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“All right,” a woman bellowed, the voice clearly belonging to Starla. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, but everyone working in the kitchen—Gina estimated there were probably eight of them there—stopped what they were doing and turned toward the dark-haired woman. “Staff meeting in five,” Starla said, her eyes settling on Gina as she stood next to Nash. She wanted to cower into him, but she didn’t. She lengthened her neck and looked right back at Starla.
They’d worked together once, at a cupcakery back in the first year of their culinary education. Gina had gotten a promotion when Starla hadn’t, and that had started a tiny rift between them. Starla had left the pastry arts to focus on kitchen management after that, and while they hadn’t been besties, Gina certainly wouldn’t categorize them as enemies.
Starla smiled at her as she walked closer. “Come with me, Gina. We’ll get you outfitted before the meeting.”
“Okay,” Gina said. She nodded to Nash and followed Starla into a microscopic office just inside the back door. A messy desk had been wedged into the corner, and it held everything from a small bag of flour, to folders, to loose papers, to someone’s breakfast. Starla’s presumably. She hadn’t finished it, which didn’t surprise Gina at all.
“Apron,” Starla said, opening one of the cabinets built in to the wall and tossing something white in Gina’s direction. She closed her eyes and flung up her hands, managing to fist the fabric before it fell to the floor. “I’ll get you a name tag. I have to put in a special order.”
“Okay,” Gina said, looping the apron around her waist. Even with the activity in the kitchen behind them, it felt silent and awkward inside the office.
“We haven’t had a pastry chef here in a while,” Starla said, and she looked exhausted though it was only Tuesday. “We’ve had people who can make good desserts, but I expect you can conjure up pastries for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks.” Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows went up, and despite her likely hours of work this morning, her makeup hadn’t budged a centimeter.
Gina swallowed, her pride sliding right down her throat. “I can do whatever you need me to, Starla.”
The other woman nodded and said, “Today, I want your best desserts for dinner tonight. The lodge isn’t full, but we need seventy-five units of something.”
“Something all the same, or could I do twenty-five of three different things?”
Starla’s eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Up to you, Gina. Just make sure we have seventy-five desserts for dinner tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gina said.
“You know what?” Starla said, her eyes flickering to something behind Gina. She too turned that way and found Blake standing there, his arms folded. She shrank back, though they were supposed to be friends.
Friends.
An internal scoff burned in her throat, because the way her heartbeat fluttered at the mere sight of him didn’t speak of friendly things.Boyfriendly things, yes.
“Make it eighty,” Starla said. “Blake and I would like to have a taste-test before we serve the desserts to paying guests.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said again, her voice scraping her throat this time.
Starla moved past her and patted Blake’s shoulder. “Taste-test at two, Mister Stewart?”
“Sure,” he said smoothly, and Gina barely dared to pull in a full breath because of that fresh, minty cologne.
“All right,” Starla called, answering Blake as well as getting the rest of her staff’s attention. “Let’s go over this morning. Gina here is new.”
Blake stepped out of the way, and Gina exited the office to have nine pairs of eyes on her. She lifted her hand in a pathetic wave, noting that only a couple of people smiled.
“She’ll be running this morning, and then Stasia, she’s going to need the oven station for her evening desserts.” Starla looked at Gina, her eyebrows raised as if to ask if that was good. Gina nodded, because she didn’t know all the stations in this kitchen.
Yet, she told herself. She didn’t know how things worked here at the Texas Longhorn Ranch yet, but she’d figure it out. She’d started in a half-dozen kitchens over the years, and this was just number seven.
Starla started going over menu items and what needed to be finished in the next fifty-five minutes, but she never came back to what “running” meant. Blake hadn’t moved, and Gina stood slightly in front of him. When it was clear Starla wasn’t going to detail the job for her, Gina bent her head toward Blake and asked, “What does running mean?”
“Running?”
She turned toward him, the meeting over, and said, “She said I’m going to be this morning’s runner. What does that mean?”
A smile curved that strong mouth, and oh, that nearly undid all of Gina’s defenses. “It means you’re going to be taking food from here out to the buffet,” he said. “Running. Back and forth.”
She looked down at her shoes, seeing how they didn’t quite fit with his cowboy boots. Upon meeting his gaze again, she said, “At least I wore the right shoes.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Now, let’s hope you don’t get lost in between.”
CHAPTERFOUR
