one
Paris, early January
Today, all of her dreams would begin to come true. Robin Fox added a flourish of gold leaf to the turret on the cake in front of her at le Château du Gâteau. If she got this cake right and won a spot in the Pastry World Cup, Victor would have to give her that promotion he was always dangling just out of reach.
“Monique, can you hand me that palette knife?” She gestured to the long thin spatula lying on the counter a few feet away. Monique handed her the tool with a sigh.
“I should be the one decorating that cake,” the bakery assistant grumbled in French.
Robin caught a drip of icing before it marred the surface of the cake below it. Then she stood, arched her back, and took a deep breath. Her many years of French, first in high school, then later through an app on her phone, had more than prepared her to speak it now. “Well, Victor gave the job to me.” Even with the cake almost finished in front of her, Robin still had trouble believing Victor had given her this monumental task.
Monique crossed her arms. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Around her, the other employees at le Château du Gâteau focused on their own work. Outside, the morning’s early-January gloom wrapped the streets of Paris, but inside, the kitchen warmed and filled with the scents of yeast and sugar.
Four years ago, when Robin had been languishing in obscurity in a bakery in Los Angeles, California, she’d only dreamed of being featured in a bakery competition in Paris. Victor LaVigne had changed all of that for her. A friend of the bakery owner in LA, he’d swept into the kitchen one day declaring that he wanted to hire a new pastry chef and demanding that the chefs prepare him something so he could offer one of them a new job. He’d promised fame and excitement and a chance to shine in the City of Light. Robin had leaped at the chance.
Being an ocean away from the memories of her parents was just the gold leaf on the turret.
And now she was ready to taste some of that fame. She’d labored hard over the cake design in front of her, a towering confection of golds and pinks. Four cakes stacked on one another, then carved to resemble a palace basking in the light of a sunset.
Victor had entered his bakery into a contest. For two weeks, a judge traveled throughout Paris evaluating cakes and pastries and awarding the best entries a place in a timed competition, the Pastry World Cup, later in the year. The cake contest had grown to almost mythic proportions—the Tour de France of the baking world.
For the past few weeks, she’d spent every spare moment working on the design, tweaking the sketch she’d be working from, and trying out new flavor combinations. She’d even worked over Christmas, tuning out the twinkle lights and merry cheer as she focused on her work. Last week, Victor had approved her design. Now she had less than one hour before the judge was scheduled to arrive. Just enough time to put on the finishing touches.
Robin checked her laminated 3x5 cards where she’d written a detailed schedule. Everything was going according to the plan she’d laid out.
In the courtyard of the castle, she placed the final small fondant figure. Two princes and one princess stood together near the drawbridge. A nod to her brothers, Grayson and Oliver, wherever they were in the world. She pushed that thought away. No good would come of thinking about her brothers now.
She checked the clock again. Perfect timing. The fifteen minutes before the judge arrived would allow her to clean up and put on a fresh chef’s jacket. The one she wore now bore signs of the various colors she’d used. The pinks and golds went well with her curly auburn hair but surely wouldn’t impress the judges.
In a small room off the kitchen, a row of black lockers lined the far wall. She popped hers open and reached for the clean jacket she kept there. A small yellow Post-it stuck to the inside of the locker door caught her eye.Call Grandma Fox!!Written in her roommate’s signature loopy cursive, it had been stuck there since Elise’s recent visit to the bakery.
“Your Grandma Elaine called again,” her roommate had said. Elise had worn her white-blonde hair loose that day. Her bright blue eyes had sparked. “Haven’t you called her back yet?”
“I know, I should have. I’ve just been so focused on that cake design. That has to take top priority right now.” Robin had pushed the lump of guilt deeper in her stomach. It had been several weeks since the last time she’d talked to her grandmother. Wait. This wasn’t about her grandfather’s health, was it? Grandpa Jim had only recently recovered from a heart attack. “She did say it wasn’t urgent, right?”
Elise crossed her arms, leaned against the lockers. “She said not to worry but that she really needs you to call.” Elise’s French accent deepened. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t a family who has gone through the things you went through stick closer together?”
Robin hadn’t answered. Had no answer, really. Elise had sighed, then tapped the Post-it. “Call your grandma.”
Robin pushed away that memory. No time for calling Grandma right now anyway.
She had a contest to win.
She gave her hair a quick check in the mirror hanging next to the lockers, smoothed a stray lock that had escaped her messy bun. She tugged the bottom of her chef’s jacket into place and straightened her shoulders.
In the kitchen, the other bakery workers scurried around. The sugar-and-yeast-scented air rolled over her in a humid wave. Hopefully the warm air wouldn’t affect the frosting on her cake. The rest of the crew were following Victor’s orders to stock every shelf, fill every basket, displaying all their most popular pastries. He said it wasn’t enough to simply present a beautiful cake to the contest judge. They wanted to be sure to present a successful bakery as well.
“It’s go time, people,” said the man himself, dressed in an impeccable chef’s white uniform, the signature tall hat towering above, pushing through the swinging door. Victor LaVigne was a little shorter than Robin’s five-foot-seven frame. He made up for it in charisma. His square jaw and piercing blue eyes, dark-blond hair worn closely cropped, not to mention a perpetual half smirk, half smile that he wore, combined with his affable nature, would have made him irresistible.
Except for his incurable ego.
“Napoleon complex,” one of her coworkers muttered under his breath. She suppressed a chuckle. Probably shouldn’t insult the man who had given her today’s opportunity.
“Listen up.” Victor clapped his hands twice. “Today is a day when fortunes are made. Let’s be sharp.” He named two of the junior employees and dismissed them for the day. “We don’t need extraneous people in here.” The two scuttled out, heads down.
Robin walked toward the cart holding her cake. Victor met her there.
