Soufflés at Sunrise (6 page)

A million different flavor combinations went flicking through Chase’s head, one after another, waiting for him to find something to latch on to.

Remember the character
, a little voice whispered in his head.
Remember what they want from you outside of the cooking.

That was all the inspiration he needed, and he decided on a sweet, homey, all-American cherry pie. The best thing was his grandmother’s recipe was almost tattooed on the back of his retinas. He could make that pie in his sleep.

“And remember,” Diego said, and Chase rose up onto his toes, ready to run. “Don’t get
Burned
.”

A buzzer sounded and Chase was off, across the studio to the tables, the others close on his heels.

For the first challenge, the producers had gone all out. There was everything you could possibly stuff between two pieces of pastry, artfully arranged around the room. Chase thought it could throw some of his competition off—the unexpected element of choice.

He immediately grabbed two boxes of Montmorency cherries and a bottle of amaretto liquor he spotted on a bottom shelf, then dashed around the others back to his station. Unlike the near disaster of the elimination round, Chase was not going to mess up.

Basic ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, butter—were all stored under his station, and Chase pulled them out, setting everything in an order that felt familiar to him. Since he was one of the first ones back, Diego and the cameraman made a beeline for him.

As he’d been instructed, Chase kept working until Diego called for his attention. Then he stopped and gave the camera a winning grin.

“So can I take a guess at what you’re making, Chase?” Diego asked. He grinned at the camera too, slick and a little oily. Chase tried hard not to visibly cringe. He’d known what Diego was like. He’d seen him every season since the very beginning. Somehow in person was way more.

“I don’t think it’ll be too hard,” he said, amping up the charm.

Diego laughed. Thank God. “Why cherry pie? Are you not worried that’s a little too simple?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, weighing out the ingredients for the pastry from memory. “I’ve got some delicious amaretto liquor here, which should be enough to give it a little kick and bring out the flavors of the cherries. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get anyone drunk, just a little something to make it feel more grown up.” He winked at the camera. Diego, and probably every other person in the room knew the alcohol would cook off in the ovens. That last little bit was pure cheese for the cameras. Chase hoped it helped.

“That sounds great,” Diego said before he turned as if to move on to another chef.

Chase decided not to tell him about drawing inspiration from his grandmother’s recipe—that could come later, at judging. He thought it might be better to draw out his little tidbits. Anything to give him an edge. He was running blind, and he felt like he was totally out of his depth, but if he worked hard enough at it…. Chase did know how to be charming. He hoped it paid off.

Unlike the last challenge, where he’d faltered at the beginning and was forced to play catchup for the rest of the time allowance, Chase felt steady. He knew how long the pie needed to bake for, knew all the steps he needed to take in order to get a perfect finished product. He was methodical with the pastry, making it quickly, then setting it in the fridge to cool for just a few minutes to let the butter harden up so it would melt in the oven and create tender, flaky air pockets.

The cherries went into a shallow saucepan with a generous amount of sugar and an even more generous dollop of the liquor. Chase turned the heat on low under the pan and hesitated. He’d experimented with cherries a few times before, and there was something about the sweet, tangy flavor combined with something a little more pungent. It was a risk, and he wasn’t sure if risks were a good idea this early in the competition, but he crouched down again and pushed the basic ingredients around until he found it: the black pepper mill. He added a few quick twists to the cherries—
There, done
—and went back to the fridge for his pastry.

Chase added pepper to the pastry too, something he did fairly often, thank God, so he knew how much was enough. He was hoping the combination of the amaretto flavor and the spice was enough to elevate his simple cherry pie to the next level—the
Burned
level.

To his right, Kai was working on something that involved a lot of citrus fruit, and his station was covered with bright oranges, lemons, and limes. Whatever it was, it would surely look beautiful. Everything that Kai made looked amazing.

Chase forced himself to focus and got back to work on his first real
Burned
challenge.

