"Then they're fools," I say. "You do some of your best work when you're making your own recipes."
"I'm glad you think so."
"I'm not the only one," I point out. "My siblings agree. And Chef Martina wouldn't have hired you if she didn't think the same."
"I'm glad you think so highly of me."
"I'll always think highly of you." There's an urge to go further with what I'm saying and confess something that I should keep to myself, but I manage to stay silent on it. I can't blurt out that I love him on the first day he's back. I need to make sure that I'm ready to say it, and that he's receptive to hearing it, and I don't know whether that's going to be true at any point.
Nate looks away, glancing at the timer. I follow his gaze and see that it's done.
"I should get the pastries out of the oven," he says.
I nod, not sure how I feel about the conversation being over, but glad that we're going to get to eat them soon, because the smell of caramelising apricots is hard to ignore.
Nate pulls open the oven, letting out a gust of hot air as he pulls out the tray of pastries and brings them over to the table.
"They look amazing," I say.
"They do. But you're going to have to wait a moment longer to eat one."
"I think I can manage."
He pulls out a small pan and adds a couple of spoons of apricot jam. It only takes a moment for it to heat up, and he brings it over to brush over the pastries. It makes the tops of them glisten, causing my mouth to water.
"All right, now you can eat one," he says.
"I'm glad, because all that talking about apricots has made me want them."
He chuckles and gets one for himself. I watch entranced as he lifts it to his lips and takes a bite. I don't think I've ever paid much attention to him eating before, but now that Veronica has unlocked whatever feelings I have within me, I've found myself thinking about what it would be like if he knew how I felt. And while I still haven't found myself thinking about sex in the way my sister makes it sound like people do, I have thought about kissing him and what that might be like.
"Are you all right?" Nate asks.
I clear my throat. "Sorry, I was having thoughts."
He gives me an intrigued look. "They must have been some thoughts to make you forgo pastry."
"It's nothing," I murmur, reaching out to pick up one of the pastries. I take a bite, letting the tartness of the apricot explode in my mouth, perfectly complementing the sweet custard and the flaky pastry beneath. "The rough puff pastry is delicious."
"It is," Nate agrees. "But don't tell my teachers in Gaullesse that I've used it."
"I'm not in contact with them. Why would I tell them?"
"Hypothetically," he responds.
"Oh." I frown. "Why can't they know?" I take another couple of bites of the pastry, enjoying how well it all came together.
"Because they wouldn't be impressed that I didn't make full puff pastry," he says. "They claimed that it was the best, and doing anything less than that was unacceptable. When I first moved to Wafeland, the pastry chef there told me that it was a waste of time, and showed me this version instead."
"Is it a waste of time to make puff pastry?"
He shrugs. "I think for some things, it's better to do the full version, but the rough puff is just as good for others."
"Like what?"
"Have you had a vanilla slice?" he asks.
"I think I tried one once, when I was on a visit to Gaullesse with my father, but not since then."
