Karl

The sizzle of sauteing farro mafaldine fills the air as Abby and I maneuver

around our station like we’ve done this a million times before. I can sense a

newfound glimmer in Abby’s eyes, a hint of something confident and downright

mesmerizing.

“Ken,” Abby’s voice cuts sharply through the noise, using the pseudonym that I

chose earlier today like it’s second nature to her despite the pressure, “start on

the mushrooms. I’ll handle the mafaldine and get the sauce going.”

“On it,” I reply, grabbing a skillet. I drizzle the olive oil into the pan just as I’ve

watched Anton and John do all along, having taken their motions and saved

Enter title…

them in a little recess in the back of my mind, like a sponge soaking up

knowledge.

doesn’t miss a beat, her hands working with a practiced rhythm as

the pasta dough and begins feeding it through the

quick, conspiratorial glance that says

we don’t have

sure those mushrooms are golden, Ken,” she says. “They need to

perfect.”

adjusting the flame.

“‘Chef,’” she says.

me that.”

over the mafaldine, her attention back on the

need the truffles soon,” she says. “Can you

up,” I say, although the mushrooms demand

browning nicely, the nutty aroma mixing with

scent of the saffron.

turn down the heat and take a step away from the stove,

that’s slung over my shoulder. “I’ll

pantry, I can’t help but feel the prickling sensation

the cusp of victory. Abby is bound to win this, I’m sure of it. The

of a bust, but lady luck

pantry swings open, and that’s when I

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