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.

her hands working

kneading the pasta dough and begins feeding

me a quick, conspiratorial glance that says we’ve

we

are golden, Ken,” she says. “They

perfect.”

the flame.

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

me that.”

her hands move over the mafaldine, her attention back on the

soon,” she

although the mushrooms demand my focus for

nicely, the nutty

scent of the saffron.

turn down the heat and take a step away from the

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

I make my way to the pantry, I can’t help but feel

bound to win this, I’m sure of it.

bust, but lady luck is on our side right

swings open, and that’s when I

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