Page 30 of Break Me Like a Promise (Oak Valley)

“Yes, but also because of the attention to detail,” Annette laughed.

Julien cleared his throat. “What struck me most, personally, was your CV. I want you to talk more about what you envision for yourself moving forward.”

“Like, in terms of this opportunity? Or like a ten year plan?”

“Both.”

Sweat cropped up on Colton’s neck, beading down his spine. If he was honest, he’d acknowledge he mainly just thought of what the job could — would — do for him, in the short-term. But what did that look like long-term?

“Would you like to circle back?” Annette asked.

Colton took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. No, it’s okay. I’ll be honest in saying I don’t really know. I’ve never really had a chance to think about it outside of wanting to be a pastry chef and knowing the only way to become one is to do it. So working under Chef Hermé would allow me the chance to do what I really love. Maybe one day I’ll open a shop, maybe I’ll find I like working under a coach. But this opportunity would give me the chance to follow my dream instead of my dad’s. I thrive under pressure, I bring my A-game to every field, and I’m ready to give my all to the one thing I regret letting go of.”

Ruby. He didn’t need to acknowledge there might be two things he regretted, but right now only one of them saw him getting out of Oak Valley.

Julien nodded his head while Annette scribbled a note and asked more questions.

“We see you deal mainly with desserts and pastries. Do you have a signature creation? Do you foray into the art of cooking, or are you strictly baking?”

“No signature yet, I like experimenting with flavors and sometimes certain flavors work best in different vehicles. I like cooking but haven’t had as much practice — my mom does most of it so we worked out a system where she cooks and I bake.”

“What kind of flavors work best for different items?”

“I’ve personally found I prefer more floral or herbal flavors in small doses — rose, thyme, lavender, rosemary, the like — in macarons or miniature eclairs. Whereas there seems to be more area to play with more traditional flavors, like orange and chocolate, in larger items like danishes and croissants.”

Julien nodded. “Do you have a kitchen philosophy?”

Colton pursed his lips, thinking back on all the times he’d been in the kitchen. The number of times he’d accidentally swapped baking powder for baking soda and vice versa, or forgot sugar, or doubled the butter. The ways his mom taught him to handle dough or be careless with seasoning amounts. He smiled at the how horrified everyone was when he eyeballed flavors instead of measuring them out, trusting it would all work out. “I think it’s a mixture of being playful, trusting yourself and the process, and having a willingness to learn. The great thing about being in the kitchen is you have room to experiment, and if it doesn’t work out it’s not the end of the world. And you can’t treat it like it is.”

Annette smiled. “So very true.”

“We saw in your resume and in your CV you have more formal experience in the business side of being a pastry chef,” Julien began. “Menus, supplies, time management. Do you understand what this job you’ve applied for would entail, and how do you see yourself fitting into the dynamic?”

“I’m assuming this position is more of a baking one rather than management.” Colton swallowed, trying to read their faces. “And I, uh, I see myself learning and growing as a baker but with the ability to step in on any of those management tasks, if needed. Ideally, I would be able to hold this position for a long time and grow within the business, to learn as much as I can from Chef Hermé. It would be instrumental to my future being able to focus on the baking aspect instead of what I’ve had to do, which was split my time between baking and management.”

He hoped that was good enough. That it was the right answer. He still couldn’t believe he was interviewing with Hermé’ right-hand chefs, that they thought some ex-professional football player from a middle-of-nowhere small town in New York was worthy of an interview.

“Thank you for answering our questions, Mr. Tay— Colton. It was a pleasure speaking with you. We should have a response to you by the end of the week,” Annette said while scribbling something down.

“Great. And if you need anything else from me in the meantime, please let me know.” Colton smiled at them and they said their goodbyes, hanging up the call. He stared at the computer screen, the sweat still dripping down his back. The tie felt tighter than before, the room warmer.

Had they jumped off the call really fast? It felt like they did. It didn’t feel that way immediately following the questions — and it had been a fifteen minute interview, which they’d said in their email would be the length of the interview — but now that Colton was left with the blank screen and the distant whir of mixing bowls, it felt rushed, like they had heard enough.

A soft knock on the door was followed by his mom’s head poking into the room, her hair wisping out from her ponytail. Those front pieces that never grew more than a few inches and surrounded her head like a halo she lovingly called her wings. Colton always thought they made her look more like a lion.

She smiled at him and stepped into the room, closing the door until just a sliver remained. “Sorry, honey. I heard the voices stop. Did it go well?”

He nodded and leaned back in the chair, folding his hands in his lap. “I think so. Hard to say, but they were friendly. They said they’d know by the end of the week.”

“Oh, good. That’s not too bad a wait.” Cheri crossed her arms, seeming to shrink even more into her petite frame. It seemed as though she wanted to say something, and Colton sat in the chair waiting, hoping she’d let her guard down and say whatever it was that was on her mind.

Some time passed, and Colton cleared his throat. “How are things at home?”

“Fine.” Cheri shrugged. “I miss you, though.” Her smile was sheepish, her fingers picking at the edge of her apron. Colton sighed, knowing he’d put his mom first.

How could he not?

Standing, he made his way to her and pulled her into a hug. There were times it felt he could swallow her whole, give her the safe space he knew she needed. Give her protection from the world and its tense elements. This was one of those times. She sank into him and he relished the feel of her solid arms. She may be small, but she was Mom. And he needed a mom hug.

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