Even though my pulse is racing, I don’t say anything. That goddamn perfect soufflé speaks for itself.
“Wow.” Charlotte sounds appropriately awed, and the others all murmur in impressed agreement.
I look at Tyler. He’s grinning like I just won a Michelin star.
“Not bad, eh, Chef?” I ask, unable to stop smiling.
“Not bad at all, Liv.” He’s looking at me rather than the soufflé.
“Did you put bacon in it?” George asks, sniffing the air around my station. “It smells wonderful.”
“Yes, I added bacon, scallions, and cheddar.”
“Why’d you do that?” Tyler asks.
“Just thought it would taste good.”
He nods with approval, then passes out forks to all of us. “You do the honors first, Liv.”
A twinge of nervousness goes through me, but really, how can something so beautiful taste bad? I dig my fork in, relieved that the inside is creamy but not runny. I take a bite and my mouth fills with the fluffy, delicate flavors of cheese and egg accompanied by the smoky tang of bacon.
I stare at Tyler.
“Well?” he asks.
“It’s good.” I wipe a crumb from my lower lip. “I think… I think it’s really good.”
He pushes his fork into the crust. One bite, and he doesn’t say anything. Then he takes a second bite. A heart-stopping instant later, his eyes warm and a smile spreads across his face.
“Excellent, Liv. Fluffy, cooked perfectly. Love the bacon.” He puts his fork down and steps aside to let the others try it.
My fellow students ooh and ahh with appreciation as they taste the soufflé, with most of them going back for seconds. There’s nothing left of it by the time they’ve finished. They all congratulate and praise me before returning to their stations.
“You did it, Liv.” Tyler puts his hand on my arm and squeezes. He looks incredibly proud. “You made the perfect soufflé. How do you feel?”
I don’t even think I can describe how I feel, which is a little embarrassing because, well, I made a soufflé. I didn’t save the world. Still…
“I feel pretty amazing,” I admit.
“Told you. And you did it all by yourself.”
“Is that why you didn’t come to my station at all tonight?”
“Yes, it is. You can cook, Liv. And well. You just needed the confidence to know you can do it.”
He gives me a little salute and returns to his instructor’s station. I finish cleaning up and drive home.
“I did it.” I drop my satchel on the table. “I made the perfect soufflé.”
“Did you bring it home?” Dean peers at me from behind the newspaper.
“No, we ate it all. That’s how good it was. It was fluffy, creamy, airy, tangy…”
“Hmm. Sounds like you.”
I flop down beside him on the sofa. “Really, I’ve never made anything like that before. I had no idea making a soufflé could be so rewarding. I added my own twist to the recipe, bacon and scallions…”
The paper rustles as he turns a page. I nudge him with my elbow.
“Dean, are you listening?”
“Yeah. Bacon. I’m getting hungry. Let’s order bacon burgers from Abernathy’s.”
Inspired by the idea, he pushes off the sofa and goes to the phone. I scowl at his back. Okay, so soufflés aren’t exactly on Professor Dean West’s radar, but a little enthusiasm would have been nice.
Not that I ever express much interest in Ottoman architecture or medieval apocalyptic imagery.
I go to shower and change, and by the time I’m done the food order has arrived. After we eat, Dean goes into his office while I do a little cleaning and fill the coffeepot so he won’t have to bother in the morning.
After watching a police drama on TV, I head to the bedroom and stop by his office. The light is on, and he’s at his desk going through some papers.
“Is that your conference presentation?” I ask, nodding at the stack in front of him.
“Abstracts for one of the seminars.” He organizes them into a pile and puts them in his open briefcase. “My flight leaves at six on Saturday morning.”
I realize I’m almost looking forward to his absence for a few days. I need the time to be alone and try to untangle all my snarled thoughts and emotions.
“Dean, what happened with that grad student?” I hover by the door. “Maggie Hamilton?”
His jaw tightens. “She went out of town a few weeks ago. Haven’t talked to her, but she’s sent a couple of emails about her proposal.”
“Have you approved it yet?”
“No. I told her we’d discuss it when she returns. Given recent circumstances, I’m going to tell her she needs to change advisors.”
“I’m sorry… about all that.”
He shakes his head. “She was totally out of line. In more ways than one. I won’t work with her anymore.”
That, at least, is a relief.