Whisk Me Away

Chapter Four

The atmosphere in the dining room the next morning was filled less with nerves and trepidation than it had been the previous night and more with anxious anticipation and excitement. Regan could feel it in the air almost as clearly as if it had been tangible, like she could scoop it out of the emptiness in front of her.

Because of her usual business hours, she’d woken up very early and taken advantage of that. Making less noise than a character in the movie A Quiet Place , she managed to shower and dress without waking Ava and, glad she hadn’t been forced into some kind of morning small talk with the woman, she left the dark room to find coffee.

Paige and Madison were on their way down the staircase, so Regan joined them and made a trio.

“Bakery?” Madison asked, and Regan nodded with a grin.

“You?”

“Yup. Both of us.”

Paige grinned. “I’m usually up and headed to work by three thirty.”

Liza Bennett-Schmidt must’ve understood that because the three found freshly brewed coffee on the buffet along a wall in the dining room. There was also a plate of scones that still had steam coming off them, a pile of fresh fruit, blueberry muffins that were also still warm, a tall, stainless steel pot marked Hot Water, and a selection of teas.

Regan went for the scones immediately, something she always sampled when given a chance. Scones could be difficult to get just right, and she’d met several bakers who didn’t subscribe to her “everything must be cold” rule around them.

Madison took a bite of a muffin and began to hum her delight. Paige did the same, then they moved to the scones. They looked to Regan, who nodded. No words were spoken, but it was clear the three of them approved of the baked goods. Which only made sense, considering whose house they were currently standing in.

By the time the three of them had coffee and a second pastry, Maia, Vienna, and Ava wandered in.

“Ugh,” Maia said with a groan as she stumbled toward the coffee. “How is life even allowed to happen this early?”

Madison, clearly taking on the role of social director, said, “We all work bakery hours. You guys?”

“The restaurant where I work is open from four until midnight,” Vienna said, adding a disturbing amount of sugar to her coffee.

Ava poured a cup of her own and spoke quietly—one of the things Regan remembered very clearly about her. She was soft-spoken, but volume meant nothing. If you didn’t live up to her standards, you’d know it. “Mine too. I’m usually there around three.”

Maia added her two cents. “I work in the kitchen at a five-star hotel, and I don’t start until five. I work until one in the morning.”

There was a moment of quiet, when everybody was chewing or sipping or doing her best to wake up. Then Maia said, “You guys know a couple years ago, Liza gave away a shit ton of money at this retreat, right?”

Murmurs went around the room.

“It was a surprise, wasn’t it?” Vienna asked.

Maia nodded. “The contestants showed up to learn and were told that one of them was gonna get a chunk of money, and she’d decide who.”

“Just random like that?” Madison asked. “Why?”

Maia shrugged. “Girl’s swimming in money. Gotta do something with it, right?”

“The whole thing is always kept all hush-hush,” Vienna said. “Mysterious. I guess that’s why there were NDAs in the packets.”

“Yeah, that was odd,” Madison said, wrinkling her nose. “Definitely mysterious.”

“Nothing wrong with a little mystery,” Maia said.

Before they could talk any more about the money or their lives or where they’d each come from, Liza breezed in, looking like she’d been up for hours, fresh and ready to go. Her pants were a champagne color, her top a rich ivory, and her auburn hair was loose and flowing today, hanging well past her shoulders in waves of fire and sunset. May entered behind her in her same black-and-white attire from the day before.

“Good morning, chefs,” Liza said with cheer. “I’m glad to see you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I’m afraid our bakery employees had a bit of an advantage over our evening restaurant workers, but that will even out in time.” She clasped her hands together and let them hang in front of her. “Today, you will meet your assistants.”

A slight hum of surprise rumbled through the six of them. Assistants? This was news to Regan.

“That’s right,” Liza went on. “Some of the things we’ll learn and bake and create over these next two months will be complicated, so you’ll each be assigned an assistant, a sous chef, to help. Trust this person with all your ideas and creativity; they’re here for you, to make your life easier.”

Regan glanced around the table, and each of the other attendees seemed both surprised and pleased, just as she was. Even Ava had a pleasant expression on her face.

“We have a busy first day ahead of us, so if you need something more substantial for breakfast, please let May know, and she’ll have the chefs whip something up for you. Eggs. Oatmeal. Pancakes. Whatever. Just say the word.” Liza looked at the sparkling gold watch on her slim wrist. “We’ll meet at the bottom of the staircase at ten o’clock, and I’ll take you to your workspaces.” With a laser sharp look toward Ava, she added, “Don’t be late. And wear your chef coats.”

