“I do wish it would have been done in little knots.” Eli held his roll up to the light, spoke while examining it. “There’s not anything wrong with it, but challah is traditionally braided. It would have been a nice nod to that, given away what it was more readily.”
“All right.” Ifthatwas his criticism, then Henry was in a damn good place. Joy buoyed warm and full in his chest. “Thank you.” His rolls were whisked off, and he grinned as he walked back, even winked at Tristan and mouthed,Good luck.
Another reset, then Sylvia rubbed her hands together. “Now, if you don’t mind keeping the ball rolling, Tristan, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Tristan blew out a long breath, his shoulders dropping visibly on the exhalation, then grabbed his trays and carried them up front. Henry scooted his stool to the far end of the station so he could see around Willa.
Keeping with their pattern, Rita started this time. “These are attractive and fragrant. That’s my first impression.” She carefully separated the rolls to be passed out. “What flavors are we working with?”
“They’re a molasses bread roll with hazelnuts and nigella seeds.”
“Sweet, then.”
“Mildly.”
She weighed it in her hand. “It’s substantial. I’m really hoping it’s risen when I look inside.”
So am I.Henry wasn’t ready to deal with Tristan leaving. He hadn’t been last time, either, but where they were now? He wasdoublynot ready.
Rita tore her roll open and prodded it. One second. Two.God, if I feel like this, what’s it like for Tristan?
Rita smiled. “It’s risen. I think it’s heavier because of the hazelnuts. But everything is well distributed, the crumb is even on the inside, and it’s got a lovely color.” She bit into it, as did the others.
“Nowthatis good bread.” Dexter spoke out of turn, and he grinned wide. “Back in Jamaica, we have coco bread. It’s got coconut milk in it, so it’s a little bit sweet, you know? American bread doesn’t have that, brioche doesn’t hit it right, but the molasses and the hazelnuts in here are bringing me that same experience. And I love nigella seeds.” He raised his half-eaten roll in salute. “It’s good by me.”
“Well, I’m not having quite the same love affair as Dexter, but itisa nice roll.” Eli nodded. “It would be great with a roast or a turkey for thanksgiving, or ham. It begs for some kind of salty meat to balance out the sugar and the density. But for what it is, it’s still a good roll.”
“Well, I’m going to need that recipe,” said Sylvia. “Anything to make Dexter fall in love with me.”
He cocked his head to the side and grinned at her. “I love you enough to get you a job in California, don’t I?”
Laughter rippled through everyone as Tristan turned around and his rolls went away. He grinned wider than Henry had ever seen. Sure, he’d only been in reliable proximity with Tristan for about two weeks, but still—that smile was bigger and better and brighter than usual, dimples on full display.
When Tristan swung back into his station, Henry reached over the counter and gripped his shoulder. “Nice job. Think you beat me.”
“Only with Dexter.” Tristan chuckled softly, then lowered his voice to the barest, sparsest whisper. “Assuming there’s no fluke with the results, let’s get drinks to celebrate.”
Drinks would mean one drink, max. But Henry was down for it all the same. “Oh, how daring of you. Braving humans.”
“I know. So take advantage of my temporary insanity before I come to my senses and realize how bad people suck.”
“Take advantage of you, got it.”
Tristan laughed a little louder, shaking his head and unfortunately covering his mouth. When he was finished, it was back to whispers. “That’s after drinks.”
“All right, but I’m holding you to it.” Henry eyed the camera and really,reallyhoped they’d been quiet enough not to be on mic. Or at the very least, the network wasn’t willing to run something so risqué as light innuendo.
“Perfecto.” Tristan sighed, then turned around. “Well, let’s see what the darling of New York’s managed to pull off.”
Henry looked him up and down, now that he wasn’t paying attention... and as always, Henry liked what he saw. Was it objectifying, and risky with the cameras rolling, to be checking out Tristan’s pert ass in those jeans, his broad shoulders under the beige shirt? Of course.
I don’t plan to stop anytime soon, though.
Tristan stood behind his platter of rolls, waiting for the final verdict to come down. He knew bread wasn’t his strongest point, and that he’d be riding somewhere in the middle for this round. The middle wasn’t safety. Not in the long run. But he’d take it.
That’s how Tristan felt, anyway. The judgeshadspent their sweet time deliberating this round, calling crew from the back and whispering to them. It had taken twice as long as normal before the competitors got arranged behind their stations. So maybe things were tighter than Tristan assumed.
“Well, we saw more rolls than an ensemble cast and flatbreads that were anything but flat in flavor.” Sylvia’s spiels seemed to be getting better as she settled into the job. “But one of you baked us simply the best rolls of the bunch and an herbaceous, vivacious focaccia to beat all the rest. The winner this week... is Dorian! Congratulations!”
