I try to keep my mind off my feelings for Nate by watching carefully as he folds the pastry in on itself until it forms an envelope. He wraps it in a cloth. "I need to take this out of the ice house, then we'll need to wait."
"I'm sure there'll be plenty to do in that time."
"That depends on whether you're serious about Veronica expecting croissants soon."
"Almost certainly."
"Then I should get some dough started so that she can have them the day after next. If you want to help?"
"Absolutely. And I can show you that I've improved my croissant-making skills."
"I have no doubt of that." The way he smiles at me makes my heart flutter, and I have to tell it to behave. I can't let my emotions get the better of me, or I'm just going to blurt out how I feel about him with no consideration to whether or not it's sensible. And I can almost guarantee that it won't be.
Chapter 4
I love the feel of a rolling pin in my hand as it smooths over pastry. Today hasn't been a difficult day in terms of dealing with court and the expectations of those around me, but I still find it soothing to be baking and following instructions that have been set by whoever first created the recipe. And it's even better because Nate is beside me, putting some custard he made earlier into a piping bag so he can add it to the apricot pastries when we're ready for it.
Satisfied with the thickness of my pastry, I set the pin to the side. There are still chunks of flattened butter in the pastry, but Nate has assured me they're fine and just part of the process for the rough puff. Carefully, I cut it into squares, and wait for Nate to be ready with the custard.
"Have you got the apricots?" he asks.
"Yes." I gesture to the jar of apricots. "They were preserved a few months ago. I'm not sure exactly how it works."
"You boil them once they're sealed in the jar," Nate responds.
"Oh." I frown. "So once we break the seal, they won't be preserved anymore?" Maybe I should have asked more questions of the person who was preserving them in the first place, but I didn't think to.
"Pretty much. We'll have to use them before they go bad, but we'll put them to good use now. We need to put an apricot half on two of the opposite corners," he says, gesturing to the one closest to him. "Once I've put the custard on, anyway."
"If you do that, I could follow behind you with the apricots?" I suggest. It's nice to have someone with me in the kitchen, but we need to get back some of the easy rhythm we used to have when we were baking together. I suspect that it'll take a few sessions to regain it, especially as we've probably both formed some habits over the past five years that might interfere with one another.
He nods and starts at the row of pastry squares closest to him, piping a neat line of custard diagonally across it. I watch him working for a moment, glad to get to see him like this again. A strand of dark brown hair falls over his forehead, drawing attention to the expression of intense concentration on his face. He moves with the ease of someone who knows exactly what they're doing, but doesn't want to make a single mistake. My whole being fills with an intense feeling that I don't think I can ignore.
He's already done a handful of the pastry squares before I realise that I'm also supposed to be helping with the pastries. I pop open the jar of apricots and dip a slotted spoon inside it to get out some of the apricot halves, dropping them into a bowl so I can easily follow behind him. There are only a couple left in the jar by the time I've finished, so I fish those out too. I head over to the pastries and neatly place the apricot halves at each end of the custard lines.
I move at a slower pace than Nate, mostly because I'm not as practised, and I don't want to mess up the beautiful lines of custard he's piped onto the pastry. There's the low murmur of chatter coming from the other kitchen, but it barely permeates through the bubble that is our pastry making.
I place the final apricot half and step back, admiring the neat row of pastries in front of us. They're impressively uniform, especially when I'm not as experienced as Nate is when it comes to making sure things are like that. "What now?"
"We close the pastries and egg wash," he responds. "Like this." He takes the empty corners of pastry and folds them into the middle, pressing them together.
I nod and copy him. I'm not happy with the first one I do, but I soon get the hang of it, and the pastries are soon all ready to go, perched on a tray and glistening with the egg-wash.
"All right, let me put them in the oven, and then we won't have long until they're ready," Nate says.
"Good, because I want to eat them," I say. "Though you should really try one of the apricots on its own. They were a good batch, and there are only two halves left." I gesture to the bowl.
He nods and picks up the first tray of pastries to take over to the gas oven. Ember raises her head from atop the wood-fired one next to it, but doesn't move from her spot. She loves the heat it makes, and her tummy is probably still full of the meat Nate brought for her.
"Is your hand all right?" I ask.
"It's fine," he assures me as he slides the tray in before returning for the other and taking that over too. He finishes up and tips over the timer.
My stomach rumbles, and Nate laughs. "You really are ready to eat."
"There's a longer time between dinner and baking being ready than I plan. I always think that it's going to be too close together for me to get hungry, but that's never the case," I respond.
"What did you do while I was gone?" he asks.
