[devereaux's] king of wishful thinking. [tag; loren]

Stressy.

Over the course of the past two hours, Madeline was becoming more and more agitated. It was showing. She usually worked meticulously. Methodically. She followed recipes, she was a stickler for cleanliness and her work space was usually beautifully clean. Today, it looked like a bomb had hit it. There were bowls filled with batter, various measuring jugs and spoons, egg shells, open packets of sugar, flower and everything was covered with three inches of flour. Including herself.

Her long blonde hair when she'd left her apartment at the crack of dawn that morning had been twisted in a sleek, neat bun at the base of her neck and now it looked a bit dishevelled. Hair was coming out of the hairstyle, rogue strands hanging limply down and curling against the curve of her shoulder and she had smudges of flour along her high, defined cheekbones.

She'd tried living back in England hadn't worked. Paris seemed to be Madeline's spiritual home. No one here knew her. To her neighbours, she was the quirky English girl with an odd fascination with headbands. Maddie had managed to sweet talk her former landlord into renting her previous apartment back to her, even though he had previously lined up some new tenants to take her place. Her lemon meringue pie had apparently sealed the deal.

She was messy ball of irritation. Her chef whites were dirty, covered with bits of sugar and smears of batter. There was lemon peel in her hair. With a grunt of annoyance, she shifted the large bowl under her arm and went at it with a whisk. Madeline wasn't an angry person but she was running behind and she was taking it out on the cake mixture. She pummelled it, gritting her teeth and whacking the living Hell out of the thick batter, trying to eliminate all of the lumps before her arm began to ache and she dropped it to the bench and clapped her hands over her eyes.

Her boss was Loren Devereaux. He was tall, he was charming, he had a killer smile, he looked like he'd been carved out of marble like a renaissance master and he was oh so very French. Even though he was only a few years older than her, he ran the entire joint. His grandfather built up the restaurant and he'd taken over. He'd personally trained her to such a high standard that she was well on her way to becoming the most sought after pastry chef in all the land.

Today was a sort of test. She and three other chefs that he'd decided to take on were asked to make a cake. He hadn't said anything but she wasn't stupid; a permanent job offer was based on the outcome of this cake.

Madeline was up against some tough, unfriendly competition. There was Margot, a plump, short woman in her late forties with the demeanour of a small rottweiler. Then there was Phillipe. He was a smartly dressed man in his thirties who took a scientific approach to cooking. He used beakers and charts to make cakes. He lacked passion and finally, there was Noah. Noah was from Lille. He was 25 and had the greenest eyes she'd ever seen in her entire life. He was carefree but tenacious, smart but funny. They'd flirted a few times when they were in the kitchen. He was probably the closest competition.

They'd been given two days and Madeline had done nothing but work at this damned cake. Everything was set up. Her cake was in the style of a vintage birdcage. It was tall and sound and covered with white royal icing for support. It was three tiered inside with cakes of rich chocolate, lemon chiffon and a light, vanilla sponge with layers of butter cream inside.

She's added various little handmade flowers, using both modelling chocolate and icing, edible glitter and colourings. Hours had gone into the piping, making all of her edible roses by hand so much so that she couldn't feel her fingers. Adding to it, she'd made a handful of small, beautiful cupcakes, each tied with a length of pastel coloured ribbon. She wanted to cry. She was so tired.

Loren was due at eleven o'clock and it was nearly five minutes to. Hastily, Madeline flung all of her dished into the sink and wiped down her bench, running around like a headless chicken, her cheeks pink and out of breath. This was a big deal. A massive deal. This could set her up for life.

Hearing the bakery kitchen door slam open, Madeline let out a squeak of pure terror and stood bolt upright, eyes wide like a meerkat.

Brown eyes washed over the contract he'd had drawn up. This was a big deal, a choice he had thought over day and night. He remembered having the talk with Eleanor about having her own bakery, but then they became a family and he knew that she would devote her time to their son. So to keep her dream alive he sought out the best pastry chefs he could find. Each of them giving something special to their desserts. But what he needed was someone with passion, someone who cooked for the love of cooking. He would give them something he thought was a great honor. Their very own kitchen to run. Eleanor's set comfortable next to Devereaux's as a new addition. The building was still masked behind its drapery as it was not ready to be displayed to the world. What he needed first was the perfect chef. So he set up a two day challenge. They had one task, and only one task. Bake a cake. His only words of advice had been "impress me."

