A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow - Laura Taylor Namey Page 0,69
of twelve. And stare in disbelief. Stomach tying into knots, I hastily pull out the other pan. “Flora, what happened?”
Two dozen of the empanadas aren’t close to being sealed evenly. The top folds don’t even reach the bottom edges in half of them, and filling is overflowing onto parchment tray liners. Some are over-filled, some barely have enough. And then the egg wash! So uneven, and she tossed on sugar in icky clumps. I can’t serve these.
“I don’t understand. I watched you do the strawberry ones myself.” And besides that, I got up early to start honey oat bread on my own, setting the dough to rise before she arrived. That way, I had extra time to teach her some basic kitchen skills. We worked on measuring wet and dry ingredients consistently and using different kinds of knives. I thought she was starting to care.
Flora unties the bottom half of her apron. “I told you I’m no good at this. Working here. I’m only going to drag you down.” She peeks into the oven; the little strawberry pastries are coming to life. “At least you can put these and the last pan of blueberry out. I mean, that should be quite enough.”
Espérate. This kitchen is starting to smell like fish. I remember Jules’s words about Flora from the other night:
She forgets that what she does in one small moment can affect tomorrow.
Flora did this on purpose so I’d cancel our deal. She saw an easy moment of escape but didn’t think of me or the entire inn. It’d be so easy to just take her apron and show her the door, but again, I see myself in this act. It’s probably something I would have done—no, not with food—but this scheme hails straight out of the Lila Reyes Handbook of Situation Manipulation.
I’m tempted to actually slow clap her on it—bien hecho, Flora. Well done. Yet, because I know this game so well, I don’t have to look far for what should come next. The only problem is the cost: my reputation.
Before I think it through from end to end, I’m doing it. “Um, no we won’t have enough. All the guest rooms are filled, and many with families. The guests have been wanting more than one pastry each.” I exhale a resigned sigh. “I don’t have time to make more empanada dough, so we’ll just have to serve the ones you made.”
“You’re really going to put those out?” She looks at the tray, her mouth parting. Does she only now realize how awful they look?
“I have no choice.” I gesture to her. “Now tie up your apron because we need to make butter biscuits to go with the pudding for later.”
“You mean, you don’t want me to leave?”
I try to paint my face with the color blasé, pretending it’s part of MAC’s new summer collection. “Leave? Of course not. Every cook screws up once in a while. And you’re just starting out. Don’t beat yourself up.”
Thirty minutes later, the pastries from hell are in the parlor. I’m washing my hands of it, literally and for real, while Flora scrapes the morning off the wooden butcher block, head bent.
Cate enters. “Lila, a quick word?”
I nod, my mind just ahead of what I think is coming.
“Are you feeling all right?” Cate tilts her head then ogles me curiously.
“Yeah, just tired. I’ve been having trouble falling asleep.” Which is true. The tangles around my mind and heart have reached the rest of me, wanting to keep me up past any baker’s normal bedtime.
“Ahh. I was only wondering because of today’s breakfast pastries.” Her brows drop. “They’re so unlike what we’re used to seeing from you. Your usual impeccable quality and consistency.”
Ouch. I steal a glance at Flora. She’s frozen, her hand clenched tightly around her scrub brush. I could shift the blame where its due, but Orion’s words elbow in—Flora’s drifting, more flighty than ever. Whether or not this small thing I’m about to do will matter, Orion’s family is worth me taking the hit. But only once. This is not happening in here again. I exhale a quick puff of air. “You’re right. Sorry about the blueberry ones. It’s my fault. I was a little distracted.”
Cate rubs my shoulder. “I see, Lilita. It’s only that our occupancy has never been this solid for months. We’re booked until September! Yesterday, I overheard the gentleman from room six raving about your food. He’d convinced his brother’s family to stay here instead of a place