Later in the day Marty pulled me aside. He took off his white chef’s coat and hung it on a hook by the pizza oven. “Do you have a minute, Jules?”
“Of course.”
“Could we go talk in private?” He pointed to an empty couch in the basement seating area.
My body tensed. Was he about to tell me he was leaving, too? I didn’t think I could take any more news of staff departures.
Marty sat across from me. In conversations, he had the gift of making others feel heard and cherished. He studied me with concern, his face etched with lines from countless smiles. “You look pale, Jules, are you still feeling unwell?”
“I feel okay, I’m just bracing myself for what you’re about to say. You’re not leaving us, are you?” I chomped on my bottom lip as the question hung between us.
His trademark infectious laughter rang out like a melody reverberating through the basement. “No, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Whew, that is such a relief.” I put my head between my hands. Thank goodness. If Marty had told me he was leaving, that might have put me over the edge.
“Although that is what I wanted to talk to you about. Sterling and Steph leaving, that is.” The overhead lights illuminated his full head of neatly combed silver hair. Marty had emerged from his own grief after losing his wife. He was attractive, kind, funny, easygoing, and an incredible baker. I could name about a dozen women his age who would have jumped at the chance to date him. I wondered if he was ready or interested in finding love again.
“Sure. Do you have an idea for replacements?” I asked, tabling the question for the moment.
“I can ask around to some of my former bakers in San Francisco if it would be helpful.”
“I would love that. Carlos and I have put out asks too, but we have at least three roles to fill, and it’s always nice to have someone come in off a recommendation. Of course, enticing them to move to Ashland might be tricker.”
“What? Who wouldn’t want to live in this beautiful place?” Marty gestured with an animated grin.
“Maybe someone who’s interested in clubbing and nightlife?”
He laughed again. “Puck’s Pub has been known to keep the tunes pumping until after midnight. Keeping the tunes pumping probably isn’t what the kids are saying these days, but I digress. I want to talk to you about two things. The first is about my future here.”
“Okay.” I braced myself.
“If you’ll have me, I’d like to be considered for the position of kitchen manager.” Marty’s eyes were filled with hope. “I know when I came, I said I was heading for retirement, but I love it here. I’d like to mentor the kitchen staff and take on a larger role, but I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”
“Pressure.” I had to stop myself from leaping into his arms. “That would be a dream. Yes. One thousand percent yes. I didn’t want to ask you because I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”
“Well, we’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we?” His cheeks creased with excitement. “We can discuss it further later once you post the position. While I have your ear, what about a goodbye bash for Sterling and Steph? I heard that we’re skipping Sunday Supper this month, which is a good idea. What do you think about taking that Sunday spot and throwing a surprise bon voyage party for them? A Torte Sunday Supper just for us.”
“I love it.” I gave him double thumbs-up. “Great minds think alike. I was just pondering the same thing earlier this morning. I considered doing a team dinner out somewhere, but since Steph and Sterling have been such integral parts of our Sunday Suppers, that sounds like the perfect send-off.”
Marty leaned to one side to see into the kitchen. “How do we pull it off without them catching on, though?”
“That’s a good question.”
We both paused in thought for a minute.
“What if you send them to Uva next Sunday to do service for the matinee, and while they’re gone, we can pull everything together? That will give us ten days to make it happen.”
“Yes, that’s perfect.” My mind was already spinning with possibilities. “I can work with Bethany and Rosa on desserts and decorations. I’ll put together a fake custom cake order. They’ll be none the wiser.”
“I’ll do the same with a menu.” Marty’s eyes twinkled with enthusiasm. “I would bet Carlos will help.”
“For sure. Count on it.” I didn’t have to ask. I knew that Carlos would be fully in support of the idea.
“Excellent. If you focus on dessert, I’ll work on a list of their favorite dishes, and we’ll put a menu together.” He gave me a fist bump as he stood.
I already knew what I wanted to bake—a sculpted whale cake for their new adventure at Whaleshead Resort. I filled Bethany in our plans while Steph was upstairs.
“So cute. What if I make whale macarons to go with it? I can do them in blue and gray in the shape of whales and fill them with blue raspberry and Earl Grey buttercream. We can have a whole pod of dessert whales.”
“A pod of whales, yes please.” I put together the fake order and got to work right away on the cake. I wanted to do a practice round to dial in the flavors and brush up on my carving technique.