And so he sat at his desk taking one last look at the contract that one lucky chef would be signing. Marco had told them each what a big responsibility it would be to be head chef in a kitchen. Standing he slipped on his jacket before waling the short distance to his office door. Once there  Loren moved to see his second chef. Madeline Fletcher. She was a unique young woman. She was quirky but in a good way, beautiful as well. He could tell that cooking was more than a hobby for her, it had been that reason that had landed her a spot for the position. Her training was the best and she surpassed some of the best chefs he had come across. She was well sought after and he was more than pleased she had not deserted him for a better offer.

What he wanted offer now would very change her life. Walking through the doors, he let the contract tap along his tie before walking into the kitchen. A smile graced his lips as he took the woman in. "Good morning, Miss. Fletcher." He spoke slowly so his accent didn't distort his English. "I do hope you were not waiting too long." She looked overworked. Her hair was about her head, there was flour all over her person mostly in her hair and face. "We must discuss the details of today's test before we go farther, but how about you have a moment to relax. You look tired." He gave her a kind smile before walking over to look at the cake. "You've batter in your hair." His voice was soft as he leaned forward to get a good view of the detailed work.

This was a piece of art, so much so he hated to have to cut it for a test later in the day as they moved on. She had truly out done herself, but she had done exactly what he needed her to. He was impressed. "Great attention to detail, it's beautiful." The first cake he had seen earlier that day held no passion, maybe because it had been cooked with a different approach. The measuring and technique Phillipe had used made for a wonderful tasting cake but the design was simple. Eleanor's would be a business known for it's beauty as well as it's taste. Unfortunately Phillipe was out of the running. "I have been wondering what are your goals as far as baking is concerned." His eyes did not shift from the cake as he looked over the handcrafted roses.

"As I am sure you are aware there has been talk of an addition to Devereaux's. Marco is a territorial man, so a pastry chef should have their own kitchen should they not?" It was then his eyes rose to her, his left brow lifting slighting in question. "But there is no need to have your own kitchen when you don't have the drive or passion to make the best. What i need is someone you has that. So to see if each of you held even an ounce of what I needed I gave you a two day challenge. I must say, I am thoroughly impressed." And he was, it was no often that he was rendered nearly speechless but this was one of those times. He knew Eleanor would approve of her skills in the kitchen, but first he had to be sure she was a fit in ever other area. "Do you plan to stay here permanently, or are you going back home at some point?"

Impress me. Those two words would strike fear into anyone else but not Madeline. Madeline was hungry. Determined. She wanted this. So desperately. She wanted to put her life in Oxford far behind her. England held too many painful memories; Ernie, her failed marriage, bills she couldn't afford to pay. Her slim fingers clenched and unclenched, furling into fists nervously as she chewed on the inside of her lip. She couldn't go back. Not really. This was life and death for her.

Her big honey coloured eyes looked around at her competitors' creations. They'd started off as friends but they were quickly becoming enemies. Margot had made a rich, tall chocolate masterpiece. It was glossy and had small white chocolate flowers. It was beautiful but she'd added too many eggs, Maddie noticed. The structure was unstable, the batter too gloopy and she'd seen Margot use a charm to keep it upright. That was cheating.

Philippe wasn't in tune with taste. His cake was imposing and wonderful but there was no substitute for taste. He'd used sweeteners instead of sugar, artificial flavourings instead of the real thing and finally, Noah. He'd made a three tired pastel coloured cake with intricate piping. He'd used a spell to make it look like it glittered in the sunlight. Her heart sank. There was no way Loren was going to pick her cutesy creation. It wasn't good enough.

As she stood still, Madeline could feel tears welling up as her lower lip wobbled. Her career rested on one single bloody cake. She swallowed. If she had to go home a loser, then so be it. She knew Ben and her parents would still be proud but it didn't matter. If she didn't win, it was all for nothing. The pain she was feeling was physical. It felt like someone had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart with a vice-like grip. Her nerves were jangling and she couldn't control them.

Loren cut an imposing figure as he sauntered through. His greeting earned him a weak smile. "G'morning, Monsieur Devereaux," Madeline offered softly, hastily smoothing back a rogue lock of golden blonde hair. She shook her head eagerly. He could have rocked up seventy two hours late and she'd still be fine with it. Ah. Details. Crapola. Her eyes were drawn to the parchment he was holding and her heart lurched. Was that it? The prized contract? She found it difficult to look away.