O
NCE
ALL
the pies were in the oven they had a short respite, although the cameras kept rolling, so there wasn’t really chance to relax. Chase started methodically cleaning his space, even though the producers had said there was no need for them to worry about clearing up after themselves. There were interns waiting in the wings ready to swoop in and clean, but leaving a messy kitchen space was completely antithetical to how Chase worked, so he grabbed a rag and started wiping counters.

When he looked up, Kai was watching him, grinning. Chase would have objected to the staring but Kai’s counters were sparkly clean too, and he was holding his own dishrag.

“How’s it going?” Chase asked, purposefully not raising his voice.

“Good,” Kai said. “Cherry pie?”

“Yup.” Chase refused to be intimidated. “With liquor and black pepper.”

Kai looked surprised, then impressed. “Sounds good.”

“What are you doing?”

“Sourdough puff pastry with candied citrus custard. And French thyme.”

Chase felt his eyebrows rising without his permission. “Wow.”

Suddenly cherry pie felt very, very amateur. He gave Kai a smile and turned back to his oven under the pretense of checking how his pie was baking.

Perfectly.

His earlier confidence was leeching away. Chase resumed his ritualistic cleaning and tried to focus back in. They’d been asked to make a pie, and he’d made a damn pie. It would taste good, look good, and exactly fill the brief he’d been given.

Fucking citrus custard with French thyme.

Lights around the studio flashed red as they approached the five-minute countdown, and Chase cracked the oven door open just enough to see how things were going. He was fairly confident he’d finish within the time frame, and by the time the two-minute warning was called, he was carefully pulling the dish out of the oven and setting it on one of the fancy stands they’d been given. He wanted it to cool just enough for the filling to not burn the judges’ mouths, but still be sticky and warm.

It turned out he didn’t need to worry. As soon as the buzzer sounded, the director yelled to cut, and the cameramen swooped in to take shots of each creation from every angle possible. Chase thought if they did this every week, the judges needed to get used to eating cold dessert because there was no way he’d be getting the pie to them warm after all the camera shots were taken.

He was one of the last to take his dish up to the judging table too, which meant he had to watch ten people before him be judged. And the judges certainly weren’t holding back. When they called his name, Chase forced himself to take one of those deep, calming breaths, and didn’t stutter as he offered up his creation for their criticism.

Chase watched while the three judges tasted his pies. He had sweat running down his back and the tips of his fingers were tingling.
Don’t panic. Fuck. Stay cool.

“I like the flavor profile,” Diego said. “Added some interest to a commonplace pie.”

Nicolette simply nodded. She didn’t look like she had much to add to the discussion.

“I don’t hate it,” Basil said. “There is a nice sweet roundness to the sauce. It could’ve done with a few more surprising elements, but overall you did a nice job.”

Chase breathed. Finally.

“Thank you,” he said to the judges and returned to his place in the lineup. He doubted a critique that tame would be enough to get him kicked off. Unless everyone else hit it out of the park.

“H
EY
, C
HERRY
Pie,” Kai said, grinning expansively when Chase blushed. The others were outside, waiting for the shuttle to take them back to the condo. Chase had hung back in the changing room, taking longer to swap his chef whites for civvies than was really necessary.

“Hey, yourself,” Chase replied.

Kai decided the soft blush of color that rose on Chase’s neck was absolutely delicious.

“Do you have plans this afternoon?”

It was a little after four; time in the studio had flown much quicker than Kai had expected. They had the evening to themselves and nothing was planned for “behind the scenes” type shots, so all of LA was their oyster.

Chase shook his head and finished buttoning his plaid shirt. Kai reached up and unbuttoned the top two, revealing some of Chase’s smooth chest. It was a move for sure, and elicited more of that rosy blush Kai thought was adorable.

“Do you want to go out?”

“Sure.”

Kai grinned, pleased his ruffling had done its job.

