Chapter 33
Mia stopped at Will’s farm for tomatoes and basil, fussing over which bunch looked best. Tonight she was headed to Emelia’s house, and the knot in her stomach had nothing to do with pastry dough.
Emelia had called a while ago and asked Mia to take over part of her podcast and demonstrate her tomato galette, the segment would be filmed and uploaded to YouTube afterward.
It was a perfect opportunity to get more exposure. She also invited Autumn to photograph the food. Her website was empty, waiting for something real to be put on it.
Mia tucked the bag of tomatoes into the passenger seat, the fruit still warm from the sun.
Will had insisted she take a little extra basil, just in case.
The stems were wrapped in a damp towel to keep them fresh.
Her car smelled of warm earth and spice.
And since Isabelle would be there tonight, he cut sprigs of something lemony-smelling.
“What’s that?”
“Lemon verbena,” he replied. “Isabelle’s been using it in her soaps, but we’ve been experimenting with it in drinks. She loves it. Maybe you can use it tonight.”
She leaned in to sniff. The scent was bright and clean, cutting through the heavier smells of earth and tomato vines. “It smells amazing.”
“Right?” Will grinned. “I’m sure between all you girls, one of you can come up with a perfect drink recipe.”
Mia chuckled. “You’re probably right, and I think this will be the perfect accompaniment to the galette.”
He wrapped the herb in paper and handed it to her. “Consider it a bonus. Good luck tonight.”
She placed the bundle beside the tomatoes and basil.
It was thoughtful of Will to include it.
Mia let her mind drift toward recipes they could use it in.
Maybe a lemon verbena spritz or a gin Collins.
The possibilities were almost endless, and the drink would pair well with the tomatoes, basil and ricotta, light and balanced.
She hoped so.
Tonight, though, wasn’t about doing more. It was about showing what she could do. One galette at a time. Simple food, done right. No hiding behind quantity. Just skill.
She glanced at the time. Emelia’s place wasn’t far, but she couldn’t be late. Not for this. Not for something that could get her name out there without her having to chase it. She needed more attention, plain and simple. She was tired of having to hunt down new clients.
Emelia’s house was just outside town. Mia had been there before.
However, a podcast wasn’t exactly her world.
Talking into a microphone while someone filmed it?
That was new territory. Her stomach fluttered.
But demonstrating the tomato galette she’d built her catering business on, that she could do in her sleep.
Good, honest food. The kind of food people remembered.
She thought about Autumn and the way she worked behind the camera, catching moments without disturbing them.
The pictures would be exactly what she needed.
She imagined flour-dusted hands, the way the tomatoes overlapped just so.
The moment the galette came out of the oven, all bubbling and golden, and her friends’ reaction as they tasted it.
Exposure mattered. Not gossip or rumors. Just proof of what she could do, the kind that spoke for itself.
The sun dipped lower, streaking the sky with soft shades of peach and lavender as she pulled into Emelia’s driveway. Then she took a steady breath, felt her shoulders loosen, and grabbed the herbs and tomatoes.
Time to show people exactly who she was and what she could do.
Emelia’s barn was already buzzing with the clink of glasses, laughter, and murmurs of conversation as Mia stepped inside.
Autumn had claimed a quiet corner, camera already in hand, adjusting her lens.
Isabelle and Felicia stood shoulder to shoulder at the island, sipping something pale and sparkling.
Lainey and Tessa were perched on stools, engrossed in conversation.
While Joy and Naomi helped, Emelia set out platters and glasses.
“This feels very official,” Lainey said, eyeing the microphone clipped near the stove. “I feel like I should’ve dressed better.”
“You look fine,” Tessa replied. “Besides, no one’s watching us. They’re watching her.” She nodded toward Mia.
Mia laughed. “Oh, please don’t hype this up. I’m just demonstrating a galette.”
“That’s how it starts,” Isabelle said. “First, it’s a galette. Next thing, you’re booked for six months out.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” quipped Mia. “I can only hope.”
She unpacked her ingredients and then remembered the lemon verbena. “Oh, Emelia, Will sent over lemon verbena. He said it was one of Isabelle’s favorite herbs.”
Emelia took a sniff and closed her eyes. “Lemon. This will be perfect with the galette.” She thought for a moment. “Oh. I know. I’ll make lemon spritzers. Either with prosecco or Lillet and the lemon verbena.”
“Sounds good,” said Isabelle.
Emelia tapped the counter lightly. “All right, we’re rolling in five.”
Autumn moved to the side. “Okay, pretend I’m not here.”
“That’s impossible,” Mia said, grinning. “But I’ll try.”
“Four, three, two—go!”
Emelia introduced Mia and the theme of the night, “Rooted & Served,” then gave a brief speech about Mia, her business and what she was making before turning it over to her.
For a moment, Mia had to steady herself, surprised by how much it meant to hear her work spoken aloud. Then she remembered the live audience beyond the room, the cameras, the lights, the unseen eyes.
She drew a slow breath and took a swallow of water, forcing her hands to stay still.
Then Mia stepped forward. Her hands moved easily as she dusted the counter with flour, her voice steady as she talked about what she was doing and why. Her nerves quieted as her hands found their rhythm.
“I started making these because they don’t require perfection,” she said, rolling the dough. “If the edges are uneven, that’s all right. It’s meant to be a rustic dish.”
She placed a layer of whipped ricotta on the bottom, then a concentric pattern of red and green tomatoes and chiffonade of basil. A drizzle of olive oil on top and a pinch of salt and pepper finished it before she pulled the sides up and slid it into the oven.
Autumn’s camera clicked softly.
“And tonight,” said Emelia, stepping beside Mia, “we’re pairing it with a lemon verbena spritz. The lemon pairs beautifully with tomato and basil. Let me show you how I do it.”
After Emelia demonstrated the drink and passed it out, the camera panned to the women as they lifted their glasses, smiling and relaxed—no posing, no pretending.
A few minutes later, the scent of roasting tomatoes and butter filled the room. Rich. Comforting. Familiar.
Lainey closed her eyes. “I don’t care who’s listening. This is already a win.”
When the buzzer went off, Mia pulled the galette out, golden and bubbling. A collective oh went around the kitchen.
Autumn circled, catching the steam, the sheen of the olive oil, the way the knife slid clean through.
They tasted.
For a moment, no one spoke.
“Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed Naomi. “This is delicious and so simple.”
Mia smiled. Sure, she was proud of her food. But tonight, standing with her friends close, enjoying a dish she made, it felt like more than pride.
It felt like validation.