Page 79 of A Sudden Romance

He’d humiliated himself. Way to go.

When they called them back and announced the appetizer points, Sabastian’s earned a walloping four points. Which, actually, might be better than he deserved with how undercooked potatoes must’ve set off the taste.

Vylo scored seven points, and Sherry’s fingerling potatoes with dipping sauce earned her ten points. But at least Jameson didn’t cut him off after Round 1.

Equally exhilarated and terrified to make it to the next round still alive, Sabastian wiped his sweaty palms against his chef coat. Now he had to do this again? On the other hand, he had the chance to win fifty grand and gain confidence and assurance he could make it as a chef.

“And now, you have over an hour to create your main entrée with a side.” As Jameson spoke, people cheered. “The contestant with fewer points after round two will be eliminated. You have seventy minutes to create a winter entrée with a side. Your time starts now.”

And they were off to search for the ingredients.

In the days leading to the event, Sabastian had spent hours in the kitchen making up recipes and asking Iris and her siblings to challenge him on what ingredients they wanted him to make a given dish.

He’d even made spaghetti out of yellow peppers.

“Anybody see any chicken?” one of the ladies yelled from the other fridge. Just as Sabastian was about to offer help to look for it, the cameramen surrounding them reminded him this was real competition and it wasn’t his job to help anyone find the missing items. With the clock ticking, he needed to focus.

He continued rummaging through the fridge until he realized it only had seafood.

After the appetizer debacle, if he could make it through his second round without embarrassing himself, then perhaps he’d leave the show with some dignity. He opened the cooler in between the refrigerators. Hmm, there were packages of chicken breast.

He could make a lemon-infused chicken dish. After all, he was more familiar with making Iris’s meals. But chicken and mashed potatoes? Comfort food was the theme.

“Found the chicken,” he said, and the redhead all but ran and snatched it out of his hands.

He had plenty of time to make decent mashed potatoes. This time he didn’t have to peel off the red skin.

The next fridge offered several beef options. When he saw the ribs, inspiration struck, and Iris’s words arose—“You’re an artist. Think of your cooking as a work of art—edible art.”

As he added fresh herbs—rosemary, orange zest, salt, pepper, garlic—to the ribs, he couldn’t help thinking of the one person who inspired him to do things he’d otherwise never attempt doing. Things like now, being at the show.

While the ribs simmered in his red wine sauce, he boiled the potatoes. This time, Jameson’s countdown seemed helpful, even relaxing as Sabastian made the salad, dicing celery and apples, sprinkling dates and hazelnuts, and squeezing orange and lemon juice.

It wouldn’t be a complete meal without lemon. By the time the host asked them to step aside, Sabastian had already plated his food, admiring his presentation.

The bed of extra-creamy potatoes made a perfect base for the short ribs.

“What did you make?” Jameson asked after Sabastian presented the food to the judges.

“The double cream...” He listed the ingredients. Iris was the main ingredient, his focus and inspiration for the masterpiece. He was merely the mechanic putting the creation together. “The salad provides balancing acidity, brightness, and crunch to the comforting dish.”

Whether he earned the ten points on this round or not, without knowing what his meal tasted like, he knew it was delicious. Soon, they announced the scores, granting him ten points.

“Sabastian’s dish took the lead for the entrée.” Jameson congratulated him.

Sabastian’s chest puffed as people clapped and cheered. However, only one person in that group of supporters mattered. And then his chest deflated when they let Vylo go, leaving him and Sherry to compete in the final round, which gave them thirty minutes to craft their desserts.

As he worked side by side with her, he couldn’t see what his competitor was making.

He whipped up a mousse. He’d add mashed potatoes once as they were fully cooked.

After almost twenty minutes of working side by side, Sherry yelped. “Ouch! My finger.”

On instinct, Sabastian abandoned his station to get to her side. She was bleeding.

He spun around in search of a first aid kit. “Let’s first get you to the sink and wash off.”

She’d been chopping macadamia nuts. It wasn’t his place to ask why she’d do such a thing. As soon as he helped her to the sink to put her finger in cold water, someone came to tend to her.

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