She thought about Autumn and the way she worked behind the camera, catching moments without disturbing them. Thepictures would be exactly what she needed. She imagined flour-dusted hands, the way the tomatoes overlapped just so. The moment the galette came out of the oven, all bubbling and golden, and her friends’ reaction as they tasted it.
Exposure mattered. Not gossip or rumors. Just proof of what she could do, the kind that spoke for itself.
The sun dipped lower, streaking the sky with soft shades of peach and lavender as she pulled into Emelia’s driveway. Then she took a steady breath, felt her shoulders loosen, and grabbed the herbs and tomatoes.
Time to show people exactly who she was and what she could do.
Emelia’s barn was already buzzing with the clink of glasses, laughter, and murmurs of conversation as Mia stepped inside.
Autumn had claimed a quiet corner, camera already in hand, adjusting her lens. Isabelle and Felicia stood shoulder to shoulder at the island, sipping something pale and sparkling. Lainey and Tessa were perched on stools, engrossed in conversation. While Joy and Naomi helped, Emelia set out platters and glasses.
“This feels very official,” Lainey said, eyeing the microphone clipped near the stove. “I feel like I should’ve dressed better.”
“You look fine,” Tessa replied. “Besides, no one’s watching us. They’re watching her.” She nodded toward Mia.
Mia laughed. “Oh, please don’t hype this up. I’m just demonstrating a galette.”
“That’s how it starts,” Isabelle said. “First, it’s a galette. Next thing, you’re booked for six months out.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” quipped Mia. “I can only hope.”
She unpacked her ingredients and then remembered the lemon verbena. “Oh, Emelia, Will sent over lemon verbena. He said it was one of Isabelle’s favorite herbs.”
Emelia took a sniff and closed her eyes. “Lemon. This will be perfect with the galette.” She thought for a moment. “Oh. I know. I’ll make lemon spritzers. Either with prosecco or Lillet and the lemon verbena.”
“Sounds good,” said Isabelle.
Emelia tapped the counter lightly. “All right, we’re rolling in five.”
Autumn moved to the side. “Okay, pretend I’m not here.”
“That’s impossible,” Mia said, grinning. “But I’ll try.”
“Four, three, two—go!”
Emelia introduced Mia and the theme of the night, “Rooted & Served,” then gave a brief speech about Mia, her business and what she was making before turning it over to her.
For a moment, Mia had to steady herself, surprised by how much it meant to hear her work spoken aloud. Then she remembered the live audience beyond the room, the cameras, the lights, the unseen eyes.
She drew a slow breath and took a swallow of water, forcing her hands to stay still.
Then Mia stepped forward. Her hands moved easily as she dusted the counter with flour, her voice steady as she talked about what she was doing and why. Her nerves quieted as her hands found their rhythm.
“I started making these because they don’t require perfection,” she said, rolling the dough. “If the edges are uneven, that’s all right. It’s meant to be a rustic dish.”
She placed a layer of whipped ricotta on the bottom, then a concentric pattern of red and green tomatoes and chiffonade of basil. A drizzle of olive oil on top and a pinch of salt and pepper finished it before she pulled the sides up and slid it into the oven.
Autumn’s camera clicked softly.
“And tonight,” said Emelia, stepping beside Mia, “we’re pairing it with a lemon verbena spritz. The lemon pairs beautifully with tomato and basil. Let me show you how I do it.”
After Emelia demonstrated the drink and passed it out, the camera panned to the women as they lifted their glasses, smiling and relaxed—no posing, no pretending.
A few minutes later, the scent of roasting tomatoes and butter filled the room. Rich. Comforting. Familiar.
Lainey closed her eyes. “I don’t care who’s listening. This is already a win.”
When the buzzer went off, Mia pulled the galette out, golden and bubbling. A collectiveohwent around the kitchen.
