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“We both know that’s a lie,” I say softly, unable to resist putting my hand on her lower back.
Reg nudges his partner and jerks his head forward.
Carrie flicks her hair over her shoulder and angles her face to the camera. “Your time…starts…now.”
Jen snaps into action. She grabs the recipe provided to us, scanning it with a pen shoved in the side of her mouth.
I admit, I take a moment to take a mental snapshot of her like this—elbows leaning on the counter, ass pushed back, legs spread wide—before I sidle up beside her and lean a palm next to her elbow. “What are we doing?”
“This recipe gives measurements but no real instructions. It just says, ‘Make the choux pastry.’”
“I’m hoping you know how to do that,” I say, “because I sure as hell don’t.”
Jen glances at me, brow arched. “What do you think?”
I lean in close to her ear. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing, and it’s hot as hell.”
A flush sweeps over her cheeks, but she brushes the compliment off. “Do you know how to make crème pâtissière?”
“Uh…” I cringe.
Jen sucks in a breath and jots down a few things on a paper. “It’s a type of custard. Here, heat this much milk and measure out the flour and sugar. I’m going to get started on the dough. We need to get the choux in the oven and cooled before we can fill and assemble, and the filling needs to be chilled, too.”
I nod. “Yes, Chef.”
She grins at me, and then we get to work.
As I babysit the heating milk, Jen works like a madwoman. I’ll never get over how impressive it is to watch her do her thing. When I first invited Amanda to town with the intention of introducing her to Jen, I hoped it would help Jen’s career. I hoped that I could have a small part in seeing her achieve the success she deserves.
I didn’t know Jen would end up pushing me away as a result, but it’s hard to be bitter about that when I’m standing next to her, watching her hands move like magic.
She throws directions at me for the custard, telling me to split the milk in two so we can flavor one of them with chocolate. “We’re going to make raspberry coulis to add to the chocolate ones, and maybe some lemon curd for the vanilla,” she tells me. “Cut the sweetness a bit.” Her eyes brighten. “We could swirl them together before we pipe the filling into the choux, so you bite into it and you get streaks of color in the center.”
That sounds like genius. But—
“Do we have time for that?” I glance over at whatever she’s doing on the stove—mixing some sort of flour, butter, and egg mixture like her life depends on it.
Jen just shoots me one of her rare, radiant smiles. “Of course we have time. Who do you think I am?”
Grinning, I turn back to my work, and we fall into a groove. I manage not to mess up the pastry cream, and when Jen tastes it she gives me a quick nod. “It’s good, Fallon.”
Those three words mean a lot to me. More than I want to admit. After the disastrous croissants, I’m glad I can actually contribute.
Jen pipes the dough onto a waiting baking tray, and has dozens of little balls of choux in the oven within minutes. She’s incredible.
The two women in the head-to-toe denim outfits are at the station next to ours. Nikki glances over, her hair mussed, flour streaked all over her face. “I’m never eating cream puffs again! Ever!”
Her teammate, Sonia, rushes over from the bank of freezers holding a bowl. She’s got tears in her eyes. “Look, the filling is all separated. It curdled somehow.”
Jen glances over and, thrusting a whisk into my hand with the stern order to not stop agitating whatever’s on the stove, she flies over to the next station. “What have we got?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Separated fillings. Flat choux pastry.” Nikki shoves her hand in her hair. “And I don’t even know how to make caramel!”
“Give me a pot,” Jen says, pointing. “And sugar. No, the white sugar. Thanks.”
I steal a glance over to see Jen’s brow drawn in concentration. She starts coaching the Denim Ladies on caramel, giving them her usual no-nonsense instructions. Then she’s back at our station, tasting, mixing, checking.
A screech sounds from Sonia. She pulls out a baking tray from the oven in a puff of black smoke.
