Page 49 of Whisking It All

She placed the last nesting doll in its place on the high shelf and leaned back to examine her work, careful not to lose her balance on the countertop. She’d found the dolls in a box in a local thrift shop the day before and had been unable to resist the brightly painted designs adorning the fragile wooden shapes. Retail therapy had never failed Tessa before, the perfect burst of serotonin to replace any uncomfortable feelings: a voicemail she had no intention of returning from the family she’d left behind, a snide remark from an older member of the Vegas kitchen staff with a chip on his shoulder about his expensive culinary degree, an unexpected wave of grief when she was caught off guard by a memory of her mother—they could all be softened by the joy of discovering a long-forgotten treasure in the corner of a thrift shop.

But apparently the one thing thrifting couldn’t soften was the growing ache in her chest every time she thought about Jamie, and the needy pulse between her legs that hadn’t yet gotten the memo that he was off limits. If anything, after the photoshoot the day before, that pulse had become more insistent.

“The what stage?” Kyla shouted, a thin thread of panic edging her tone.

“Hold on, I’ll be right there!”

Tessa hopped off the counter and headed back into the kitchen. Kyla stood over one of the giant stand mixers, flour dusting her apron and streaked across her face as she peered into the stainless-steel bowl.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Tessa said. Kyla tilted the head of the mixer up, lifting the whisk from the bowl. “Ahh, you’re not quite there yet. The batter should fall off the whisk in thick lines, like ribbons that kind of pool on the top of the bowl when they fall.” Tessa dropped the whisk back into the bowl and turned the mixer back on. “You’ll know you’re almost there when the batter looks kind of foamy and pale.”

“Foamy and pale. Got it,” Kyla repeated, staring at the mixture intensely.

Tessa’s phone chimed and she pulled it from her jeans back pocket, smiling at the name on the screen. “Why don’t you take a break and go grab us some sandwiches from the diner,” she said. “Take the credit card from the register.” Kyla nodded and left Tessa alone.

DiceDiceBaby: I give up. I’m officially out of ideas for what to do with beets.

DiceDiceBaby: And my produce guy just showed up with six more crates of them!

WhiskyBusiness: Don’t give up yet. Did you try the beet dip recipe I sent you?

DiceDiceBaby: I did. It was a big hit—thanks for that. The hazelnuts were unexpected but the perfect addition to that recipe.

WhiskyBusiness: What else have you tried?

DiceDiceBaby: We had beet quiche at brunch, beet flatbreads as an appetizer. I even put it in the veggie burgers. Pretty soon people are going to think the only thing I serve is beets.

DiceDiceBaby: What are you cooking today?

WhiskyBusiness: Working my way through some old family recipes. Apparently my grandmother had a thing for Swiss rolls. There must be thirty different kinds of Swiss rolls in her recipe box.

DiceDiceBaby: I wonder if it’s a generational thing. My friend’s mother always made Swiss rolls. She had one that was all the flavors of a Bakewell tart.

WhiskyBusiness: So does my grandmother! It’s on my list to make this week.

Tessa leaned against the workstation, and wondered what the odds were that they both had a recipe for a Bakewell tart-flavored Swiss roll. She’d have to do an internet search later. Maybe DDB was right and it was a generational thing.

DiceDiceBaby: Is your grandmother the one who taught you how to cook?

She blew out a breath and sank to the floor, leaning against the cold metal leg of the workstation counter. She could claim it was a personal detail and shut down the conversation, but more and more lately, she didn’t want to shy away from the personal details with DDB. And with the confusing jumble of lust and frustration still simmering in her veins after the photoshoot, she was craving connection in a way she hadn’t let herself admit in a long time.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let a few personal details slip.

WhiskyBusiness: No. I didn’t see her much growing up.

WhiskyBusiness: We moved around a lot.

DiceDiceBaby: That must have been hard.

WhiskyBusiness: It’s not hard when it’s all you know.

WhiskyBusiness: My mom was always working, sometimes two or three jobs, so I watched a lot of TV. Specifically, the Culinary Channel. After a while, I started trying out the things I’d seen on TV. The rest is history.

DiceDiceBaby: You taught yourself. That’s incredible.

WhiskyBusiness: I had some amazing mentors.

WhiskyBusiness: As soon as I was old enough, I got a job in a kitchen and I just never stopped. Worked my way up.

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