Page 34 of The Devil She Knows
“Do you always follow the rules, Sam?”
Sam chuckled awkwardly, thrown by the question, by the implication that following the rules was a bad thing. “When I’m not committing grand larceny, usually I like to keep tothe straight and narrow.” She paused, eyes widening when she realized how that sounded, horrified that she might have just given Hannah the wrong idea. “Not straight as in heterosexual. Straight as in lawful, I mean. Definitely not the, uh, the former.”
A gorgeous smile lit Hannah’s face, laughter like the sound of bells spilling from her lips. Sam’s breath caught in her throat.
“You’re funny,” she said, and Sam only wished she hadn’t said it like it was such a surprise. “And to answer your question, I think I’m going to try my hand at making a torched hazelnut rocher pâte de guimauve.”
“Oh, wow.” That Hannah even knew what pâte de guimauve was, let alone how to make it, was a surprise. “That’s … ambitious.”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked. I know I don’t have your training or experience, but I’m notentirelyhopeless. I’ve managed to make it this far in the competition, haven’t I?”
“H-hopeless?” Sam sputtered. Apparently, in every universe she was destined to put her foot in her mouth. “No! No, I’m … I’m impressed.”
Impressed and privately delighted; Hannah had complained recently that Sam talked too much about food and so she had tried to dial it back, but so much of Sam’s life revolved around food that it had been a … struggle, to say the least. ThatthisHannah knew about pâte de guimauve, that they had this shared interest? Color her thrilled.
“Impressed.” Hannah paused, then drew in a deep breath like she was weighing her next words carefully. “I told myself I wasn’t going to say anything, that I was going to play it cool,but I just have to tell you how much I love your cooking, Chef—Sam.”
“You—you do?”
Hannah nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I ate at Glut for the first time last year and it was, hands down, the best meal of my life. Everything was delicious, but your chou praliné comme un Paris-Brest?” Hannah’s eyes fluttered shut and she pressed her lips together, a look of almost exquisite agony on her face. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that changed my life.”
Sam smiled, a flutter in her belly, full of hope for the first time since she’d gotten down on one knee. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Maybe, after this is all over with, you can tell me your secret to making your pâte à choux.” Hannah brushed her fingers across the back of Sam’s hand. “Or maybe you can show me?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Yes! I—That would be—”
“What’s this?” Daphne swanned over to Sam’s kitchen, camera in tow. “There are too many cooks in this kitchen!” She hip-checked Hannah, shooing her out of the way. “Are you lost, Chef Liu? Vamoose! Scram! Back to your station!” Daphne barked. “The clock is ticking, and the judges are waiting. Allons-y! Allons-y!”
She clapped her hands and Hannah jumped, darting a deer-in-the-headlights look at Sam before turning and scurrying off back to her station.
Sam shot Daphne her dirtiest look. “Seriously?”
“Kitchen congestion is a safety hazard, Chef Cooper,” Daphne said, hopping up onto the counter. “And we here atDaphne’s Infernobelieve in doing all that we can to ensure the well-being of our cast and crew, including our contestants.”
“A safety hazard,” Sam repeated, dragging her gaze pointedly down to where Daphne sat perched on the very surface Sam was meant to be prepping food on. “Tell me, what’s y’all’s take on kitchen sanitation?”
“Totally a priority.” Daphne smiled and crossed one bare leg over the other. “Cleanlinessisnext to godliness, after all.”
Sam rolled her eyes.
“Ticktock, Sam,” Daphne said, tapping the nonexistent watch on her right wrist. “Time’s a-wastin’. You might want to hop to unless you plan on serving the judges those boringass cake pops after all.”
She looked up at the stop clock and swore. Twenty-seven minutes to prep, plate, and serve. Dammit. She’d better move fast.
The pantry at the back of the arena contained half a dozen shelves filled with everything from tapioca starch to marzipan to canned hominy to—Whatwasthat? Cow cod? There were the usual suspects, too, white sugar and flour and spices galore, all the leavening agents one might need to make anything from pizza dough to Japanese cheesecake tucked away neatly within the pantry, which could rival a grocery store. Any dish Sam could possibly dream up could be made with the ingredients on hand. She just needed to figure out what it was she wanted to make. And quick.
Cake pops were obviously a no-go, too basic like Hannah had said, but maybe she could turn the cake into a crumb and make some sort of crust instead? For a pie, perhaps?Orshe could make a Baked Alaska. That was always a crowdpleaser.
Butshe had less than half an hour, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to firm up the ice cream, let alone chill the meringue atop the cake. Not only that, but it also didn’t satisfy the competition’s transformative requirement for the secret ingredient: The cake was still cake.
What she needed was to think outside the box. Come up with a dish that had a real wow factor, this her chance to not only knock the socks off the judges but impress Hannah, too.
Sam chewed on her lip, staring at the shelves, hoping something would jump out at her. Back to basics—what paired well with chocolate? Nuts were an obvious option, as were coffee and caramel, cinnamon and chili powder. Fruits were a tried-and-true choice. Raspberries, strawberries, bananas … none of those felt particularly inspired. Dried figs or apricots could pair well if she—
Wait.
Pair.
