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.

hands working with a practiced rhythm as

pasta dough and begins

quick, conspiratorial glance that says we’ve

as we don’t have another sabotage on our

Ken,” she says.

perfect.”

nod, adjusting the flame. “On it,

“‘Chef,’” she says. “I

me that.”

hands move over the

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

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

nicely, the nutty aroma mixing with

scent of the saffron.

heat and take a

the towel that’s slung over

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

of victory. Abby is bound to

of a bust, but lady

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

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