“Thank you.” Zach lowered the temp on his burner. Too hot and the eggs would cook too quickly. “I always like almond-crusted walleye. I thought it had a nice nod to local flavor, and I’m glad the judges approved.” He gave his sabayon another twenty strokes and took it off the heat. Dipping a clean spoon into the sauce, he gave it a taste. Sweet, creamy, with a hint of the champagne’s bite. He dipped a second spoon and handed it to Pastor Arnie.
“This is amazing.” Pastor Arnie’s eyes opened wide. “With food like this, you’re a shoo-in for the top spot.”
Zach’s chest grew lighter. “Thanks. Cooking always feels like a balance between confidence in my skills and terror that no one will like what I’ve made.” At least this sabayon hadn’t turned green or blue.
“Excuse me.” He reached around Pastor Arnie for the plastic wrap, tore off a sheet, and laid it over the top of the mixture. A few minutes in the blast chiller would cool it enough to add the whipped cream.
“Sorry. I should get out of your hair.” Pastor Arnie clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you at home here. I know Dani was excited so many of her siblings would be here for this festival.”
Zach flashed him a smile as the timer for his fruit tart buzzed behind him. As he opened the door on the tiny oven, the scent of warm peaches, cinnamon, caramel, and a hint of browned butter washed over him.
The crust of the tart, though alarmingly puffy, was a beautiful brown, and the peaches bubbled at the edges. Perfection.
We’ll play for the Silver Platter. They sound like a really worthy cause.Ava’s words from earlier in the day walked through his mind. Double the designations for the Silver Platter meant double the amount they would receive.
That settled it. He couldn’t pass up a chance to offer other young people the opportunity to study the art of food. He would tell Ava and Dani that he was all in.
The warmth of the tart seeped through the oven mitts as he brought the confection out of the oven.
“Zach.”
As he turned to the voice, someone jostled his arm. The tart slid from his fingers. Hot juice spilled on his wrist, and he dropped the whole thing. Molten peach lava spread all over a pair of tennis shoes. His gaze traveled up. Ava’s shoes.
“Zach.” She put her hand over her mouth, gray eyes wide. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She shook one foot out and then the other. “I can’t believe I made you ruin your dessert. Ow. That’s really hot.” Her eyes turned red.
Zach’s heart squeezed. “Here.” He tossed her a towel. “Are you hurt?” He rubbed at the stinging red burn on his own arm.
She bent and wiped at the sticky mess. “No. I’m fine.” She sniffed. “I’m just sorry for your pie.”
“Tart.”
She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry?”
“It wasn’t a pie. It was a tart.” Zach wanted the words back the second they left his mouth. She was hurt, for crying out loud. Now wasn’t the time to correct her food knowledge.
“Tart, then.” Her voice was neutral as she gave one last swipe at her shoes, but it was a losing battle. She grimaced and put the towel on the edge of his table near a pile of dirty dishes. She ran a hand over her eyes. “I feel terrible. How can I help make it up to you?”
“You actually didn’t ruin anything.” A buzzer sounded on his watch. “I made a second one. That’s the timer now.” He opened the oven door and found the second tart looking as delicious as the first.
Behind him, Ava hiccuped. He ignored her as he cradled the tart all the way to the plating station. He might need to cut the pieces a little smaller than planned, but he should still be able to salvage his dessert. Good thing he’d had the extra ingredients and the foresight to do something with them.
Ava hiccuped again.
He checked his watch. A few minutes before he had to mix the cream into the sabayon. The tart would need to cool anyway. He located another clean towel.
“I’m sorry about your shoes.” He dipped the towel in a washbowl and bent down to wipe away more of the sticky residue. “I hope they weren’t your favorites.”
“Don’t worry about them.” Ava’s voice was garbled. Still crying? He stood and searched her face. A glint of humor hid in her eyes. She put her hand over her mouth and hiccuped again. Or was it?—
Wait.
“Are you laughing?” He crossed his arms and leaned away from her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Ahe-heescaped. She put her fist to her lips, then took a deep breath and straightened her features. “This is not a time to be laughing. The stress…you know. But”—and she let out a musical laugh—“these are my running shoes. I’ll never be able to wear them again. You’ve done me a huge favor.” Her laugh bubbled up again.
“I’m pretty sure you can buy more running shoes.” He wanted to be upset about the spoiled dessert, but he had another one, and her laughter was contagious. Something unraveled in his stomach. A laugh leapt out of him. The ten-minute warning sounded, and he sobered. He caught her eye. “Ava Harper, you are nothing like what I thought.”
Holding his gaze, she gave him a soft smile. “Zachary Sullivan, neither are you.”
