Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(83)
The Sweetbriar Cove Series:
1. Meant to Be (Feb 2017)
2. All for You (May 2017)
3. The Only One (August 2017)
4. I'm Yours (November 2017)
5. Holiday Kisses (A Christmas Story) (Dec 2017)
6. No Ordinary Love (Feb 2018)
1
Summer Bloom needed a vacation from her life. Golden sands … A sparkling ocean … She'd even settle for a cocktail with a little umbrella floating in it if it meant she could sleep past dawn and relax someplace without chaos, ten-flame burners and a tiny sadistic Frenchman yelling at full volume.
"Order up on three!"
"Fire six Benedict, three salmon, two crab!"
The noise of the busy restaurant kitchen clattered around her. It was brunch prep on a Saturday morning, and all hands were on deck. Sous-chefs diced onions and whisked hollandaise, busboys raced around fetching clean silverware, and the wait staff pored over the menus, but Summer kept her head down and focused on packing up her baking supplies. After two weeks of twelve-hour shifts, she finally had the weekend off, and she wasn't going to let anything drag her back into the fray. Even if the substitute pastry chef was screwing up the crepes.
Summer paused, watching as he added egg whites to the bowl. Didn't he realize the batter would tighten up the minute it hit the pan-
Nope!
She dragged her gaze away. It wasn't her problem. For the next forty-eight hours, she was off the clock – tough crepes be damned!
Summer loaded her frosting utensils into her bag and headed for the back door, but she was only a few steps from freedom when Chef Andre moved to block her path.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. He was a small man in stature, but he more than made up for it in volume – and ego. "I need ten dozen strawberries hulled for the duck glaze tonight!"
"I'm going to Cape Cod, remember?" Summer replied. Andre looked blank. "You volunteered me to do the cake for the Kenmore wedding," she added, trying to keep her tone even. 'Volunteered' wasn't exactly the word she would have chosen, but she knew the Kenmores were the restaurant's biggest investors. "I have to drive up to make the delivery. If I don't leave now, I'll be late for the reception."
"Then go, go!" Andre shooed her away, before turning his attention back to the kitchen, like a mountain lion searching out his next prey. "Lewis!"
Summer quickly darted past, letting the door bang shut behind her. The back alleyway may have smelled like rotting dumpsters, but to her, it was the sweet scent of freedom. She carefully unlocked the produce truck she was borrowing for the trip, and checked the back of the van. Six layers of perfectly-frosted cake sat, packed into individual padded boxes, plus enough ingredients for any last-minute emergency fixes. Not that there could be any. This was her famous sweet summer peach cake, and required days of preparation to get the flavors just right. She'd been up all night making sure every bite would be perfect, and now she just had to get herself – and the cake – through the five-hour drive without either of them falling apart.
Simple?
Summer hit the road, heading leaving the loud, smoggy New York streets behind as she headed out of the city and along the freeways up towards the coast. She played the radio loud, skipping between Top 40 stations as the signal dipped in and out, and with every passing mile, she felt her tension ease. Her shoulders unknotted, her pulse slowed, and by the time she crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto the curling bicep of the Cape, she almost felt close to human again.
Working at Chez Andre was like living in a war zone. It was one of the best fine-dining restaurants in the city, complete with a coveted Michelin Star, but all that prestige came with a price. Andre ruled the kitchen like a tyrant. Her blood pressure had gone through the roof since she'd been working there; she'd lost twenty pounds running around on her feet all day, and as for dating? Aside from a relationship with a rival chef that ended in heart-break, she hadn't even tried in years. But that was life in a high-end kitchen. When Summer told people she was a chef, most of them imagined she was waltzing around in a cute white hat, tasting spoonfuls of sauce and dreaming up exotic menus, but the reality was very different. It was a fiercely competitive profession, especially at the best restaurants, and they all paid in blood, sweat, and tears for the chance to learn from the best. Sometimes she wondered why she put herself through it, but the answer was always the same.
She loved food.
The tastes, the textures, the alchemy behind every mouthful... Ever since she was a kid, and had discovered that a simple box of dry mix and a tub of frosting could produce the wonder of a freshly-baked cake, Summer had been madly, wildly, recklessly in love with baking. The plate was her canvas, her mixing spoon was her conductor's baton – Summer would happily mix metaphors all day long for the chance to pursue her passion. Not that she got much of a chance. Chef Andre was famed for his intricate fine dining, full of precise, elaborate details. Why send out a perfect summer fruit pie when you could spin bird-shaped sugar baskets, and fill them with freeze-dried ice-cream and beads of coulis? Summer didn't buy into his 'more is more' philosophy, but that was the way the culinary world worked. It was her job to execute the head chef's vision, until the day she had enough experience (and investors), to strike out on her own.