Deciding they could likely find it, they headed toward the huge staircase together. “Don’t you have a roommate?” Maia asked.
Regan nodded. “Not here yet, I guess.”
Finding the dining room, as they suspected, proved to be pretty easy. They followed the smell of food and the gentle clinking of dishware until they came to a huge room with a table the size of a yacht.
Holy shitran through Regan’s head for about the forty-seventh time that day, but she managed to keep the words locked in her head, thank God.
The table looked like it could seat about twenty people or more,but there were only three place settings on each side near one end, and then a place setting at the head of it.
“Welcome,” May said as she appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “I hope you’re hungry. Our chefs have prepared a virtual feast.” She indicated the table. “There are place cards for each of you, so go ahead and find your seat.”
As the three of them moved toward the table, two more women came into the room.
“Ah, welcome,” May said again, then gave the newcomers the same instructions, and soon, the five women were seated at their places, roommates across the table from each other. Vienna sat on Regan’s right, then a very petite woman named Paige sat on the other side of her. Across from Regan was an empty chair, then Maia, of the pink hair, then a woman with a super-friendly smile who’d introduced herself as Madison.
“So?” Madison asked. “Where are we all from? I live just outside of Chicago. Born and raised.”
“New Orleans,” Vienna said, using her fingers to give a little wiggle-wave.
“I’m from Portland, but live in San Diego now,” said Paige.
“Denver,” Maia said, raising her hand.
It was Regan’s turn. “I was born in Cleveland and my family’s still there, but I work in a bakery in New York City.”
“Oh, very cool,” Madison said.
“You’re from all over the country.” A new voice chimed in. It was firm and authoritative, and it belonged to Liza Bennett-Schmidt herself. A collective gasp went around the table at the sight of her, as if all five of them had been surprised. Regan certainly was.
She did her best not to gawk, but it was so hard. After all, this was a woman she’d idolized for most of her adult life and a good portion of her teenage years, when she’d started to realize she might want baking to be some kind of a career.
Liza was fifty-eight but barely looked out of her forties. Kind of shocking for somebody who worked with—and one could only assume sampled—sweets all day. There was probably a trainer involved, along with hair and makeup. Living in New York City, Regan had seen more than her share of celebrities on the street or even in her bakery, justgoing about their day like normal people, and for the first year or two, it always surprised her how normal they all looked without their styling entourage following them around. How regular.
That was not the case with Liza. Not tonight. She looked incredible. She wore a flowing jumpsuit in ivory that flattered her smooth, flawless skin. A minimal yet elegant gold hairpin softly pulled back her auburn hair, and her jewelry—dangling earrings and a thin bracelet—was simple and elegant. A uniformed gentleman appeared out of nowhere and pulled her chair out for her, and Regan marveled yet again over how the staff seemed to materialize out of thin air.
Regan remembered watchingWhisk Me Awayon the Food Network for years when she was just out of high school and then in college. She’d attended a community college and planned her classes around episodes ofWhisk Me Awayuntil she was able to find them online and watch at her leisure. She’d learned so much from that show, from basic desserts like cookies and cakes to fancier stuff like soufflés and crème brûlée. For a baker who never had any kind of pastry schooling, Liza’s show was like a daily class, and Regan had soaked up as much as possible from the woman now standing right in front of her.
The five of them were mesmerized by Liza, that much was clear, and Regan felt better realizing she wasn’t the only one trying not to stare.I cannot believe I’m hereran on a loop through her head.
Liza seemed to take a moment to look at each of them, and Regan had to work hard not to squirm when it was her turn. “Welcome to Black Forest Hills,” Liza said. “It’s been my home for about five years now, and I’m so glad you’re here.”
Murmured thank-yous went around the table, and Liza paused to receive them before she continued. Another member of the waitstaff appeared then with a bottle of wine and proceeded to fill each person’s glass, emptying one bottle and uncorking another before he was finished.
“Tonight, we will dine and drink and get to know each other a bit. Tomorrow will be the beginning of your retreat. So don’t drink too much.” At that, she grinned. “I want you fresh as daisies in the morning.” She held up her glass. “To this year’s Bennett-Schmidt retreat and its participants. May it be memorable.”
They had to stand up to reach across the table and touch glasses, but they did it, laughing the whole time as they stretched, then sat downand sipped. Regan hummed her approval, as did Vienna next to her, and then salads appeared in front of them.
“So.” Liza picked up her fork and pointed it at them before stabbing a cherry tomato with it. “Let’s get to know one another.” The cherry went into her mouth, and her eyes landed on Regan. “You. Tell us about you.”
“Oh. Okay.” Regan felt a jolt of nervous adrenaline shoot through her veins as all eyes turned to focus on her. “Um, I’m from Cleveland.” She gave a weak fist pump. “Go Browns.” Then she closed her eyes. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I said that. Ignore me. The Browns suck. Um…” She cleared her throat.
Liza gave a soft chuckle. “No need to be nervous. We’re going to be spending the next two months together. These are going to be very close friends by the end of that time.”
“Right. Right. Sorry. Well, I’m from Cleveland, but I’ve been in New York City for the past ten years. I started in a five-star restaurant, and now I am the head pastry chef at a pretty well-known bakery. I love being creative, coming up with new ideas and new flavor combinations. I’m self-taught, so I’m used to experimenting.”
“And what are your goals?” Liza asked. “Let’s say for the somewhat near future. The next five years or so.”
“Oh, um…my boss is getting ready to retire, I think, and when he does, he’ll want to sell. I’d really like to buy—”