Ava nodded and said nothing, but her cheeks each blossomed a circle of pink.

She was still stupidly pretty. Regan had thought so the second she’d walked into the dining room last night. Even harried and nervous and frazzled, she was gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile that could light up a room because it didn’t happen often, so when it did, it seemed to have extra wattage. Those were other things Regan remembered about her. She wasn’t tall, she was average, maybe five foot five or six, but she commanded attention when she walked in, so she felt taller. People turned to look. Regan always wondered if Ava knew that, knew that she literally turned heads.

Stop it , her brain said, and she gave her head a little shake. Looks aren’t everything. She’d learned that a long time ago.

Back in the present, the six of them had some time, so they lingered.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Vienna said, “but I could use some protein to get me through what I think is gonna be a long and possibly stressful day.” She gestured to May and asked if the chef could maybe make her some scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Of course,” May said. “Anybody else?”

They all exchanged glances around the table before adding their orders. Eggs and bacon for Maia and Paige as well. Oatmeal for Madison. Yogurt and fruit for both Regan and Ava, who glanced at each other when they asked for the same thing. Ava gave her an uncertain smile. Regan looked away.

* * *

The combination of excitement and nerves was palpable. Ava had never quite understood that phrase until that very moment when May met the six of them, all dressed in white coats, at the stairs and led them down a long hall, past the kitchen, down some stairs, and out into a huge, sunlit room, floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides.

Murmurs of delight and awe tickled through the group as they took in the sight. Six workstations, three on either side, stood before them, pristine in their whiteness. At the front was a seventh workstation, and Ava could only assume that was where Liza would be. Several refrigerators in bright red lined the back wall, along with shelves that held various small appliances, spices, utensils, fruits and veggies. Name plaques affixed to the end of each counter indicated who would be working where.

“Feel free to check out your workspaces,” May said. “Chef Bennett-Schmidt will be here momentarily.”

The women wandered farther into the enormous room, each finding their place. On the left, Maia, Ava behind her, and Paige behind Ava. On the right, Vienna, Regan behind her, and Madison behind her. Regan’s workstation was directly across from Ava. Not close, but not far.

Ava pulled out drawers to see what kinds of tools she had to work with. She opened the oven, checked the proofing drawer, and turned the red KitchenAid mixer on and off.

“Good morning, chefs.” Liza Bennett-Schmidt floated into the workspace, the way she seemed to get anywhere, as if she entered every room on a hoverboard. She stood in front of the head workspace and held her arms out from her sides. “Well? What do we think?”

A little rumble of murmurs went through the chefs, everybody smiling.

“I thought about having this all built in tent form outside, like they have on The Great British Baking Show , but since we’re starting on the very edges of spring, I thought it would be better for everybody—as well as the pastries—to be in a temperature-controlled environment.” She seemed to give them a moment to absorb her words before she continued. “As I said last night, we’re going to be making some complicated creations, and therefore, I want you all to have an extra set of hands, the way you would in a high-end restaurant or bakery.” With that, she stood to the side and held one arm out like she was Vanna White presenting a grand prize. Six women in white chef’s coats filed in and took their places next to each workstation.

The woman who stopped next to Ava was about the same height as her with red hair and freckles. She smiled and held out a hand.

“Hi. I’m Becca. It’s great to meet you.”

“Ava.” They shook hands.

She glanced to her left to see Regan shaking hands with a tall and lean brunette.

Liza spoke again. “Take some time, get to know your assistants. And assistants, get to know your chefs. Understanding how they operate in the kitchen will be key to you helping or hurting them during projects. I will return in thirty minutes, and we will make our first dessert.”

Finally!

Ava was psyched. “I wonder what we’re gonna make first,” she said, not really to Becca, but since she was standing right there, okay. To Becca.

“Me too. I have no idea.” There was an awkward beat before Becca added, “So, where are you from? What do you do?” Then she snorted a laugh. “I mean, I know what you do, obviously, duh.” She blushed and it was super clear on her pale skin.

Ava pulled out drawers and took a more thorough look at the tools provided. “Well, I’m from Northwood, upstate, but I work in New York City at a restaurant called Pomp.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of Pomp!” Becca’s enthusiasm was actually kind of sweet. If Ava had to guess, she wasn’t a whole lot younger than Ava’s own thirty-five years, but her excitement made her seem more in her twenties. “Never been there but would love to go sometime.”

