Over Patrick’s shoulder, he spotted Ava positioned near his station. “Will you excuse me?” Not waiting for a reply, he dashed across the lawn to the cooking tent.
Ava stood with her back to him. “Ava, why are you lurking at my table?”
She whirled to him. Her eyes widened. “Lurking?” She put a hand to her hip. “I wasn’t lurking.”
“Sure could’ve fooled me.” He was going for teasing, but his words came out hot. “I saw you hanging around my table. Are you looking for a way to sabotage me?”
Color crept up into her cheeks. “Iwasn’tlurking. Or looking to sabotage you.” She dropped her arm and pinched her lips together for a moment. “I was trying to?—”
“Trying to what?”
“Why are you always accusing me of things?” Her eyes flashed.
Shoot. She was right. He crossed his arms. “Sorry. Continue.”
“I wanted to wish you luck. We’re stuck together for a while, and I was trying for nice.” She knit her fingers together at her stomach. “You’re always assuming the worst about me. I’m a good person.”
Oof. Now he really felt like a jerk. “I always seem to start on the wrong foot with you. I’m sorry. Again.”
A smile spread across her face. “Forgiven.” She reached out a hand to him. He took it and his mouth dried.
Boy, he was more nervous about this contest than he thought.
“Everything okay?” Ava’s brow crinkled.
“Fine. Why?” He swallowed hard.
“I just would like my hand back.”
He dropped his gaze to their hands. Had he rubbed his thumb across the back of hers? He let go as though she were the handle of a red-hot skillet.
Tucking the traitorous appendages into the pockets of his blue jeans, he went for nonchalant. “I’d better get my station set up. Big day.” He brushed past her and concentrated on keeping his gaze firmly on his cooking equipment. When he finally turned around again, she’d disappeared.
Good thing too, because it would take all of his attention to perfect the appetizers he’d chosen for the first round. He’d made the sauerkraut meatballs many times, but they were very fussy. He’d decided to turn them into sliders for easier eating. He’d also chosen to make a quick ketchup and a horseradish sauce.
A squeal came through a speaker hanging nearby. “Contestants to the judges’ table, please.” Zach recognized his Uncle Seb’s voice over the PA system again.
“Gather ’round, everyone,” Uncle Seb said as the crowd surged to the center stage. Zach found a spot near the center. Seb briefly recapped the rules before introducing the judges. Joining Ava on the judging panel were the two chefs Zach wanted to impress. Paul Hawkeye stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, signature silver hair cropped close to his head. Anne Green stood next to him, her petite frame dwarfed by the other chef. Her blonde head barely made it to his shoulder.
“Chef Hawkeye has asked permission to say a few words before we get started.” Uncle Seb stepped away from the mic and gestured for Chef Hawkeye to take his place.
“Thank you, Seb.” Chef Hawkeye nodded to Seb before turning back to the gathered crowd. “I love cooking competitions. I enjoy competing in them, but even more I enjoyjudging them. Maybe because I have such strong opinions.” A laugh rumbled through the crowd. “Seriously, though, these things are always a place to taste great food and to find new talent. That is why I’ve decided to add another layer to this contest. I’m prepared to offer a six-month internship, with the option to turn that internship into a full-time job at the Farm, to the winner of today’s competition.”
The crowd broke into a cheer.
Zach’s heart sped. An internship at the Farm, Chef Hawkeye’s flagship restaurant in San Diego, California, would be a dream come true.
Onstage, Chef Hawkeye clasped both hands on the mic. “So, to each of you competing today, put your heart into it. Take risks. Wow me. Go make something amazing. I believe in each of you.”
Zach joined the crowd in a cheer before pushing his way through to his station. He’d just tied his apron around his waist when the starting bell sounded over the loudspeaker.
All eight of the cook stations under the tent were set up the same. Two long white tables formed two sides, while a makeshift pantry and dish cupboard formed the third. At the back, making the fourth wall of the station, was a small fridge, blast chiller, single-basket deep fryer, oven, and stovetop.
Zach picked up the recipe card for his sauerkraut sliders. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then began gathering his ingredients. As he tossed his corned beef, cooked ham, and onion into a food processor, Chef Hawkeye’s words rang in his ears.Take risks.How could he change up this dish to be even more edgy? He looked at his pantry, fully stocked with the ingredients he’d asked for. Not much wiggle room for spontaneous creativity. There! Two kinds of sauerkraut were lined up at the back. The original recipe called for regular sauerkraut, but he would add the red cabbage kraut instead. Abrighter flavor, it would hopefully put his recipe over the top. He carefully measured out the kraut and added it into the processor, giving the whole thing a few pulses to combine. Then he tossed in several garlic cloves and a tablespoon of flour and added a few more pulses.
After the meat mixture was finished, he would turn them into sliders, dredging them in more flour and giving them a quick fry. He would plate them on Hawaiian rolls with horseradish and ketchup dipping sauces.
What the…? Flecks of green and blue ran through his meat mixture. That wasn’t right. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His stomach cramped.