"Right. Of course," the blonde said quickly, snapping back into things as she nodded quickly to show that she understood that things came down to the paperwork. Relax? Ha! She wanted to laugh. If Loren saw she was tired, she must look like she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards but she managed to offer him a kind smile. "Oh no, I'm fine." By fine, she meant that she hadn't slept and her eight expressos were giving her the coffee shakes. Her head was banging and she wanted to vomit but that aside, she was just dandy.

She had batter in her hair? "Oh no," she gasped, eyes wide as dinner plates as her hands came up to her hair, roughly dragging her fingers back through it and sure enough, she felt something sticky in her blonde tresses. She was hormonal and she was on the verge of tears. Wasn't anything going to go right? It would be too obvious to try and get the batter out with a towel. She'd just have to deal with it.

Maddie felt hella nervous as Loren looked at her cake. She nervously twisted her hands together as she shifted awkwardly, watching his face, trying to discern if he was pleased or disappointed. "Everything is edible except the ribbons," she piped up, glancing at Margot who glared at her. Unlike the older woman's cake, Madeline's didn't hold any dowelling or plates or polystyrene supports to keep it upright. Booyah. "Thank you," the tall blonde said as he complimented her cake, her pretty face breaking into a wide smile. He was right. Her attention to detail was outstanding. Everything was hand made. She hadn't used magic for anything, not even whisking the batter together.

His question floored her. Madeline blinked quickly, what a curveball. "To make people happy," she answered, truthfully, as Philippe rolled his eyes behind her. "I love baking but I love seeing the joy on people's faces when they taste it more. That's really all I ever wanted," she admitted with a faint smile. "Perhaps in the future, I'd like to own or run my own bakery," she said candidly. "I'd like to know that people are actually going out of their way to buy something I've made. It's not about the money, though," she said with a nod of her head that sent curls bobbing around her pretty face as she did so.

"My ultimate goal is to be the best baker I can be and I don't think there's a better place I can do that than here." She paused, chewing her lower lip. "I think I…well," she stalled before she smiled gently. "I like creating something new. Something exciting. For me, baking is sort of like alchemy. You can take raw ingredients and they change into something totally different beneath my hands. I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing a kid's face light up when they get a cupcake. I always try new things out on children," Madeline told him with a wry smile. "They never lie to me."

"Oh Marco's a pussycat," she said with a laugh but her laugh soon stopped as Loren looked at her. She swallowed and she nodded hastily. "Absolutely," she said, finding herself eagerly agreeing and he was right. This was a business venture, one that could potentially lose the family money. The way he stared at her made her panic. What if she didn't have what he was looking for? What if she was too young? To stupid? Too reckless? Madeline could feel the eyes of Margot, Philippe and Noah boring into her and she refused to meet their gazes.

Madeline blushed with pleasure. Loren had no idea how much his compliment actually meant to her. "I have no desire to go back home," she found herself stating quickly. "I've made Paris my home now. There's nothing for me back in Oxford." That much was true. She didn't have a boyfriend. All she had was a crumbling flat and a lifetime worth of regrets. "Here is home now."

[man alive! didn't realise that it was so long. a thousand apologies x__x]

If he was being honest with himself, he only like two of the four cakes. A decision would have to be made soon so he knew that lower his choices was smart. Stepping away from the table for a moment he walked over to both Philippe and Margot, to whisper in their ear. Each was no longer needed. He watched as they gathered their belonging before walking back over to Madeline's cake. Her attention to detail was astounding, so much so it took from the beauty of Noah's cake. Everything was edible but the ribbons. "Did you hand make these?" His eyes drifted to the flowers, before drifting back to her face. He already knew who he would pick but he had to let her win her position. Marco had been his eyes and ears during the challenge.

The news he'd received told him that she was the only choice. While everyone had brought something different to the plate, she had brought her love of cooking. Loren had been told she was seen smiling half the time. Always focused on her work where the other had not been. Marco had given him the answer to his question, but he needed her to explain to him why she had taken the time. Magic would have gotten the job done faster so why not use it? Everything had been handmade according to his head chef. Madeline had outdone herself. He had to address the things she'd said while he was examining her cake. Loren wanted her to know that everything she said to him on that day would matter.

