Page 152 of A Taste of Vanilla

“If you make me feel stupid, I’ll cry, and then I’ll be furious that I cried, and then I’ll blame you for both.”

I look at her.

“Why would I ever try to make you feel stupid?”

Sadness flickers across her face before she shakes it off.

“Good,” she says, turning toward her shelves. “Because I’m very busy being brilliant and fragile.”

“Of course.”

Her hand freezes on a mixing bowl as she looks back at me. “What part are you agreeing with?”

“All of it.”

Her lips tighten, and she looks at me for a beat longer before deciding against whatever she was going to say. Instead, she walks to the prep table and looks down at the clipboard. “What is this?”

“Opening schedule. A trial.”

She reads it, and I wait patiently by the ovens.

Her brows climb at every line.

“This is upsetting,” she says.

“It’s a draft.”

“It has times.”

“That’s generally how schedules work, yes.”

I watch as she reads it at least three more times, her face relaxing the more she realizes that it makes sense.

I leave Halston to finish the prep listed in this time slot and start the coffee. My hands need to do something.

The kitchen settles into quiet movement. Water runs, and the coffee machine makes a low clicking noise. I can hear every time Halston goes in and out of the walk-in, and Agatha groans every few minutes.

When Halston pulls the croissant dough out of the fridge and places it on the flour-dusted counter, I lean against the counter and watch her work.

She uses more flour than I would, but that’s manageable. Her hands move quickly at first, but slow down when she catches herself, as if realizing in real time that she’s ahead of schedule.

She looks back at me. “You want me to roll it? Or do you want to?”

“You can.”

“Are you just going to stand there and stare?”

“Yeah.”

“At the dough?”

I pause. “At first.”

Her eyes fly to mine.

“At first?” she repeats.

“I’m evaluating your technique.”