Ava didn’t add that if Becca got to go, she probably wouldn’t be the pastry chef there any longer. “So, how did you get here?”

“Oh, we all applied to the retreat.” Becca waved an arm, and Ava realized it was meant to encompass the other sous chefs. “Liza picked us for this instead.” She shrugged, as if she didn’t quite get it either.

“Wow. I didn’t even realize that was a thing.”

Becca nodded. “Yup.”

Conversation stalled momentarily, mostly because Ava was so painfully bad at small talk. “So, um, what about you? Where are you from and stuff?” And stuff? Jesus, Ava, way to be creative. She managed not to roll her eyes at herself. Instead, she leaned against the counter and forced herself to pay attention.

“I’m from North Carolina. Near Charlotte. I own a really nice restaurant there.”

“You own it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Thanks. Takes up about ninety-five percent of my life,” she said with a soft laugh, “but yeah. I love it.”

Ava loved her job. She loved working in a restaurant, loved the bustle and busyness of it, how it worked like a beehive, with the worker bees doing their individual jobs and the queen bee overseeing and the lot of them producing deliciously sweet and golden honey. But she could not imagine doing Goldie’s job. Being the queen bee? It sounded good in theory, but managing all those people? No, thanks.

“So? What do you think Liza will have you make first?”

“That is an excellent question I wish I had the answer to.” She’d been scanning all the ingredients on the back shelves, hoping for a clue, but it seemed like the inventory pretty much covered anything.

“What do you love to make?” Becca asked, her blue eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“That, my friend, is a very broad question.” Ava grinned. “I mean, what don’t I love to make?”

“Okay, then that.”

“What?”

“What don’t you love to make?”

“Pie crust,” Ava answered without missing a beat.

Becca blinked, then kind of snort-laughed. “Pie crust? Random. Why?”

“Because I suck at it. I can’t get it to be flaky without it also being dry. Mine always ends up dry.”

Paige spoke up from behind her. “Oh God, me too,” she said with a frown. “No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get it right, and it messes with my head.” She sighed.

“I get that. Pie crust is hard,” Ava said. “Took me a long time, and I still struggle with it.” She held out a fist for Paige to bump. “To the pie crust failures.” Paige grinned at her and bumped.

As Becca mimicked Ava from earlier and began to pull out drawers and examine their tools, she said, “So, I’m here to help you in whatever way you need. Don’t hesitate to give me something to do, okay?”

“I’ll remember that,” Ava said.

“Good.” Becca went back to checking out all the gadgets.

Ava glanced across the way to see Regan chatting with her assistant. She said something and the assistant threw her head back and laughed heartily, and that’s when Regan met Ava’s eyes, held them for a beat before letting them go and returning her attention to the laughing assistant.

A weird flutter tickled low in her body.

“You know her?” Becca asked, clearly having seen the whole thing.

Ava forced her attention back to their own kitchen space. “Nope. Not at all.”

* * *

Regan’s assistant’s name was Hadley, and she had a great laugh. Loud and contagious, the best kind. An easy laugher was somebody Regan wanted to be around, and she and Hadley had meshed right away.

“What do you think Liza will have us make first?” Hadley asked, rubbing her hands together, clearly ready for their first bake. Then she rested her forearms on the counter.

“No idea,” Regan said honestly, following suit so they were in twin positions. “I can’t decide if she’ll go easy first or dive right into the complicated stuff.”

“I bet she goes in between.”

“You think?”

Hadley lifted one shoulder and spoke very softly. “It would make sense. Can’t go too easy, that’s a waste of time ’cause she already knows you’re good at your job. That’s how you got here. But if she goes too difficult right out of the gate, she could destroy your confidence. Hmm.” She pursed her lips.

The two of them stayed that way for several moments, each lost in her own thoughts. Finally, Hadley pushed herself to standing, and so did Regan. “So, ever heard of anybody here?” She scanned the room.

“Me?” Regan asked. “No. Not really.”

“Not really? What does that mean?”

Regan used her eyes to point in Ava’s direction. “I worked for her years ago. So I know her but don’t really know her. You know?”

Hadley laughed that laugh. “You’re funny.”

“Well, looks aren’t everything,” Regan said, using a line her father used often. “What about you? Know anybody here?”

Hadley shook her head. “Nope. I don’t think any of these people would even know where in Missouri my bakery is.”

“You have your own?”

“Yup. Very small. Just me and three other people, but we do okay.”

“Pretty impressive that you caught Liza’s eye.”

