t of melted chocolate mixed with the buttery aroma of fresh pastries, filling the air with an intoxicating warmth. The sound of

ith a firm knot. Today wasn't just about

to my station when a voi

ight,

ching me from across the kitchen, a

if you can ac

roll. I actually had

s if he had been waiting for this moment. "You've had

e to make?" I asked,

mille-feuille. No short

dough rest longer to ensure maximum

meeting his gaze w

s if assessing whether I truly understood the ch

e did, I spran

a quicker lamination method-rolling, folding, and chilling in short bursts to build the delicate lay

earby, watching

gnore

in the oven, I moved

ugar, and vanilla into a smooth, rich custard. I strained it for ext

risp. I let it cool briefly before slicing it in

not to overfill. It had to be balanced-enough to provi

ng the top layer before finishing with delicate chocolate lines. With

exha

Do

the counter, I stepped back, fl

m had gon

hrough the pastry. His movements were precise, methodical. He

seemed to ho

to remain still, r

then set the fork down wi

s... d

ye twi

ece

ect mille-feuille under pressure,

ms. "That's all

usement flickering across his face.

al feedback," I shot bac

the dough for a few extra minutes before the final fold. Your pastry cream is smooth, but it could use

led. "Per

tbook. Clean, precise, but

ng to decide whether to

rately hard on me. The pastry had been damn near flawle

he added casually. "We

enched

I'd im

this. I would make a mille-feuille so good

d to leave, Elen

leaning against the counter, "I tho

a slow breat

onally," Elena added. "He does this to

owned.

i's is his family's legacy. He grew up here. It

ocesse

ike to chase perfection, to want to prove mys

re, it didn't change the fact

I was going to back