Page 35 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
“But I wantyouto be happy with it.” Bayard looked up at her with a hangdog expression. Even his bushy eyebrows drooped.
“Trolls hairbows! Honestly, I don’t care. I’ll be happy with whatever you choose!” Exandra rolled her eyes and flicked a bit of dough off her sleeve.
“But what if you’re not? What if you’re secretly craving something sweet and I choose savory?”
“Then I’ll live with it!”
“But I don’t want you to just ‘live with it,’ I want you to—” Bayard stopped himself.
“Honestly, Bay, this discussion is making me lose my appetite entirely.”
Claire had appeared at their table, her expression kind. “Perhaps you two should start with the wrapping material? Would you prefer puff pastry,\ or a shell? That might help you decide the rest.”
“Sure, what do you think?” Exandra asked, turning back to Bayard.
“No, what doyouthink?”
“Arrrrrghhhh!” Exandra threw her hands in the air.
“How about,” Claire suggested gently, “you both gather some ingredients that appeal to you, and then see what you have? Sometimes the combination reveals itself.”
She moved away, leaving Bayard and Exandra locked in a staring contest over their wheel of Brie.
Across the room,Minerva and Zephyr’s table had descended into a playful argument.
“Obviously we’re doing savory,” Zephyr said, reaching for mushrooms. “Yule breakfast should be substantial. Filling. Something that sticks to your ribs and fortifies you for a full day of celebrating. I’m not sure about these ingredients, though. If only they’d set out some herring…”
“And stink up the whole kitchen? Herring is much too powerful to combine with Brie. Enough with your nonsense! We’re doing sweet,” Minerva countered, blocking his hand as he reached for the mushrooms and grabbing the honey instead. “Yule is about hope and warmth. Sweet beginnings for the new year.”
“Sweet beginnings? Is that like having dessert for breakfast? What does that even mean?” Zephyr’s expression was skeptical.
“It means I want honey and walnuts, you stubborn old man.”
“And I want mushrooms and artichokes, you impossible woman.”
They were both grinning, clearly enjoying themselves.
“How about,” Minerva said, “we compromise? Half sweet, half savory?”
“You’d do that for me?” Zephyr looked surprised.
“Of course. Your happiness is more important than winning.”
“But your happiness is more important than mine. Let’s just do sweet.”
“That’s not how this works—” Minerva giggled. “You’re not supposed to give in that easily.”
“Isn’t it? I’d gladly give up herring for the rest of my life if it meant you smiled like that every day.”
Minerva’s eyes went soft. “Oh, stop! You old romantic...”
“Guilty as charged.” He kissed her temple. “All right, half and half it is. But I get to arrange my half.”
“Deal.”
At the next table, Jasper and Wren had jointly created something that looked as if it had been lifted from the set of a cooking show.
They’d carefully wrapped their Brie in strips of twisted pastry dough, creating what looked like a golden nest. Into this nest they’d arranged candied walnuts, dried cranberries, and delicate herb sprigs, and in the center—the pièce de résistance—a pastry dough version of Fred himself wearing a tiny chef’s hat that Wren had fashioned from a bit of parchment.
