"Makes my teeth hurt." "Noted." Evelyn adjusted the sugar measurements in her notes. "What about the crust?" "The crust is perfect, like eating a cloud, but better."
"That's very poetic." "Papa says I should read more poetry. I think it's boring, but the words are pretty sometimes." Lily swung her legs from her perch on the stool. "Are you nervous?"
"About the competition?" "Terrified." "You don't look terrified." "I'm good at hiding it." Lily considered this seriously.
"Papa says being scared and being brave are the same thing, just in different directions." "Your papa's a smart man." "He likes you, you know." The words were delivered with such casual certainty that Evelyn nearly dropped the whisk she was holding. "Lily."
"He does. I can tell." "He smiles more when you're around, real smiles, not the pretend ones he uses with other people." Evelyn's face felt like it was on fire. "That's not appropriate conversation for us to be having."
"Why not? You like him, too." "You get all quiet and weird when he comes to the kitchen." "I get quiet and weird because he's my employer and I'm trying to be professional." "What's professional mean?"
"It means some things are better left unsaid." Evelyn firmly changed the subject. "Now, I need your opinion on something important. For the competition, should I make three different dishes or focus on making one dish absolutely perfect?" Lily let herself be redirected, but the knowing look in her 8-year-old eyes suggested the conversation wasn't over, just postponed.
The ranch hands had their own opinions about the upcoming competition, which they shared freely during meals. Tommy thought she should make her honey cornbread because it had made him cry that first time. Billy insisted fried chicken was the obvious choice. Others argued for stew, biscuits, pie, or the roasted vegetables she'd started serving that had somehow made carrots taste like something worth eating. "You're all wrong."
Holloway announced one evening, silencing the debate. She should make whatever she's most confident in. Competition cooking isn't about pleasing everyone. It's about executing perfectly under pressure. "You've done competition cooking, Mr. Holloway?"
Evelyn asked, surprised. "My sister used to enter these things all the time. Won more ribbons than she had wall space for." His expression softened with memory. "She always said the women who tried to do too much ended up doing nothing well.
Pick your strength and own it." The advice resonated. Evelyn spent the next 2 days narrowing down her options, testing and retesting until she had three dishes that showcased different skills. A main course that demonstrated technique, a bread that showed her foundation work, and a dessert that would be her final impression. She was practicing pie crust, her 10th attempt that day, when Ridgewell appeared in the kitchen doorway.