Free Inferno Anthology by Jessica Sorensen, Aleatha Romig, Kailin Gow, Cassia Leo, Lacey Weatherford, Liv Morris, Vi Keeland, Kimberly Knight, Addison Moore, Laurelin Paige
turned to face him. “After eating something as divinely perfect as what I ate tonight… I don’t know. I guess I just really wonder if I have what it takes to make it that far.”
Taking her hand in his he led her onto the paved path that ran along the Seine. “A little doubt can be good… keeps you on your toes… keeps you hungry and eager to learn… keeps you fighting for perfection. There’s nothing worse than complacency; than sitting on your laurels. Some of the best chefs lose their way because they allow themselves to think they know everything. We never know everything. Cooking is a constantly changing art. Just don’t let that little taste of doubt get the best of you. It can demolish you faster than you can collapse a soufflé.”
Hand in hand they walked along the river. Quaint streetlamps offered a minimal glow on the water, just enough to make for a romantic stroll. Taryn basked in the pleasant silence that enveloped them. Occasionally they crossed paths with other couples; couples who were obviously in love.
Taryn involuntarily squeezed Errol’s hand and wondered.
*****
While the dinner had been all and more than Errol had expected of his greatest competition, a regrettable little voice at the back of his head persisted in reminding him that it was because of her.
Taryn delighted him, more than he cared to admit.
As they strolled along the Seine, he knew they were surrounded by the romance Paris promised. Repeatedly, he told himself to let go of her hand, to shove his hands deep into his pockets and simply walked along the famed river as two friends, as two associates.
But her hand was soft and warm… and that little squeeze. What had caused her to spontaneously squeeze his hand like that?
You’re getting in too deep, his heart warned.
No, the depth of his loin reminded him. Women love to be romanced, to be wooed. He’d seen it in her eyes; despite his anti-marriage monologue, she still had dreams of a white dress and fairytale ending.
How mistaken she was if she thought her time with him would end happily ever after. No, tonight… this evening… it was the perfect prerequisite for a heated night of sexually tantalizing games… nothing more.
Chapter 8
“The idea behind this is I want the outside to be crispy without being crunchy while inside we find a warm… goo,” Errol said.
Leaning into the kitchen counter, Taryn let out an amused chuckle. “Goo? Is that the official term for it?”
Errol looked sidelong at her, his face a mask of professionalism. “As a matter of fact, I had considered giving the term some validity.”
“Errol King’s goo… sounds like it’ll take off. Before long everyone will be making Errol King’s goo with its crispy but not crunchy exterior.”
“You mock me, my dear assistant.”
Though he remained stiff and unsmiling, she knew he was toying with her. She’d come to know the little known comic side he hid from the world. Heaven forbid the world should discover that Chef King had a bonafide sense of humor.
“Not at all,” she said with a haughty air. “I think goo suits the purpose perfectly.”
They’d tried several variations of the recipe Errol wanted to add to his cookbook, but could still not get the consistency he sought. More salt. Less baking powder. More sodium bicarbonate. Less sugar. Hotter oven. Shorter time. Cool before putting into oven. Cool immediately out of the oven.
Finally, Taryn said, “What if we were to brush a little sweetened melted butter over it before popping it into the oven?”
Errol grimaced.
“What?” she said incredulously. “I think that’s a perfectly good suggestion.”
“Sweetened with what?”
She thought for a moment. She knew he would balk at plain white sugar, and brown sugar wouldn’t be much better. No, it would have to be a liquid sweetener. “How ‘bout honey?”
“Too common.”
“Molasses?”
He grimaced. “Too vulgar.”
“Maple syrup?”
“Too hard to come
Taking her hand in his he led her onto the paved path that ran along the Seine. “A little doubt can be good… keeps you on your toes… keeps you hungry and eager to learn… keeps you fighting for perfection. There’s nothing worse than complacency; than sitting on your laurels. Some of the best chefs lose their way because they allow themselves to think they know everything. We never know everything. Cooking is a constantly changing art. Just don’t let that little taste of doubt get the best of you. It can demolish you faster than you can collapse a soufflé.”
Hand in hand they walked along the river. Quaint streetlamps offered a minimal glow on the water, just enough to make for a romantic stroll. Taryn basked in the pleasant silence that enveloped them. Occasionally they crossed paths with other couples; couples who were obviously in love.
Taryn involuntarily squeezed Errol’s hand and wondered.
*****
While the dinner had been all and more than Errol had expected of his greatest competition, a regrettable little voice at the back of his head persisted in reminding him that it was because of her.
Taryn delighted him, more than he cared to admit.
As they strolled along the Seine, he knew they were surrounded by the romance Paris promised. Repeatedly, he told himself to let go of her hand, to shove his hands deep into his pockets and simply walked along the famed river as two friends, as two associates.
But her hand was soft and warm… and that little squeeze. What had caused her to spontaneously squeeze his hand like that?
You’re getting in too deep, his heart warned.
No, the depth of his loin reminded him. Women love to be romanced, to be wooed. He’d seen it in her eyes; despite his anti-marriage monologue, she still had dreams of a white dress and fairytale ending.
How mistaken she was if she thought her time with him would end happily ever after. No, tonight… this evening… it was the perfect prerequisite for a heated night of sexually tantalizing games… nothing more.
Chapter 8
“The idea behind this is I want the outside to be crispy without being crunchy while inside we find a warm… goo,” Errol said.
Leaning into the kitchen counter, Taryn let out an amused chuckle. “Goo? Is that the official term for it?”
Errol looked sidelong at her, his face a mask of professionalism. “As a matter of fact, I had considered giving the term some validity.”
“Errol King’s goo… sounds like it’ll take off. Before long everyone will be making Errol King’s goo with its crispy but not crunchy exterior.”
“You mock me, my dear assistant.”
Though he remained stiff and unsmiling, she knew he was toying with her. She’d come to know the little known comic side he hid from the world. Heaven forbid the world should discover that Chef King had a bonafide sense of humor.
“Not at all,” she said with a haughty air. “I think goo suits the purpose perfectly.”
They’d tried several variations of the recipe Errol wanted to add to his cookbook, but could still not get the consistency he sought. More salt. Less baking powder. More sodium bicarbonate. Less sugar. Hotter oven. Shorter time. Cool before putting into oven. Cool immediately out of the oven.
Finally, Taryn said, “What if we were to brush a little sweetened melted butter over it before popping it into the oven?”
Errol grimaced.
“What?” she said incredulously. “I think that’s a perfectly good suggestion.”
“Sweetened with what?”
She thought for a moment. She knew he would balk at plain white sugar, and brown sugar wouldn’t be much better. No, it would have to be a liquid sweetener. “How ‘bout honey?”
“Too common.”
“Molasses?”
He grimaced. “Too vulgar.”
“Maple syrup?”
“Too hard to come
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