My feelings rise up so fast and so fierce they nearly knock me over.
River was there for me. He held me when I cried. He defended me to his mother. He helped me move into my apartment. He played Barbies with Skyler when I needed to help my sister. He gave me a job and paid me generously and never once made me feel like I was just “the help.”
He showed up for me in every way that mattered.
And I sent him away because I was terrified of getting hurt again. Because I convinced myself that caring about him was dangerous, that letting him in would only lead to more pain.
But looking at him now, seeing the faith in his eyes, the steady confidence in his expression—I realize I made a terrible mistake.
CHAPTER 23
KieraEmmerson
Saturday, July 10
My head spinswith the realization. I made a horrible mistake. River isn’t like my ex. He isn’t like my parents. He isn’t someone who’s going to use me and throw me away.
He’s someone who shows up. Who stays. Who believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself.
And I let him go.
The thought hits me like a physical blow, and I have to grip the edge of my prep counter to stay upright.
“One hour to create a dessert featuring black pepper. Your time starts... now!”
The other competitors rush to the ingredient station, but I’m frozen in place, my mind racing. I can’t think about River right now. I’ve got to act. I run over to the ingredient station and scan the remaining items.
Black pepper. Dessert. Think, Kiera. Think.
Strawberries. The thought comes suddenly, clearly. Strawberries and black pepper is a classic combination in finedining. The pepper enhances the strawberry’s natural sweetness, adds complexity and depth.
I can work with that.
I rush to grab ingredients: butter, flour, sugar, fresh strawberries, heavy cream, vanilla, and of course, black peppercorns. Black pepper shortbread with strawberry-black pepper compote and vanilla whipped cream. It’s elegant, unexpected, and actually achievable in an hour.
My hands are steady as I work. I make the shortbread dough first, incorporating finely ground black pepper into the butter and flour mixture. The dough gets rolled out, cut into perfect rectangles, and goes into the oven. While it bakes, I make the strawberry compote—fresh berries cooked down with sugar and just a few grinds of black pepper to enhance the natural sweetness.
The shortbread comes out golden and fragrant, filling my station with the scent of butter and that unexpected hint of pepper. While the cookies cool, I whip the cream with vanilla until it forms soft peaks.
I plate each dessert carefully: two shortbread cookies arranged at an angle, a generous spoonful of the strawberry-black pepper compote, and a dollop of vanilla whipped cream. I finish with a fresh strawberry slice and the tiniest grind of black pepper over the top as garnish.
It’s beautiful. Elegant. Creative.
“Time!”
The judges make their final rounds. My heart is in my throat as Chef Dubois picks up one of the shortbread cookies and takes a bite.
Her eyes widen slightly. She takes another bite, this time with some of the compote.
“This is exceptional,” she says, and my knees nearly give out. “The black pepper in the shortbread is brilliant—it doesn’toverpower, it enhances. The strawberry compote is perfectly balanced, and the shortbread has that delicate, buttery texture that just melts on the tongue.”
Chef Kim nods enthusiastically. “Creative use of a savory ingredient. The pepper adds complexity without being jarring. This shows real understanding of flavor profiles.”
Chef Wells makes extensive notes. “Sophisticated. Well-executed. The kind of dessert you’d see in a high-end restaurant. The technique is sound—the shortbread is perfectly baked, not overbaked. And pairing it with the strawberry-black pepper compote shows real culinary instinct.”
They move on, and I stand there, trembling, hardly daring to believe what just happened.
I look at River.