"I see we have similar views. When I was young I worked across the street during the summers, and I can remember how happy I was to be in the kitchen cooking. It wasn't about anything but the art to me, it was like for just a moment in their lives people could see inside my head." He looked at her as he spoke. "When I first watched you in the kitchen I thought to myself, I used to have that same look." She loved what she did and that was all that mattered to him. He didn't care about the menu, he didn't care about the prices. No he cared about the heart of the establishment. The heart had to be strong and compassionate. He needed someone who would put their all into the work. Someone who wouldn't cut corners to get the job done faster.

"I need to be clear, when this contract is signed the success of this business is yours. This will be your 'baby' so to speak. You will have to cultivate and mold it to perfection." Though he looked between the two remaining chefs, his words were for the woman before him. He walked over to stand in front of Noah. "Now I have added a desert section to the menu at Devereaux's. It's not the same as having your own kitchen, but Marco saw something he felt he could mold in one of you. He feels that you are not ready to have your own kitchen, Noah." Loren's gaze lingered on the man for a moment. "You can take the pastry chef position in Marco's kitchen, if you would like." He reached his hand out to shake the other man's. "Thank you for applying."

With that he turned to look at Madeline. "Ms. Fletcher, I do apologize for the dramatics." He walked over to rest the contract a clear part of the counter. "Now before you sign this I want you to take a couple days to think about this. The responsibility, how demanding it may be. I need you to know for sure for yourself that you are ready for this." He picked up a cupcake, taking the ribbon off. Shifting he took a bite and closed his mouth. There was an explosion of flavor and it caused him to smile. "These are amazing." His gaze shifted to her for a moment. "Would you like to see the kitchen? I thought I would wait to reveal it to it's possible head chef. My grandfather always told me that a chef and their kitchen had a special kind of relationship. I figured you could start that relationship now, to see if it's one that will fit."

He wanted her to take the job, but he knew that this might be a big change for her. He'd made it a focus to keep Eleanor's hidden. He didn't want anyone to see it until it was time. "I think that your first display should be this. It's so beautiful. And I know that when people see it that will see that you put everything you had into it." The challenge had been put in place to see how hard they would work to impress him. No one had thought that all he wanted was someone who actually baked. Someone who knew when cakes were done by the smell in the air. Someone who handcrafted flowers, individual flowers. She had impressed him with both her creativity and her determination to succeed. "You can take this home and review it, tell me if everything sounds okay with you. And when you are ready we can head across the street so you can see Eleanor's and get a feel for the place." He gave her a soft smile. Madeline was young, to someone that seemed risky. But Loren knew from experience that believing in someone and their passions could potentially be the best for both parties. Marco had been young when he started and he was now the best chef in the area.

Loren hoped that with the freedom to express her creativity that Madeline would blossom into an even better chef than she was. She only had the room to grow and if she took the job Loren would make sure she had the room to do so. "On opening day, my wife will be present, it will be kind of like a surprise for her. I would like to have something signature on the menu for her, any ideas?"

Madeline was a bag of nerves.

The man in front of her stood holding her dream in his large hands. "Yes," she replied almost instantly, still feeling like she was somehow being tested. She did hand make these. The little petals were cut and rolled by her own fingers, each embossed with small vein-like cuts to make them seem a little more realistic. It was time consuming but she needed to showcase all of her skills and so, Loren had had seventeen different techniques thrown at him at the same time,

Her eyes darted to Margot and Philippe and seeing them be dismissed made her heart turn over in her chest. Her small hands suddenly become horribly sweaty. She was one step closer to her dream. Focusing, Madeline offered a small smile. "That's good to know," she said gently, more to herself. Pastry was a demanding job. Her back hurt, her legs hurt, she woke at three in the morning. She was covered in burns and blistered, her fingers were shredded but you know what? She was blissfully happy.

Madeline didn't know Loren very well. All she knew was that he was smart and focused and passionate and he was sexy as all Hell. The tall blonde blushed, flushing with pleasure. To be grouped in the same category as him was incredible and flattering. She was a nice girl but her dad had once told her that sometimes, it was okay to be selfish. It was okay to put herself and she would. This was her shot and she deserved it.

The intimate moment they shared as shattered as Loren reminded her and Noah that they were still competing. Swallowing, she nervously wrung a dishcloth through her fingers, closing her eyes and hoping. If she wasn't offered the position, she'd be crushed. In fact, missing this chance would hurt more than Ernie divorcing her. His words, though ominous, filled her with a deep sense of excitement. Her honey coloured eyes watched him come to Noah and then she blacked out. She heard certain elements of the conversation. Not ready. Marco's kitchen. A handshake. Oh goodness. She'd done it.