Instead of going out to the shuttle pickup point, Kai redirected them down to the basement of the studio where he kept the car he’d gone to get the moment he had time. Out of all the contestants, he alone had a car there. The show had an account with a local car rental agency, so anyone could get ahold of a vehicle if they needed one, but Kai liked having his Jeep around just in case. Besides, it still rubbed him the wrong way that if he took the company vehicles, they’d know exactly where he was. Not that he was doing anything. Still.

Chase was quiet as he slipped into the passenger seat of the Jeep and stared out of the window as Kai maneuvered his way out of the small parking garage and onto Fountain Avenue. They were right off Santa Monica. Kai could take Chase just about anywhere.

“Where are we going?” Chase asked after a few minutes of driving.

“I’ve got somewhere in mind,” Kai said, playing it cool.

He’d hedged his bets and called up Donovan’s and asked if the chef’s table had been booked that evening. Since it was a Tuesday night, there was a good chance it would still be free, and he was in luck.

The chef’s table was situated in an exclusive place in the dining room just to the side of the pass, where the head chef sent out the plates of food. It meant an excellent view over the kitchens and a unique opportunity to watch some of the best cooking talent in LA at work. He kinda missed the old place.

“Oh, Kai,” Chase said as they pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. “I’m so not dressed right for this place.”

“It’s okay. I used to work here.” Kai shot him a winning grin. “And you look amazing. People don’t dress up to come here, I promise. You look good enough to eat.”

Chase huffed a laugh and shook his head. “If you say so.”

“I do. I’ve got us the chef’s table.”

He killed the engine and hopped out of the car, waiting for Chase to do the same, then hitting the button to lock it.

“The chef’s table, huh?”

“I called in a favor,” Kai said, shrugging it off. He wondered if he should reach for Chase’s hand as they walked up to the gleaming front doors, then decided against it. It was too much too quickly, and he had no idea what opinion Chase held on PDA. Kai was usually decidedly against it. He had no idea where the impulse had come from.

He opened the door for Chase and waited for the other man to duck inside before leading him with a gentle hand on his lower back to the hostess stand.

“Kai,” his old friend Rachel said, beaming at him. “It’s good to see you. How’s the new job?”

He hadn’t been able to tell everyone he’d gotten onto the show—not until those episodes aired, so no one leaked the final thirteen online. He’d been forced to tell everyone at Donovan’s he’d gotten another job, and the lie grated. He wanted to show off, to tell them all he had made it onto one of the most popular reality cooking shows on TV.

“It’s good,” he said instead with a bland smile. “This is my friend Chase. I called about a reservation?”

The pointed look he gave her hopefully conveyed that this was a date.

“Oh, sure. Let me show you through.”

At the table he ordered beer rather than wine. He wanted Chase to relax, and wine seemed so date-y. He figured casual was best.

“What should I order?” Chase asked as they settled back with perfectly ice-cold beers. “I’d imagine you know the menu.”

“Do you trust me?”

Chase laughed. “Not in the slightest.”

Kai pouted, then grinned back. “Good answer. Well, there’s a tasting menu for two, which we could obviously share. It’s five courses and really good.”

Nodding, Chase set his menu down. “That sounds good to me.”

“Are you sure you can last five courses with me?”

He was flirting again. Flirting. Kai barely recognized the easy line, slick-smile version of himself. He wondered if he could get another rise out of Chase.

“I can hold my own,” Chase said, leaning back in his chair and tipping his beer to his lips.

And he could, of course. Kai wouldn’t be interested in him if there weren’t a spine underneath all of that sweetness, some grit and determination and steel. Chase wouldn’t have made it so far on
Burned
if he didn’t have that. Wouldn’t make it much further if he didn’t start showing it.

“So,” Kai said. “Cherry pie.”

“Do you have a problem with my food?” Chase snapped.

“Not at all,” Kai said quickly, holding his hands up. “Sorry if it came across that way.”

Chase nodded, obviously not all the way placated by Kai’s words. Kai decided to try harder.

“You do interesting things,” he said. “Cherry pie with black pepper. Ice cream with homemade pretzels. That’s not your everyday, run-of-the-mill dessert, you know?”