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“I have,” I admitted. “But consider that, historically, this is something that was brought out to the mine, or the field or to battle. It was meant to be something that could easily be wrapped up in a cloth and carried out. Icing would make a sticky mess.”
“But we’re not going to be taking it out to the mine or field.”
Smiling, I looked up at him, his eyes so wise and worldly. He was right. I’d been too strict in my desire to stick to the historical nature of the recipe. But these were modern times, and I could adjust it.
“After all,” Chef Mac said. “We asked for historically inspired recipes. We want the contestants to modernize them somewhat. So long as the main integrity of the original recipe is upheld.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
“So, you’re okay with my harsh criticism,” he said.
“Bring it on,” I said, putting on a brave face and smiling at him. “I have two months to perfect this and my other recipes, should I make it to the second and third round. I want to give myself the best chance of winning this, and if it means having my ego dented slightly by your harsh, yet constructive criticism, I’m all for it.”
“Good,” he said, setting his hands firmly on my shoulders. “I’m happy to hear it.”
I left his house later that afternoon and felt like I was floating on a cloud. Not only was there something so electrifying about being with him, but I truly felt that he was bringing my culinary talent to a level I’d never dreamed of.
I returned again the next day, excited to spend more time with him. Our time in the narrow kitchen was like a well-choreographed dance, with us passing one another, brushing up against one another and reaching out to delicately touch one another with increased intimacy and familiarity.
I wasn’t at all shocked when he came up behind me and took a firm hold of my hips.
“Don’t stop what you’re doing,” he said as he gently nudged me to one side, opened the utensil drawer, grabbed a spatula, closed the draw, then took a hold of my hips again to put me back in position.
He could have held onto me forever and I would have been in heaven.
Chapter 9
Layla
Monday morning arrived with a blast of sunshine accompanied by a surprisingly chilled breeze from the north. I dunned my tight skinny jeans and pulled on a short cropped long sleeve red sweater.
I was still elated and floating on that endless cloud that Chef Mac had so artfully created, and I never wanted to step off.
I floated through the day, going from one class to the other with no incidents, only my flourishing confidence in my abilities.
Then came my class with Axel. I suddenly felt a tiny jitter of apprehension but refused to let it take over me. I was going to get to the class early, be a good and attentive student, then get on with my day.