Hadley gave a modest shrug. “Thanks. What about you?”

“I work in a bakery, too. I don’t own it, but I’ve been there for years, and my boss, the owner, is ready to retire. I’d love to buy the place from him, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not sure I have the financial capability to do that. Not in New York City.” It was her turn to shrug.

Before they could delve more deeply into that—and Regan was thankful for the interruption—Liza was back, and the gentle murmur of conversation faded into silence. This time Liza, too, wore a chef’s coat, and she took her place behind the front counter, her own assistant moving to stand next to her.

“Hello, chefs.” She smiled as her gaze moved from person to person. “You may remember Corinna, my sous chef from Whisk Me Away. ” She gestured to the tall woman next to her. Corinna had piercing blue eyes and short, dark hair, slicked back and tucked behind her ears.

“I loved her on the show,” Regan whispered to Hadley. “I always got the impression she didn’t miss a thing, even though she never said much.”

Next to her, Hadley nodded. “Same.”

“So.” Liza clapped her hands together. “I thought we’d start out with one of my favorite desserts.” Behind her was one of the red refrigerators, and Corinna opened and pulled out a gorgeous cake of three clear layers, its white frosting only between the layers and on the top, leaving the golden brown cake visible. Regan whispered it as Liza said it. “Carrot cake.”

“Oof,” Hadley said next to her in a low voice. “Deceptive cake. Looks easy. Isn’t.”

“No problem,” Regan whispered back. “I got this.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

Liza was talking about the cake. “There’s a fine line between carrot cake being perfectly moist and too soggy, so keep that in mind. I expect your cream cheese frosting to be tangy and sweet, just the right thickness. Not too much, but not too little. Corinna will work on mine while I wander and see how you’re all doing. And remember this.” She raised her voice here. “You’re here to learn, so don’t hesitate to ask questions. Now get started.”

Each baker got to work. In front of her, Regan noticed, Vienna had a binder with her that was packed full of stuff. Everybody else used their phones, Regan included. When Vienna glanced over her shoulder and saw Regan looking, she grinned. “What can I say? I’m old school.”

Regan grinned back. “Not a thing wrong with that.”

“A bit messy,” Liza said as she wandered, hands clasped behind her back. “Also makes it easier to steal your secrets, hacks, and ideas.”

Regan couldn’t see Vienna’s face but noticed she kept her head down.

Across from Regan, Ava was already gathering ingredients and setting them on her counter, and Regan realized that if any of them had peeked into the refrigerators when they initially got there, they’d have likely seen all the carrots and figured out they were making carrot cake.

Ah, well. It’s not a competition , she thought. You’re not on Spring Baking Championship or something. She scrolled on her phone until she found her go-to carrot cake recipe, then set it on the counter so Hadley could see it too.

“Oh!” Liza’s voice cut through the din of prep work. She stood centered between the rows of workstations and held up her hands as if she’d just remembered an important detail. “One more thing.” The bakers all stopped and turned their attention to her. “I know this is a retreat and you’re here to learn, that it’s not a game or a competition. However…”

Oh, shit.

Regan braced because she’d read rumors, remembered what Maia had said, and she’d wondered.

“At the end of this retreat, I’ll give a hundred thousand dollar check to the pastry chef who impresses me the most with their work.” She waved a dismissive hand, as nonchalant as could be, as if she’d simply told them it was going to rain that day. “Okay. Back to carrot cake.”

Just like that, the atmosphere in the room changed. The chefs exchanged glances, lots of mouths hanging open, frozen stances, disbelief clear on their faces.

“Holy shit,” Hadley said quietly. “Did you see that coming?”

“I mean, I know she’s done it before,” Regan said, keeping her voice low. “But no. I thought she’d have said something last night. Holy shit is right.”

The last time this had happened was three retreats ago. The pastry chef who’d won had used the money to open her own restaurant in Phoenix. It was now one of the top restaurants in the Southwest.

“What would you do with that kind of money?” Hadley asked.

Regan didn’t even have to think about it. “I’d buy the bakery I work in when my boss retires next year.”

Hadley nodded. “Very cool. Well,” she glanced around, “let’s make some kick-ass carrot cake, then.” She held up her hand for a high five.

“I like the way you think,” Regan said, slapping the hand. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Everything was suddenly different now.

Ava was so many things. Surprised. Excited. Nervous. Determined. A little bit annoyed. She tried hard not to think about what she could do with a hundred thousand dollars, but opening her own little boutique wine bar that served only wine and desserts—desserts she made herself—was first on the list. Of course, trying not to think about it only made her think about it, and she was interchanging different décor in her mind when Becca spoke.

