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

the pasta dough and begins feeding it through

shoots me a quick, conspiratorial glance that says we’ve

bag, so long as we

Ken,”

perfect.”

adjusting the flame. “On

our station. “‘Chef,’” she

me that.”

over the mafaldine, her

need the truffles soon,” she says. “Can

right up,” I say, although the mushrooms demand my focus for a

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

scent of the saffron.

heat and take a step away from the

towel that’s slung over

to the pantry, I

of victory. Abby is bound to win this, I’m sure

a bit of a bust, but

then, the door to the pantry swings open, and that’s when I see

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