fruit. Intrigued, I forked up a small mountain and stuffed it carefully into my mouth. The filling was not caramel but some sort of a cream cheese and peanut butter filling. Other than its overuse and cloying texture, it tasted surprisingly delicious. However, the “dried fruit” pieces were unchewable, so I swallowed my mouthful.
And promptly choked.
Aided by the thick, sticky peanut butter filling, the translucent bits of colorful what-the-hell-is-this got lodged in my throat. With teary-eyed coughing and gulps of scalding-hot coffee, I escaped near asphyxiation.
So what were those odd bits of un-masticate-able health hazards?
Gummy worms. Chunky bits of chopped gummy worms.
What were they doing in the chocolate Bundt cake? And why?
Utter, egocentric arrogance.
The small-town baker/pastry chef has awe-inspiring talent. But it’s the kind that has led to unbearable arrogance. An unfortunate pitfall for some brilliant chefs. It could have been frustration or boredom that led to the creation of the peculiar cake. Who can know for sure? Whatever prompted the addition of the gummy worms, the cake should not have been served to an unknowing customer. Experiments should stay in the kitchen until they are perfected. Comfort Zone’s pastry chef used its customers, including myself, as test subjects, which was unforgivably selfish, and a senseless rebellion against the core value of chefs everywhere.
A true chef would never have done something so hurtful, disrespectful, and reckless. I take the arrogance of the act as a personal affront. And for that, I strongly advise my dear readers against ever entering the menace known as Comfort Zone.
You. Deserve. Better.
His review was humorous, lively, and even complimentary in parts, and she had to concede he was fair about the oddness of her cake. But he was completely wrong about her. Making her customers happy with her sweet creations was her raison d’être. Arrogance and boredom? How dare he! His sweeping presumptions and scathing judgment of her as a chef based on one gummy worm–filled cake was unfair and hurtful.
But he’d been so gentle and sweet during their night together. Gah. Stop thinking about that. This has nothing to do with that. She crumpled the tattered magazine pages for the twentieth time and stuffed them in her pocket.
Aubrey wished the critic had been a small, thin man with chalky skin and greasy hair. Someone who didn’t know how to bake or cook, sitting stooped over his computer in a cold, windowless office. Hating on people who did their best to create something lovely for others to enjoy. She could scoff at a man like that and console herself that her life was fuller and happier than his.
A long sigh leaked from her lips. Yeah, right. Scoffing wasn’t her thing. She’d probably feed the poor imaginary critic some sweet buns to cheer him up.
It might actually be easier to scorn Landon Kim, an arrogant elitist. He was a tall, muscular specimen of male perfection with fan-freaking-tastic hair who happened to have a degree from a little place called the Culinary Institute of America. The celebrity food critic and blogger could ostensibly cook and critique—the perfect package. Life is so unfair. He was going to breeze through life being rich, famous, and buff, while she lost her bakery and was forced to work at a chain doughnut shop that didn’t even make their wares in-house.
She couldn’t reconcile the funny, sexy man she’d taken to bed with the cocky, judgmental food critic with a stick up his ass. Well, maybe he couldn’t not be judgmental—it was his job to critique restaurants. And despite his mocking tone, his review of Comfort Zone was witty and well written. Aubrey Choi, are you making excuses for him? She had lost her mind. That was it.
All of this was a rotten joke fate decided to play on her. What were the chances of me picking up a food critic? A critic who happened to eat the most outrageous cake I’ve ever made? It could only happen in a perfect shit storm so rare that it came just once in a billion years.
Her phone rang, bringing her back from her dismal thoughts. She stared at the screen with a confused frown. It was her mom, but it wasn’t her birthday or Christmas.
“Mom?”
“Hey there.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “How are you holding up?”
“What do you mean?” Aubrey frowned. She’d left her parents’ house ages ago. Why would her mother be worried about how she was doing after all this time?
“Comfort Zone. I read that horrid review a month ago. I’d brushed