To go with the ocean theme, I decided on a pineapple cake that I would layer with pineapple compote and frost with coconut buttercream. I gathered everything I needed and began by adding butter and sugar to the industrial mixer and set it to medium. Once they had creamed together, I added eggs, vanilla, and coconut extract. I incorporated that and then alternated the dry ingredients and fresh pineapple juice.
I tasted the thick and creamy batter. It had a lovely fruity sourness mixed with a vanilla sweetness. Confident that the flavors were strong and balanced, I stirred in small chunks of pineapple by hand and placed the cakes in the oven to bake. For the frosting, I used our traditional French buttercream as a base and added more coconut extract.
The pineapple compote was a simple mix of fresh diced pineapple that I simmered over low heat with sugar, honey, and vanilla beans until it formed a thick sauce.
Carving cakes requires each layer to be structurally sound. I achieved this by placing cake dowels in the center of the cakes to make sure they were level. I would carve the cake naked, meaning before it had even been crumb-coated.
Chilling the cake before carving it was the most important step. A cold cake helps firm up the butter and means that the cake won’t collapse or crumble during the carving process.
I chilled the cake for two hours and then began the delicate process of unearthing the shape of a whale.
We had spent weeks in culinary school on the cake carving unit. There were many techniques I had learned along the way, plus new ones that Steph and Bethany had introduced me to. In addition to chilling, I used a sharp edge knife and exaggerated my cuts. Any minor imperfections could be masked with buttercream, so the most important thing to focus on at this stage was getting the general shape right.
My whale came together slowly, as it was also better to take smaller sections off the cake to begin with.
“That’s looking so good,” Bethany gushed when she saw my progress. She spoke louder for everyone to hear and gave me a subtle wink. “The client is going to be so thrilled with that. I’m going to need social media pics of this cutie before you deliver it.”
I was pleased with how the cake took shape. It was easily identifiable as a whale. I crumb-coated it with the coconut buttercream and put it in the walk-in to chill overnight. Tomorrow I would do the detail work of making my whale come to life.
By the time closing rolled around, Marty had sketched out a menu of Sterling’s and Steph’s favorites—Hawaiian teriyaki beef sliders with charred pineapple, vegetarian egg rolls, sweet and spicy barbecue chicken cups with green onions and cilantro, tuna rolls, and deep-fried cream cheese wontons with sweet chili sauce.
Not surprisingly, the menu naturally complemented my tropical cake.
Rosa offered to deck out the dining room in a beach theme the night of the party.
I felt satisfied knowing that Sterling and Steph deserved a night of celebration in their honor. It helped mitigate the waves of sadness.
As I was locking up for the evening, my phone rang. I recognized the number right away—it was my doctor’s office.
“I’m calling to speak with Juliet Capshaw,” the voice on the other end of the line said when I answered.
“This is Juliet.” My muscles quivered and twitched with nerves. Was she calling with bad news?
“I have your test results. Are you someplace you can talk?”
My mouth went dry.
That didn’t sound good.
I was alone in the bakeshop, though, so now was as good of a time as any to take in whatever news she had to share with me. “Yes.”
“Okay, well, you mentioned that you had taken home pregnancy tests, which came back negative, is that right?”
“Yeah.” My hand instinctively went to my stomach. My breath stalled. I walked a step toward the door and then turned around.
“And how long ago was that?”
“I don’t know for sure, but probably a few weeks.” Was she about to say what I thought—could only hope—she might say?
“Interesting.” She paused. “Well, I have good news for you, your pregnancy test is positive.”
“What?” I nearly dropped the phone as my heart seemed to freeze and then began to pound wildly.
“It’s very positive.”
Wasn’t there only one kind of positive?
“It is?” I could barely think over the sound of blood rushing to my head.
“Your hCG levels are much higher than expected at this stage of a pregnancy.”
That didn’t sound good. I braced myself for the bad news. “What does that mean?”
“I’m going to put in an order for an early ultrasound. High levels of hCG may indicate that you’re carrying multiples, but we’ll need to wait for an ultrasound to confirm that one hundred percent.”
“Wait, carrying multiples?” Had I heard her incorrectly?
Multiples?
“Twin pregnancies often have increased hCG levels, but the same can be true for singleton pregnancies. I’ll have my office reach out tomorrow to get that scheduled, and I’m putting in a prescription for a prenatal vitamin. Do you have any questions?”
I had about a thousand questions, but all I could think about was twins. I was pregnant and potentially carrying twins.