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.

beat, her hands working with

kneading the pasta dough and begins feeding it through

me a quick, conspiratorial glance that says we’ve

we don’t have another sabotage on

mushrooms are golden, Ken,”

perfect.”

adjusting the

our station. “‘Chef,’” she says. “I like when

me that.”

over the mafaldine, her attention back on the

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

although the

longer. They’re browning nicely, the nutty aroma mixing with the

scent of the saffron.

the heat and take a step away from the stove,

on the towel that’s slung over my shoulder. “I’ll grab the

to the pantry, I can’t help but

Abby is bound

bit of a bust, but lady

pantry swings open, and that’s

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