Noah seemed to accept the offer and gave Madeline a cheery wave which she reciprocated on auto pilot before it sunk in; she was a professional chef. "Holy shit," she gasped, her eyes as wide as dinner plates as she clapped a hand to her clammy forehead, her stomach doing somersaults as the room began to spin. Dramatics? "Not at all," she said, panting as though she'd run a mile. Shock was wearing off and glee was creeping in, causing her pretty face to break out in a grin. Her head was swimming. Funnily enough, the first person that she wanted to tell her news to was Aeric. "I'm sorry for my appalling use of language."

Seeing the contract, she grabbed a pen from her apron's pocket and was just about to sign in haste. She didn't need to think about this. She had an apartment here, she lived here, nothing else needed to change. She chewed on her lower lip. Her dad would probably want to read that first. Demanding was fine. Responsibility? Cool. None of that really mattered. What did matter was her having, for once, free reign of a kitchen. She wouldn't be cooking someone else's recipes, she'd be devising her own. With shaking fingers, she folded the contract and slipped it into her pocket, resisting the urge to start screaming.

"Thank you," she said with a bright smile. If the boss liked her things then she was halfway to success. "Hell yeah," Maddie said hastily, eyes wide with excitement. She wanted to see what equipment she'd be working with. Not coming from a wealthy family, she had to make do with second hand mixers and not particularly sharp knives but this place was expansive. Madeline was a homegrown cook, taught by her grandmother with rudimentary tools but she was dreaming of stainless steel worktops and knives and an oven that actually cooked on the correct temperature. Wowzers.

"I'm ready," she blurted out suddenly. "Mr. Devereaux, I am so ready, you have no idea," she gushed, her hands resting on her forehead as she laughed, struggling for breath as her head was going into overdrive. Letting out a squeak of delight, she spun in a quick circle, momentarily forgetting where she actually was.

If Loren wanted the same display, then great. Perfect. The mention of his wife made her smile broadly, feeling a touch uncomfortable about the fact that she'd over whipped the egg whites for her meringue because she was too busy staring at him. "How romantic," Madeline offered with twinkling eyes. "I'm looking forward to meeting her properly." She'd seen Eleanor a few times. She was very tall, very pretty and very much in love with her new boss.

"She likes raspberries, right?" She asked Loren as she retrieved her notebook and flipped to a new page, picking up her pen. She vaguely remembered hearing that in passing. "How do you feel about chocolate and raspberry cups?" She asked brightly, swiftly sketching out a cute little cake on the paper and showing it to him. "It should be fine because I can make them at the end of the day," she explained. "The chocolate collar needs to be set, so does the mousse but the raspberries would cut through the sweetness with a whack of acidity. We could also maybe add a raspberry gel, too?" She asked, her pretty face hopeful, praying that her first idea she was going to offer him would not be shot down in flames.

He gave a laugh as the news settled in with her. He could see the excitement on her face and he knew he had made the right choice. Everything about Eleanor's had to be perfect for more reasons then one. He was nervous about opening day and how everything would turn out. This was his first venture, his first shot at trying something on his own. He had done well with the renovations of Devereaux's but to be honest he hadn't created it's legacy. No, that had been there long before he'd even come into the picture.

"No no you're fine. I know what it feels like to have a dream come true." The Frenchman gave her a smile as his mind drifted to moments where he'd felt the same. He only hoped that she blossomed with the business. Marco had been concerned about her age but Loren knew that was a part of her charm. Madeline had a way of making those around her feel happy. She had a smile that was contagious and energy that was nice to be around.

"No thank you. Honestly, when I first thought of Eleanor's I didn't have a vision or even a spec of a plan. I just remember my wife saying one day that she would loved to bake and from that it was born. A place that was hers." His hand slid in his pockets as he spoke, a smile on his face. "I knew that whoever was in the kitchen had to have passion. They needed to love what they did. It had to be more then just a check." It had to be a dream. The ultimate dream.  She had to want it like she lived and breathed for it.

He gave another soft chuckle. "Good because from here on out you're on your own. I'll come by to check on things and see how you're managing but its all up to you." He knew that this would be a big change for anyone. To be solely devoted to a kitchen and its well-being. The deadlines and orders would cause stress. Maybe he should look into getting her a couple of attendings to handle the front end of things.

