Epilogue
One Year Later
In the ACE kitchen today, we were preparing beef Wellington.
I decided to experiment a little and prepare a chorizo-spiced duxelles from a Marcus Lee recipe.
He’d sent me a signed cookbook recently, with a note urging me to invite him to my graduation.
I guess that sort of made me friends with a celebrity chef. Which certainly didn’t suck.
To prepare my tenderloin, I seasoned and seared it briefly in a cast-iron pan with butter and aromatics, then wrapped it tightly in plastic wrap to cool in the blast chiller.
For my duxelles, I finely chopped a mixture of wild mushrooms and fried them in a pan with chorizo until they became a luscious paste.
Next, I laid out paper-thin slices of spicy Iberico ham and spread them with my duxelles.
I unwrapped and seasoned my chilled tenderloin to fully envelope with the ham and duxelles, then tightly wrapped it again and put it back into the blast chiller.
While that set, I rolled out my dough and brushed the pastry with an egg wash, before applying first a base layer over the tenderloin, then an intricate lattice design that allowed me to show off some of my finer pastry skills.
It was a process that took several hours, a dozen of us toiling away in the kitchen while our instructor hovered over our shoulders.
It was more than a little nerve-wracking, knowing every move we made was being evaluated.
Though after a few months under Mrs. Hawthorne’s discerning eye, this was nothing.
It was in these moments, watching my classmates nervously fret over fallen dough, hands shaking over intricate knife cuts, that I realized I’d come away from the chalet with a new confidence in myself.
Ascended the mountain, so to speak. Maybe caught a couple of bumps and bruises along the way, but I was here.
Not an anxious wreck. Not crying in a bathroom stall. Thriving.
When my Wellington was baked and ready for presentation, I sliced a medallion for the instructor and drizzled it with a chimichurri of cilantro, parsley, and oregano, with olive oil, red wine vinegar, red pepper, and a hint of lemon.
She raised the plate to her nose, taking in the aromas before cutting a piece and dragging it through the sauce.
“A Latin-inspired approach,” she said, without a hint of whether that was a horrible miscalculation on my part.
“Yes, chef. Chorizo and Iberico ham. I really love the bold flavor they impart.”
“A nice palate cleanser after so many pan jus,” she said. “Nicely done.”
That feeling never got old. It reminded me that I was on the right path. That this dream was worth every sacrifice I’d made along the way. Even when it meant leaving my life back in Denver to step out on a limb. Because in food, I’d found myself. And I was damn good at it.
After class, I walked to Hyde Park and stopped at a cart for something called a chimney cake.
Friends at school were raving about them, so after finishing up my last day of class before winter break, I had made a special trip to track one down.
They reminded me of churros, but shaped like a spring, and served wrapped in paper like an ice-cream cone, then filled with banana and Nutella and topped with whipped cream.
The pastry, dusted in cinnamon sugar, was the perfect complement to a piping hot cocoa.
It was a gorgeous winter day, with a light dusting of snow blanketing the ground.
The annual Winter Wonderland festival was in full swing, bringing carnival rides, pop-up eateries, games, and a Christmas market to the park.
Families strolled with their children bundled up, little waddling marshmallows amid the melodies of Christmas music from live performers on a distant stage.
It made me miss the mountains. The expansive vistas that stretched to the horizon.
Mulled wine and a roaring fire. Maplewood Creek had gotten under my skin and wouldn’t let go.
It had been a year since I left, and while I still talked to the girls online now and then, it wasn’t the same.
Not like popping down to The Snowdrift for breakfast with Pops.
Strolling the shops among the twinkling lights.
That perfect storybook village, like something out of a dream.
Here, in the shadow of skyscrapers and the noise of traffic, it almost didn’t seem real.
Like a dream getting smaller in my mind the farther I got from that place.
From the park, I walked back to my apartment.
I tossed my keys in the tray by the door and kicked off my boots, jumping straight into the shower to rinse the smell of the kitchen out of my hair, and put on some comfy sweats and slippers.
Ten hours on my feet really did a number on my muscles.
My shoulders ached and my feet were sore.
In the kitchen, I gulped down a sparkling water before putting some music on the Bluetooth speaker and padding into the office. Charles was sitting at his desk in front of the computer, his glasses sliding down his nose as he typed.
“Hey, babe,” I said, coming to sit on his lap.
“Good day?” He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck while I read the screen.
“Yeah, not bad. Instructor liked my Wellington.”
“That’s great. Glad you went for it?”
“Definitely. So, how’s it going in here? Getting any packing done?”
“Nope.” He laughed at my admonishing grimace. “Just following up on Mia’s emails from last night. She’s starting to panic a little. The time difference isn’t helping.”
We were flying back to Maplewood Creek in the morning to see his family for Christmas.
Megan and Hannah were making the drive too.
Thanks to the Hawthornes, Megan had almost more clients now than she could handle.
But the real news was the official launch of Après Creek, Charles’s business venture with Mia.
After their talk last year, Charles decided the best way to make amends was to simply pick up where they left off.
It took her a few weeks to believe he was serious, but after she dusted off the old business plan, he cut her a check and they were partners again.
For better or worse. Only now that the big day was fast approaching, Mia was a ball of nerves.
“Just remind her that we’ll all be there to lend a hand. We won’t let anything fall through the cracks. And tell her she’s got this!”
“I will,” he said, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Did you have class today?” I asked.
“Mmm-hmm. I’m still no better at watercolors than I was a month ago. Not sure it’s my calling.”
Charles had managed to convince his father to let him take the sabbatical from the company.
And even though he had Mia and their business to tend to, he needed something to occupy his time while I was at school.
I had encouraged him to find an art class.
It was something he was passionate about, after all.
“Hang in there,” I told him teasingly. “Maybe pastels will be more your thing.”
“Speaking of pastels, I talked to Amelia. She’s bringing her new guy,” he said. Charles transferred his hands to my shoulders, digging deep into the stiff muscles. “So, we get to relentlessly grill him for the next two weeks.”
“Can’t wait.”
Amelia and I had grown closer over the last year. We began by FaceTiming and exchanging emails. Then she came to visit for a couple of weeks over the summer, which gave us a chance to bond over good restaurants and shows in the West End.
“And I was thinking,” Charles said. “There’s supposed to be bad weather in Colorado late tomorrow. I’d hate for Megan and Hannah to end up stuck on the roads. Why don’t I send a plane? Get them up there first thing in the morning, so you all have the whole day together.”
I twisted my lips, hesitating. “It is an awfully long drive in bad weather.”
Charles’s constant insistence on paying for everything was always a point of contention, but I had to admit it was a very tempting offer. And I knew Hannah would never let me hear the end of it if she found out I stood between her and a ride in a private jet.
“Please. Let me do this. It’s Christmas and I want to spoil you,” he insisted, kissing the tip of my nose.
Charles usually got his way on these things. Not because he was right necessarily, but he was ruthless with the puppy-dog eyes. It made him happy, so I tolerated it. For now.
“Fine. What do you think you want for dinner?”
“Takeout?” he said.
“Right answer.”
“Are you ever going to cook for me again?” he said, lifting me off his lap to go hunting for his phone.
“Nope.”
Not until he put a ring on it, at least.
Just before I left the office, he caught me by the hand. Charles pulled me into his arms and tilted my chin up. Then, just before he leaned down to kiss me, his shimmering eyes paused on mine.
“I love you, Elle. That blizzard really was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“To both of us,” I told him. “I love you, too.”