TOVA handed me a wicked sharp twelve-inch, and I poised the point of the blade above the tart’s center, ready to puncture its perfect surface. I was about to portion out the last of the evening’s caramel nut tarts, one of my two new desserts on the menu and the second night in a row to sell out before closing. I bit both of my lips between my teeth as I made a careful cut to connect the tart’s center to the lines I’d marked with a ruler on parchment paper below. Tova hovered over one shoulder. I could hear her breathing.
“Like that,” I said, straightening slightly and examining my work. The symmetry was perfect, each triangle a perfect replica of its neighbor. Cashews, hazelnuts, and blanched almonds peeked out of their baptism in caramel jam, a sea of creamy browns punctuated by green pistachios. The tart shell formed a precise circle of pastry around the caramel and nuts.
“So cool,” Tova breathed. “I want to eat it all, right now.”
I smiled, surprised again at what a difference a move made. Four days on the line at Thrill had brought me ten times the accolades and strokes than six years at L’Ombre. Avery had taken to stuttering in my presence: his excitement over the increased dessert orders and sell-outs of my two new additions had clearly messed with his mind. The tart and my lemon crêpes had both been big hits. During the preservice meeting that night, Avery had read aloud from five new Trip Advisor reviews, four of five waxing eloquent about one of my desserts. I had three more new ideas percolating, and I couldn’t wait to rid the menu of an anemic apricot flan that remained from before my time, but I was trying to be patient with the process. Nearing the end of my first week, I was happy with the progress that had been made.
I felt Tova’s eyes on me, and I turned to face her.
“Charlie.”
I had asked Tova to call me by my first name, so eager was I to rid my kitchen from the old-world politics that had smothered me in New York. I had to admit, however, that this new level of familiarity also took some getting used to.
“Charlie,” she said, her mouth pulling down into a frown, “I am concerned. You have dark circles under your eyes and your skin is sallow, a far cry from the girl I met a week ago. Are you sleeping okay?”
I answered on my way to the oven to remove a sheet pan of flourless chocolate cake. “When I do sleep, I sleep very well. This week has been long on work, short on sleep.” I set the pan carefully on the counter and pushed gently into the surface of the cake to test its doneness. “But this is normal for me, actually. I’m used to working fourteen-hour days.”
I watched her adjust her chef’s cap in the reflection of the oven door and thought, I might sleep more if you were a teeny bit less clueless. The kid had excess in the way of charm and enthusiasm, but Chef Alain would have fed her to the wolves after twenty minutes at L’Ombre. I kept meaning to ask Avery where he had found Tova, and what her previous supervising chef had said by way of recommendation, but I’d been running at top speed for days and hadn’t had the chance to ask.
“Tova,” I said in my most professional tone, hoping she’d catch on and I wouldn’t have to actually say the words “Stop touching your hair.”
“Hmm?” she said, fussing with some strays by her ears.
I opened my mouth to say something about the time and place for pomade, but Avery came into our workspace at a jog. His eyes looked wild, out of place with his tailored chef’s whites, sharp lines, and clean apron. He wasn’t wearing a cap, and his dark hair was sculpted into a neat tousle.
“Char.” His words came out in a rush. “You need to come with me. Now.” He grabbed my hand and started walking toward the back of the restaurant where the doors to his office and a small conference room stood open.
I skidded to a stop before we had made it past the double broiler. “Hold on, Speedy. I’m still working, remember? We have at least fifteen minutes until close. And there are three tables who haven’t finished their entrées.”
“No problem,” Avery shrugged. “Tova can finish it out. Right, Tova?”
The two exchanged a look and with a slow smile, Tova said, “Absolutely. I’m on it. Don’t worry a nanosecond.”
I paused, considering this option to delegate. I had no confidence in Tova’s ability to bake, form, roll out, fill, or cut. But I had seen the woman garnish, and it seemed to come naturally to her. All the desserts were prepared, so all she would need to do would be to prettify.
“All right,” I said slowly. “You can do it. But—” I said with a cautionary hand raised. “Don’t do one single thing I haven’t seen you do before. This is not the time for artistic freedom. And leave the flourless chocolate cakes on the counter to cool. They’re for tomorrow’s service, and I will prep them for storage when I get back.”
By the time I finished speaking, I needed to shout because Avery had pulled me halfway down the hall.
“What is going on?” My Crocs were squeaking on the scrubbed tile outside Avery’s office.
“Okay.” Avery stopped outside the conference room and lowered his voice. “Just roll with me on this one. I know it sounds odd, but trust me. It will all make sense pretty soon. All right?” His eyes searched mine with an urgency I hadn’t seen from him.
I nodded and shook my head in one gesture. “All right. I’ll trust you.”