a touchdown in the Super Bowl. The gesture is so enthusiastic, so completely over-the-top supportive, that I can’t help but smile.
A real smile. The first genuine one I’ve managed in three weeks.
“You have one hour to create an appetizer featuring truffle oil. Your time starts... now!”
The auditorium erupts in movement as all twelve of us rush to the ingredient stations set up along the walls. I grab fresh mushrooms, crusty bread, garlic, thyme, and goat cheese, my mind already racing through the recipe.
Truffle mushroom crostini. Classic, elegant, and a perfect showcase for the truffle oil’s earthy richness.
