Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
He looked at her for a moment. Comprehension must have hit a second later because his eyes opened wide. “Oh no. I promised myself if I ever ran my own kitchen, I wouldn’t treat anyone like Chef Louie does, and yet, his voice just came out of my mouth. Sorry.”
“I forgive you. We’re under a lot of stress.” And it was fine. Really. She had seen him be better, do better. This day must really be throwing him off his cooking game.
He nodded once. “Assembly time. Got those veggies ready?”
She pulled the bowl of mixed veggies toward them.
“Gah!”
She jumped at his voice. “What?”
“I forgot to slice the meat.” Zach tugged on a pair of black gloves.
She grabbed the two pieces of beef out of the fridge and slid a chunk onto his cutting board. “I’ll help.” After grabbing her own gloves and cutting board, she began working on the other piece. The crowd noise faded away as she concentrated on slicing the meat into small, even pieces.
Pain seared through her finger, and she sucked in a breath.
“What is it?” Zach asked.
“I cut my finger.” She removed her glove. Blood spurted from the tip of her index finger, dripping on the meat on her board. “Oh no!”
Zach’s lips pinched together. “Let me see.” He took her hand and gently probed the cut. “It’s not too deep.” He wrapped the finger with a small piece of paper towel and handed her another glove. “Restaurant trick for when there are no Band-Aids.”
She eased the glove over the makeshift bandage.
“We’ll have to throw this away.” Zach was already back at his cutting board. He pointed the tip of his knife at her board.
“I’ll take care of it.” Her stomach felt sick. So much time and materials wasted, just because she couldn’t handle a knife. She scraped the meat into the garbage and put the cutting board with the other dirty dishes. “Will we have enough left?”
“We’ll just have to hope for the best.” His curt tone cut more than the knife had.
The cramped space of the outdoor kitchen felt like a cage. Ava kept bumping into Zach, and he moved like an elephant. A sigh escaped Ava’s lips as Zach’s foot landed heavily on her toes again, the dull ache mirroring the hurt in her heart.
She’d liked it better when they were singing.
“We should have practiced this instead of making the malfatti last night.” He reached for another ball of dough. “You’re not giving each of those pies enough crimps. It should be exactly twenty for each one.” He pinched another couple times on each of her pasties.
She sighed and tried again. The dough stretched into a circular shape under her hands. When it was as wide as a dinner plate, she dropped some of the filling into the middle. Drawing up the edges, she crimped them, murmuring a count to herself.There. Twenty crimps. The pie went next to its brothers on the baking tray.
After a lifetime, they had ten meat pies lined up like soldiers ready for battle.
Zach checked his phone. “Okay, we should have enough time to get these baked and ready to plate. While they’re in the oven, we can work on the apple chutney.”
She picked up the tray. The cut on her finger throbbed with the weight. Bracing herself for the blast of hot air, she opened the oven door. Except—“Zach, did you preheat the oven?”
“Yes, I turned it on when the round started.” He came over to stand beside her.
“It’s stone cold.” She put her hand on the door.
“I turned it on.” Zach gestured to the knob, which was pointing at the appropriate temp. “It worked yesterday. What happened between then and now?” His face grew stormy.
She turned the knob, but nothing happened. “It’s like it’s not getting any power.”
The back of the oven butted up against the tent wall. She followed the oven cord to where it plugged into a long orange extension cord. Check that. Where itshouldbe plugged into the extension. Someone had kicked it or something, because it was hanging by only one prong.
She shoved the two ends together. “Try it now.”