“Should we get started? What can I do?”

Ava snapped back to the present. “Sorry. Yes. Absolutely. Let’s get moving.” They scanned the recipe Ava used most often, then split up to gather ingredients and bring them back to their workspace. She tried not to track where in the room Liza was at every second.

Carrot cake was well known and quite popular, in Ava’s experience, but it could be tricky as well. You had to decide in the beginning just how dense you wanted it to be. If your flour-to-chunky-ingredients (carrots, raisins, nuts, etc.) ratio was too uneven one way, the baking soda and baking powder wouldn’t be able to do their job, the batter wouldn’t be able to rise as high, and you’d end up with a dense, heavy cake. Too much in the other direction and there wouldn’t be enough texture for a traditional carrot cake. It would be boring and bland.

“How do you feel about getting started on the frosting?” Ava asked Becca.

“I’m here to help you. You tell me what you need.”

“Awesome. I have a cream cheese frosting recipe that I use all the time. I’ll send it to you.” She did, and soon Becca was on her phone, scanning through the recipe. “When you get to the powdered sugar, let me know.”

With a nod, Becca was off to grab ingredients.

A hundred thousand dollars.

Jesus Christ, she couldn’t dwell on that, on what it could do for her. For her life, for her work. Her annoyance surged again. She’d come here to learn, not to compete. And now she felt compelled, like she had no choice but to run in this race she hadn’t signed up for. She glanced across to Regan’s station where she was weighing out flour while Liza watched. Yikes, that had to be nerve-racking. In front of her, Vienna was deep in conversation with her assistant, their heads almost touching. Things had definitely shifted. What had started as a group of women who’d been brought together to learn had become a group of women in competition with one another for a substantial prize, and that made the very air around them feel suddenly, weirdly charged.

Liza had said the winner would be the baker who impressed her the most. How the hell did she intend to measure that? How the hell were they supposed to figure out how to do that? She thought about actually asking these questions, but she’d read in several articles that Liza Bennett-Schmidt had a bit of an eccentric streak—and more money than God at this point—so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise at all that things had taken an eccentric turn, right? Maybe asking her questions wasn’t a smart move. She didn’t want to piss off the giver of money, did she? Still, Ava found herself shaking her head in disappointment as she began grating carrots.

Carrot cake could be tricky for inexperienced bakers, but Ava could bake a carrot cake in her sleep. She’d dealt with all the pitfalls at some point in her career and knew now how to avoid them. She also had a flash of realization that Liza was testing them, trying to throw them off. For example, she noticed there were both whole carrots and pre-grated carrots in the fridge. Ava knew freshly grated carrots worked best in a carrot cake. They helped with the moisture level and had a sweeter taste. She saw that Madison had grabbed a bag of pre-grated carrots, probably thinking she’d save herself some time. And honestly, if this had remained a learning experience, maybe they’d have talked about that, as a group. Now that it was a competition, Ava kept her mouth shut as she grated whole carrots on her own. A glance to her left told her Regan was doing the same thing, and then Regan looked up.

Their eyes met, held for a beat, and was Ava the only one irritated by the little flutter she felt low in her belly?

Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to focus on what was in front of her, which were things she could control. The amount of carrot. The smoothness of the flour. The weight of the raisins. The type of nuts (pecans instead of walnuts) and oil (vegetable rather than coconut). She was the boss when she baked. She was in total control, and she liked it that way.

Ava had a sort of a zone when she worked, almost like a mental bubble she closed herself into. It likely came from working in a large kitchen with so much other activity around her, plus having a boss like Goldie who seemed to enjoy making her employees nervous simply from her presence. So Ava had learned to tune everything else out. Sometimes, she even put her AirPods in and literally tuned everybody out. She didn’t have them today, thinking this was going to be a class of some sort, and now she was wishing she did.

But she could focus. She was good at it. Keeping Becca in her periphery so she could make sure the cream cheese frosting was done right, she got to work combining wet ingredients and then dry. No mixer for this cake, as the batter was thick and chunky. She poured the wet into the dry and used a rubber spatula to mix them together until she had a lumpy brown batter, which she then spooned into three round baking pans. Once she slid them into her oven, she glanced around.

Vienna and Regan both had their cakes in. Madison, Maia, and Paige were close. And Liza was watching her.

“Nice work,” she said with a nod, and continued to the next workstation.

They all moved on to the frosting.