Page 276 of A Taste of Vanilla

Ribbon placement.

Map-cookie road shapes, provided the boxes retain their assigned counts.

One emergency pastry name per hour.

Background music, but no country.You’re welcome, Oliver.

Emotional support velociraptor Steve’s location.

Halston reads over my shoulder. “You included Steve.”

“He’s on the table.”

“He’s part of the team.”

Halston beams, happy as ever to have a choice.

She takes my marker, crosses out my title, and writes:

WARREN’S CHAOS PERMISSION LIST

“That’s not the title,” I mumble.

“It’s the spirit.”

We return to work, but the space feels different.

Halston lets me help with scaling the Vanilla Proof recipe again. We increase the banana-vanilla cream by eight percent, then reduce the filling per pastry to keep the structure firm. She argues for more cream, but I argue that it must be stable. The words “pastry tyrant” may have been thrown around, but we decide to make both.

Hers tastes better. Mine holds up better. We make a third and it’s perfect.

The Receipt Bar causes a commotion.

Lisa thinks cherry will work best, while Halston wants strawberry. Dev thinks something darker will work best, like raspberry mixed with blueberry, but Halston argues that all raspberries taste like dirt and sadness.

Marley says that as long as it’s visually striking but not too sweet, it will work.

I suggest a cranberry-cherry reduction with orange peel.

Halston’s eyes widen. “Say that again.”

Oliver heaves a sigh. “Can we not flirt over jam?”

“I’m not flirting with jam,” Halston defends.

“You absolutely are.”

She looks at me. “Are we flirting with jam?”

I smile. “Your eyes suggested you were flirting over jam.”

Oliver points to the door. “Out.”

The reduction works. It’s bright, tart, sharp beneath the caramel and dark chocolate. Sweet. With teeth.

I hold the spoon out for Halston. Her mouth softens around it, her eyes closing, and for one terrible second, my mind goes somewhere else entirely.

She catches me staring.