Page 78 of His Tenth Dance

She set the plate on the counter, then picked up another dessert. “This is a chocolate espresso pavlova with salted caramel cream.” She walked toward him, and Mission had no idea what a pavlova was but stayed quiet.

“If you haven’t heard of a pavlova,” she explained. “It’s a whipped egg white, similar to a meringue, that’s been flavored and then baked. It should have a crisp outer crust and a soft, marshmallowy interior. The two textures together are luxurious—just like the chocolate and coffee flavors. The salted caramel cream should bejustsweet enough to cut through the bitterness of the coffee and chocolate, creating a bite that is both rich and intense.”

She set the pavlova in front of him, and Mission had never seen a more beautiful dessert.

“This is stunning,” he said. “I’ve never seen a pavlova before, but if someone gave me this, I’d want to eat every bite of it.”

“It’s a very technical dessert,” Kristie said. She brought the knife down over the pavlova, which had been done in a ring mold with pretty ridges along the top, each one perfectly browned and unbroken.

“Ooh, did you hear that crack?” she asked with a grin. “That’s the perfect sign of a good bake on a pavlova.”

She pulled out a slice—it was almost like eating a bundt cake. He could see the softer interior, but it held its weight just fine. She dolloped the salted caramel cream on top and handed him a new fork.

Mission gazed at the dessert in wonder. Though Kristie had just described the flavors, he wasn’t quite prepared for them when they hit his tongue. He loved the toasted crunch of the exterior, the creamy interior, and the way the salted caramel brought it all together.

As he went in for a second bite, he said, “I have no other words bututterly fantastic.”

This time, when Jocelyn came to take the plate, he pulled it closer and managed to get another big bite before she took it.

“That was absolutely amazing,” he said. “If whoever made that doesn’t get a purple ribbon, the judges must not have taste buds.”

The women all tittered at the end of the table. Jocelyn stepped forward with Kristie’s apple crumble. “This is a spiced apple chai crumble tart with maple glaze. Kristie told us she toldyou what she was going to make, and though I don’t see how you can top your last two reactions…I’m thinking you better do your darnedest for this one.”

She smiled teasingly as she set the tart in front of him, then turned back to the counter for a clean knife.

“This tart is steeped in cozy, nostalgic flavors that sayhome,” she said. “There’s apple, chai spices, and a crumble made with oatmeal, butter, and wait for it…fried quinoa—something a little different blended with tradition. It’s got a pâte sucrée crust, and the spices should be balanced between the sweet apples and even sweeter maple glaze.”

She cut a triangle out of the tart. Not a single drop oozed out, though it still looked juicy and delicious. She handed him a spoon this time to go with his apple crumble.

Mission held Kristie’s gaze for one…two…three searing seconds before he took a bite.

The moment the spiced apples and sweet glaze touched his tongue, he let out the loudest groan he’d ever made in his life.

“Oh, my word,” Kristie muttered, rolling her eyes.

Her three friends burst out laughing.

“This is apples like I’ve never had apples before,” Mission said, really playing it up. He took another bite. “I really like the spice in there, though I’d never be able to tell you what it is. The sort of…medicinal quality of it is perfectly balanced with the apples, which have the most amazing chew I’ve ever had. And this quinoa?—”

He put his fork down and started to clap, his smile huge as he prayed this was the right reaction for Kristie and her friends.

His girlfriend’s face turned crimson, but Mission couldn’t stop smiling.

Then Jocelyn moved toward him. He held up his fork and pointed. “You’re not taking this one. I want to savor thewholething.”

She paused, eyes wide. He held her gaze. The message came across loud and clear—he would let them take the other desserts because they weren’t as good as Kristie’s.

Jocelyn finally held up both hands in surrender. “All right.” She turned back to the others. “Lennie, you’re up.”

“Our last, but not least, dessert,” Lennie said. “Is a peach bourbon layer cake with brown butter frosting.”

She picked up the cake, which had been completely iced this time, with pristine swirls in the frosting. Beautiful, ripe peaches sat on top with a few scattered raspberries that looked like they’d been artfully placed.

“Everything is better with butter,” Lennie added. “This is a showstopper of a cake that feels like a big warm hug. The brown butter really sinks into your soul and reminds you of the South and its traditions. The cake is layered with peach-infused bourbon, more frosting, and a peach compote in between each layer.”

She placed the towering cake in front of him. “You’re not just getting sweetness. You’re gettingdepth.”

Mission could only stare at such a beautiful cake. This had to be Jocelyn.

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