Page 13 of Learning with the Older Boss
"I want to develop three signature desserts. Rotate seasonally, keep it simple but elevated. Same philosophy as the rest of the menu." He sets the ingredients on the stainless steel counter between us. "I want to see what you can do."
Wait. "You're... testing me?"
"I'm giving you a challenge." His eyes meet mine, and there's something almost like a dare in them. "You said you wanted to contribute more. Here's your chance. Show me what you've got."
Oh God. This is actually happening. Levi Harper, who's spent two weeks barely acknowledging my ideas, is challenging me to create a dessert for Juniper's menu.
I should be terrified. I am terrified. But I'm also so excited I can barely think straight.
"What's the parameter?" I ask, trying to sound professional and not like I'm internally screaming. "Any restrictions?"
"Has to use ingredients we can source locally or keep in regular stock. Has to be something we can execute during service without slowing down the kitchen. And it has to fit the restaurant, elevated comfort, nothing too fussy." He pauses. "And it has to be good enough that I'd be proud to serve it."
That last part sends a shiver down my spine. Not good. Good enough that he'd be proud.
No pressure at all.
"Okay." I wash my hands, my mind already racing through possibilities. "Can I use the pantry? Check what we have?"
"Use whatever you need."
I move to the walk-in, scanning shelves and making mental notes. We've got good vanilla, quality chocolate, local honey from the farmer's market. Seasonal fruit is limited this time of year, but I spot apples, probably the same supplier as the mushrooms and chicken.
Apples. Comfort food. Elevated.
An idea starts forming.
I gather ingredients, bringing them back to my station. Flour, butter, sugar, those apples. Cinnamon, nutmeg, a bit of cardamom for something unexpected. Cream for whipping.
Levi's watching me work, his expression unreadable. He's cleaned his own station but made no move to leave, just settled onto a stool near the pass with a cup of coffee that appeared from nowhere.
"What are you making?" he asks.
"Apple galette." I start measuring flour, my hands steadier now that I'm baking. "It's like a rustic tart. Free-form, so it doesn't need to be perfect. I'll do a cream cheese pastry instead of traditional pie dough, add a little honey to the apples, finish with cardamom whipped cream."
"Cardamom's a risk."
"It's unexpected. But it'll work with the apples and honey, adds warmth without being obvious cinnamon-sugar territory." I look up at him. "Trust me?"
Something flickers in his eyes. "Show me why I should."
Challenge accepted.
I lose myself in the work, muscle memory taking over. The pastry comes together quickly: butter cut into flour and cream cheese until it resembles coarse crumbs, just enough ice water to bring it together. I shape it into a disk, wrap it, slide it into the fridge to rest.
While the dough chills, I prep the apples. Peeling, coring, slicing thin. A squeeze of lemon to keep them from browning, then honey, cinnamon, a tiny grating of nutmeg, a pinch of salt.
"You didn't measure the spices," Levi observes.
"Don't need to. I can taste it in my head." I look up at him. "You do it too. I've watched you adjust seasonings without measuring."
His eyebrow raises slightly. "You've been watching me?"
Heat floods my face. "I mean… I'm trying to learn. So, I pay attention. To technique. And... stuff."
Smooth, Maya. Really smooth.
But there might be the tiniest hint of amusement in his expression. "What else have you noticed?"