"Yes she does." He waited to take the book from her before he moved to walk towards the door. "I like this. Maybe half like this and half with the gel?" Opening the door for her, his eyes squinted as the sun shone down into his face. The air was warm and the breeze was light. It was the perfect day for things to fall into place. The clouds moved peacefully across the sky as he moved to cross the street. People went about their day as he lifted the key to unlock the door.

The windows had been covered on both sides by paper to keep people from seeing in. He held the door open for her to walk in before following behind her, closing it softly behind them. The room was dark from its lack of light and he fumbled a bit in his search for the light switch. There were a few small tables scattered about the room, two bar stools to each table. Off directly ahead of the door was the display case. He turned to point at the glass doors that framed each of the windows to keep the displays from being bothered. "These lock with magic.."

He moved to walk towards the kitchen. "If you want to make any changes, please. We have a couple weeks before opening, so there is plenty of time." He wanted this to be the perfect place for her. He had done his best, but he hadn't really know what he was doing. He hadn't been sure on any of the colors or designs. Maybe because it was so close to his heart. Left hand reaching out he flicked on the light to show the kitchen. "So, what do you think?"

He stepped back to give her room to look around. Nervously he rocked on his heels waiting for her reaction. He didn't know why but he felt as excited as she did.

Shit, this was really happening.

The tall blonde stood in the middle of the quiet room, hands in her hair and her head spinning. She didn't know what to do first: laugh or cry. She should tell her mum. She suddenly felt a bit sick.

She matched Loren's smile with one of her own. He seemed very nice. She didn't know him very well but she'd been to the restaurant a few times. It was very nice. Upscale but not snooty. It was always busy, especially during the bright, muggy Parisian evenings. She'd often strolled by, enjoying the sight of trendy young couples, families, elderly people, all welcome. To think that she'd soon be a part of it was amazing. She knew that she should let her dad have a read over the contract but her fingers itched to sign it immediately. This wasn't just a job. It was a fresh start.

"That was nice of you," she replied, wondering what it must be like to have someone so in love with you that they opened an entire secret bakery for them. Maddie'd probably never experience it. She was terribly unlucky in love for some reason. "It's not about the money," the tall blonde blurted out, her honey coloured eyes wide in panic. That was lucky because she'd neither asked nor seen how much the hourly rate was. She hadn't asked if she'd be paid weekly or monthly. She hadn't asked anything like if the contract was permanent or if there was room for progression. Now that the shock was wearing off, she should probably do something of the sort.

Maddie nodded, her jaw set. She knew that if shit hit the fan, she'd be responsible. She wasn't wearing rose coloured glasses. She knew that she'd probably be crying most nights. She expected some resistance from the staff. After all, she was only twenty years old and while she was skilled, Loren was putting his blind faith in her. It wasn't just her reputation, it was his family's too,

"Yes," she blurted, blinking. "Sure. Great. Whatever you want," she rabbitted on, slipping on the floor as her long legs clumsily followed him. It felt like some sort of bizarre dream. Madeline felt as though she'd fallen down the rabbit hole, she felt like Alice and that Loren was the Mad Hatter. Eagerly, she followed, hap hardly untying her apron and attempting to tidy herself up as fast as she could whilst tripping after her boss.

Standing in a dark room, excitement throbbed as she held her breath. When the light was flicked on, Madeline gasped. It was like she'd walked into Aladdin's cave of wonders. Forget gold, the shiny appliances made  her weak at the knees.

Stepping in, her heart swelled. Forgetting Loren was there, she stepped forward, running her hands over the stainless steel countertops and trying not to cry. It was huge. Maddie had a dinky little kitchen in her apartment. It was cramped and the oven was tiny and it was hard to move in but this one had everything. Like a kid in a sweet shop, the baker dashed around the place. Opening the oven doors, she saw that they were gas. Excellent. The best for constant temperatures. Making macarons would be a dream. Mixers, blenders, whisks were all gleaming, begging her for her touch.

"No it's --" trailing off, she paused. What was it? Perfect? Wonderful? Glorious? Too much. It was way too much. She saw and felt the hate radiating off the other candidates for the position and she felt horridly unprepared and unworthy. He was taking a big risk employing her and honestly, she'd be thrilled if she got to be the dishwasher in a place like this. She absently wondered what Aeric and Logan might feel about this. But this felt a million miles away from the humdrum leafy London suburb where she grew up.

"Amazing," she breathed out, her shoulders sagging as she smiled. "I love it."