Page 57 of Neap & Spring

“That’s called having standards,” Callum returns, but there’s no bite to it.

And just barely visible under his mustache, a small secret smile. Just for me.

My own smile answers before I can stop it. “That’s called being picky.”

Roman is grinning now, looking between us like this is the best entertainment he’s had all week. “Oh, I like this. Tell me more about school-day Chef.”

Callum holds up both hands in surrender. “Absolutely not.”

I ignore him completely. “He once made our classmate redo a butter sauce seven times. Seven. The instructor finally had to step in and tell Callum to stop and leave him alone.”

“It kept breaking!” Callum’s voice goes up slightly, defensive.

“Because you kept adding butter too fast when you were ‘helping!’” I make air quotes around the word.

Roman’s grin widens. “Wait. Chef, didn’t your velouté break during the Valentine’s special last year?”

“That was the burner’s fault.”

“And the hollandaise at the Mother’s Day brunch?”

“The eggs were too cold.”

“The cream sauce for the mushroom risotto in —”

“Okay, Roman, we get it.” Callum cuts him off, but I can see the flush creeping up his neck.

“No way!” I have to press my hand to my mouth to hide my giggle. “Is it still happening? You broke a beurre blanc on our graduation night!”

“I was distracted!”

“You were showing off for the visiting chef from Noma!”

“I was not!” But even as he says it, the corner of his mouth gives him away. “Okay. Maybe I was showing off. I was trying to keep up with the Chef’s Award winner.” His eyes meet mine with a wink, and my heart stops. “At least I didn’t burn the tarte tatin.” His eyebrows go up.

“That was one time!”

“It was finals week.”

Roman is laughing now too, looking between us. “This is amazing. You two are nerds.”

“You were unbearable.” But I’m smiling again too.

“You were worse.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the counter next to Roman’s station. “You literally organized all your ingredients by color once. You spent like twenty minutes arranging herbs from lightest to darkest.”

“Organization is not a character flaw.”

“It is when you’re that obsessive about it.”

I straighten up, arms crossing to mirror his stance, falling back into that old rhythm we used to have. This back and forth. The way we’d bicker about nothing and everything, pushing each other and making each other better.

“You know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You think perfectionism only counts if it’s your way.” I take a step toward him, and I can see Roman’s eyes going wide in my peripheral vision. “But guess what? My color-coded ingredients were just as valid as your seventh attempt at that sauce.”

“They absolutely were not.”