Your dough is getting warm, Ridgewell observed. That's why it's cracking. You've been working it too long in a hot kitchen. I know that. I just She pressed her hands against the table, frustrated.
I just need it to be perfect. It's already perfect. You're just scared. The truth of it hit her like a physical blow. She wasn't practicing because she needed to.
She was practicing because as long as she was preparing, she could avoid thinking about the actual moment when she'd have to stand in front of everyone and be judged. What if I fail? The words came out small and broken. What if I get there and freeze up or burn something or just completely fall apart? Then you fail.
And you get back up and keep going, same as you've done every other time life knocked you down. He reached out like he was going to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it and pulled back. But you won't fail. You're too stubborn for that. Despite everything, Evelyn smiled.
Stubborn. That's a lovely compliment. It's an honest one. You don't give up, Evelyn. It's one of the things I He stopped, seeming to catch himself.
One of the things that makes you good at this job. The almost confession hung in the air between them. Evelyn's heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it. I should let you get some rest, Ridgewell said, stepping back. Big day in 2 weeks.
2 weeks and 3 days. You're counting. Of course I'm counting. It's all I think about. He paused at the doorway, looking back at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
For what it's worth, I'll be there. At the competition. Front row if they'll let me. You don't have to do that. I know, but I'm going to anyway.
He smiled slightly. Someone needs to watch you win. After he left, Evelyn stood in the quiet kitchen for a long time, her hand still resting on the ruined pie crust. She should have felt anxious or overwhelmed, but instead she felt something else entirely. Determined, maybe.
Or just ready to stop running from the fight. The final week before the competition passed in a blur of preparation and normal ranch work that had to continue regardless of everything else. Evelyn still had to feed 20 men three times a day, still had to maintain her kitchen, still had to show up and be present even when her mind was racing with recipe adjustments and technique refinements. The ranch hands seemed to sense her stress and responded by being unusually helpful. They cleaned up after meals without being asked, brought her fresh eggs and vegetables from town runs, and generally tried to make her life easier in small, awkward ways.
"We're all rooting for you," Tommy said one evening while helping dry dishes. "Even the ones who don't say it out loud." "Thanks, Tommy." "I mean it. You changed things here, made this place feel less like just somewhere we work and more like I don't know.