Ninety minutes later, I pull the fragrant, stuffed pastry from the oven to find a troubling puddle of water sitting at the bottom of the pan. A taste test reveals a nearly raw pasty interior beneath the crispy, golden shell, and soggy, flavorless onions swimming in mushroom juices.
“It’s okay,” Evie says, bravely shoveling in another bite of the disaster. “There’s potential here. The dill and garlic are super yummy.”
“It’s fucking awful,” I say, tossing my fork onto my plate in disgust.
“It’s not fucking awful,” Evie says. “It’s a work in progress.”
“It’s awful,” I insist, “and probably a portent of doom.”
Evie laughs. “Now you sound like Jess.”
“No he doesn’t,” Jess calls out from the couch, where she’s back to coding, having decided to push hard for two more weeks and make her decision then. “I only see portents of doom on the news or walking through Times Square. And I know better than to eat gross things like mushrooms.”
I snort. “Says the woman who licks cheddar cheese powder off her fingers in public.”
“Cheddar cheese powder is too good to go to waste,” Jess says with a soft chuckle. “Maybe your meal would taste better with some cheddar cheese powder to soak up the mushroom pee.”
I sit up straighter. “Cornstarch. A sprinkle of cornstarch and a few more minutes in the pan on higher heat before I wrap the pastry would probably make a big difference.” I push back my chair. “Thanks, Jess, I’m going to try it.”
Evie’s brows shoot up. “Right now? It’s nearly eight o’clock.”
I shrug as I gather my plate and utensils. “What else do I have to do tonight? And I don’t have to be at work until noon tomorrow. The first day of training went so well Natalie told us all to sleep in before reporting for fake lunch service.”
“I like her already,” Evie says with a tired smile. “Speaking of sleep, I’m going to shower and turn in early. I have to be on campus at seven tomorrow to help set up for Papier-mâché Day. We’re making full body casts of three models. It’s going to be a hot mess, but it’s what we do for the love of art.”
Her words hang in the air after she’s gone.
For the love of art and for the love of love, I stay up until two a.m.
By the time I pull my fourth perfectly browned, magazine-shoot-worthy mushroom Wellington from the oven and garnish it with a sprig of fresh rosemary, my vision is blurry and I’m pretty sure I’ll never get the smell of onions and thyme out of my sweater.
But it’s worth it. My dish is fucking gorgeous, but even more importantly, it tastes like a dream.
Like a revelation.
As the golden, buttery pastry and the earthy flavors of the filling dance on my tongue, accompanied by the occasional pop of sweetness from the pecans I added on impulse, I swear I fall a little bit in love with myself. If this doesn’t start Natalie down the road to a change of heart about co-worker dating, I don’t know what will.
I wait for the pastry to fully cool before wrapping it tightly in a layer of parchment paper and another layer of foil and tucking it into a paper bag I place into the fridge for easy transport the next morning.
Then I shower, shave, and brush my teeth before falling into bed, where I dream victorious dreams, my poor subconscious having no clue that my seduction plan is about to go catastrophically awry.
Chapter Five
Natalie
I arrive at Crave half an hour early, determined to get my head in a professional, boss-type space after a morning spent chasing Crissy around the playground near our new apartment.
It was barely forty degrees outside, but you wouldn’t have known it by the way she ran and played and climbed and begged for five more minutes until her cheeks were so pink from cold I worried her freckles might fall off.
But even when I had to bribe her with hot chocolate before lunch to get her to head back to our place in time to meet Nanny Hannah, I didn’t mind.
I’m just so grateful that she’s adjusting to our new city so quickly.
Our apartment in San Francisco was in a busy part of town, too, but San Fran has a completely different vibe than New York. New York is gritty and busy and always moving. There are no sleepy, fog-filled mornings or moments when the street outside my bedroom window is totally quiet. Even in the dead of night, I hear voices through the walls, the sounds of people moving around on the sidewalk below, and the beeps and clatter of the night shift delivering linens or collecting trash at nearby businesses.
I don’t sleep nearly as well here, but I’m sure that will change with time. I just need to get accustomed to my new environment.