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"We ask that you prepare two desserts—one classic French and one contemporary. We want to see your creativity and skills in action."
"Two?!" I hadn't read anything about that on the website.
"Yes. It's a change for this year's intake. You'll have a total of three hours to prepare. I should warn you that there will be other applicants working at the same time in the kitchen, and you'll only have access to a standard pantry. Nothing exotic. If you have any questions about ingredients, please email in advance."
My brain started whirring, already thinking about which desserts I might make. Hmm. Classic French sounded like croquembouche territory, but I didn't have the time needed for that. Same with cronuts—those took three days, not three hours. Ugh. I was going to have to find new things. Simple things. Amazing things. Showstopping things that could be made in no time at all. Easy. "That all sounds good."
"Fabulous. Let me get that booked in."
Two weeks. I'd been hungry to get back to New York, but two weeks was just so soon. It wasn’t like I was actually leaving. Still, in spite of my excitement, I felt a strange pang of sadness at the thought of being away from Bluehaven for a couple of days. And leaving Cole.
Oh, Cole. That kiss in the inky dark. The way our lips met by the ocean, under the pier, as the waves rolled around us like thunder. The sight of him running to my rescue after I'd shrieked at that possessed steamer. The brief, sweet grins he'd given me.
I'd really thought that we were about to kiss in the steamy office. Our bodies were so close I could practically taste him. I swear he’d looked at me like he wanted to devour me. But I guess I’d gotten it wrong. Cole wasn’t into me. But Pierre Trouffant was. And that was how it was meant to be from the start, so all was right with the world.
"All right, Miss O'Neil, we have you scheduled for the fifteenth at 10 a.m. We look forward to meeting you and tasting your creations. Best of luck!"
"Thank you so much! I can't wait!" I replied, fizzing inside.
Standing right there in the hardware store, I immediately sent Lily a message, letting her know the news. She replied within seconds.
OMG, Elara! That's amazing! I'll swing by your place tonight with some wine to celebrate!
I felt a surge of happiness at the thought of sharing my joy with my best friend. But strangely, I felt even more excited to share the news with Cole.
I turned my attention to the task at hand—picking out paint for the bar makeover. White paint seemed to be having an identity crisis.
"Whispering Cloud, Serene Snowfall, Angel's Breath, Eggshell White, Antique Lace," I mumbled under my breath as I read through the names. "How can there be so many variations of white?" I shook my head, bemused, before finally deciding on a neutral shade called "Unicorn's Whisper"—because really, who could resist that name? I pulled out a couple of cans and laid them down in my basket. I was just about to scoop them up and head to the till when a young voice chimed in.
"Need help with those, ma'am?" I glanced back to see a boy in his mid-teens, wearing a blue and white store apron. On his chest was a name badge that read, "Scout."
"Thank you, Scout," I said.
Scout grabbed the handle of my basket and lifted it with ease. As we approached the counter, Connie, the cashier, gave us a warm smile.
"Good work, kid."
"No probs, Mom," he replied.
"Hey, at work, you call me boss."
Scout grinned as he deposited the basket next to his mom. "Don’t call me “kid” then, Mom."
I couldn't help but laugh as Scout made his way to the back of the shop.
"How sweet that your son works with you," I said.
Connie rolled her soft, pretty eyes. "I have a feeling he’d rather be on the hockey rink than be here with his mom." She couldn't have been much older than thirty. She must have had Scout when she was really young.
Bluehaven Beach definitely punched above its weight when it came to hockey. The local school had connections with NHL scouts, and its reputation had been bolstered by Jack's success. "One of Jack McCoy's acolytes?"
"Something like that." I noticed Connie's smile waver for a moment, but it quickly returned as she began ringing up my purchase. "All right, Unicorn's Whisper it is," she said cheerfully. "Fantastic choice. Good luck with your project!"
***
As I approached the bar, cans of white paint in tow, I caught sight of Cole through the window. There he was, already hard at work, his muscular arms flexing as he fixed up the floorboards. My heart skipped a beat, and I reminded myself to stay focused on the task at hand.
"You're late," he said as I pushed open the door. "Need a hand with those cans?"
