LOUISA POURED A CUP OF coffee from the bakery’s silver coffeepot and added cream and sugar. She took a sip and stared at the cup blankly. She had been there so long she couldn’t remember how many cups she’d already consumed.
There was the shot of espresso she gulped down when she arrived. The stone floor was freezing under her moccasins and the coffeepot took too long to heat up. She made an espresso in the espresso machine and drank it while she assembled brown sugar and cinnamon.
Then there had been the cup of coffee with a splash of vanilla she sipped after she handed the cinnamon rolls to Danielle, who worked the bakery’s counter. That was the best cup of the day. It was fresh and hot, and she could savor it slowly.
But then Danielle needed a tray of pecan crescent cookies and Louisa groaned and returned to work. Now it was early afternoon, and the coffee was so stale it needed a large dose of cream and two packets of sugar just to swallow it.
The kitchen door opened and Louisa looked up. Noah wore a long wool coat and blue jeans.
“Not you again!” she exclaimed. “Because of you I woke up so early, I banged my foot on the radiator in the dark. I had to hobble six blocks and when I arrived the bakery was like the inside of an igloo. I made two trays of cinnamon rolls and three cranberry logs and a persimmon pudding. If you have any designs on my pecan crescent cookies, you better think again. They’re for the evening rush, and I’m not going to make more.”
“They look excellent but I’m not hungry.” Noah glanced at the tray. “And I’m sorry you hurt your foot. I’m in a bit of trouble and need your help.”
“I’m a firm believer in helping others, especially at Christmas.” She poured the coffee in the sink. “But everyone has their limits. I was about to drink coffee that is so stiff you could put it behind a frame and hang it on the wall. I’m afraid this time you’ll have to solve your own problems.”
“The cinnamon rolls were a huge hit. The crew fought over who took them home and the producer, Kate, said they were the best she ever tasted,” he began. “Kate is very particular, she’s worked with Anthony Bourdain.”
“Anthony Bourdain!” Louisa’s eyes were wide. “Did she really say they were good?”
“Her exact words were ‘they are so rich and flaky they should be served at afternoon tea at the Waldorf.’” He paused. “Are you happy?”
“Very happy.” Louisa imagined getting a plug on national television for her restaurant when it opened. Then she studied Noah suspiciously. “But I’m exhausted. If you need more cinnamon rolls you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. As soon as I finish these crescent cookies I’m going home.”
“The only person who didn’t react favorably to the cinnamon rolls was Bianca.” He lifted the lid of the coffeepot and inhaled. “She took a few bites to show the camera how delicious they were and an hour later her lips blew up like a blowfish. Whatever you used, she was allergic.”
“It must have been the nutmeg, that’s my secret ingredient!” she gasped. “Some people are allergic. I should have told you. I’m sorry, it’s my fault.”
“Unfortunately she has an extreme case,” he finished. “Her doctor said she’d look like that for a week.”
“I feel terrible. Should I send an apology note or a fruit basket?” She stopped. “But why do you need my help? I’m the last person Bianca wants to see.”
“Tonight the whole crew is flying to London to prepare to film Christmas Dinner at Claridge’s. Top chefs from around the world are going to prepare Christmas Eve dinner at one of the most famous hotel restaurants.” His eyes darkened. “Bianca was supposed to bake her layered fruitcake with crème fraîche frosting. Except now she’s going to be lying in a dark room watching Scandal and drinking milkshakes with a straw.”
Louisa’s cheeks paled and a shiver ran down her spine. “Oh, I see,” she breathed. “That does create a problem.”
He glanced at the clock above the oven. “In four hours and thirty-six minutes I have to be at the British Airways lounge at JFK. Before I hand over my boarding pass and receive my complimentary glass of champagne, you’re going to help me find Bianca’s replacement.”
“How would I do that?” Louisa demanded. “I’m a twenty-seven-year-old pastry chef at a bakery on the Lower East Side. I don’t know any famous chefs and I’ve never been invited to a restaurant opening.” She turned back to the crescent cookies. “I’m happy to write an apology, but I can’t find a replacement.”
“You don’t understand,” he urged. “I’m the one who brought the cinnamon rolls to the set. If I don’t show up with Bianca’s replacement, I’ll be fired.”
“Aren’t you overreacting?” she offered. “You didn’t mean to make Bianca’s lips blow up like a blowfish. She must have insurance for these situations.”
“Insurance doesn’t cover the press releases that have been sent out, and the promotional ads that have been filmed, and the fact that working alongside those chefs will be a huge boost for Bianca’s career,” he spluttered. “Someone has to take the blame, that’s how television works. It will be my head rolling around the network floor like a cabbage at Trader Joe’s.”
“If I could help you I would.” She opened the oven door. “But I have to finish these crescent cookies and then I’m going to go home and take a bath. My hair hasn’t seen a shampoo bottle since Tuesday and I’ve run out of clean shirts.”
She placed the cookie tray in the oven and pushed a stray hair from her cheek. Noah was watching her as if she were an animal at the zoo.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked nervously.
“Do you always wear your hair in a ponytail?” he wondered.
“When I’m baking,” she answered. “I had it cut at the beauty school and she cut it too short. No matter what I do, it slips out of the elastic band.”
“What color are your eyes?” he squinted under the lights. “I can’t tell if they are brown or green.”
“They’re hazel,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“And would you say you’re five foot four, give or take half an inch?”
“I’ve been five foot five since my senior year in high school.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “What does any of this have to do with finding Bianca’s replacement?”
“Looks are important. Her replacement’s face will be broadcast in twenty countries,” he pondered. “But you have bone structure a camera loves, you just need some mascara and lipstick. And a new haircut of course, possibly with some highlights. I can’t see your figure underneath that apron, but you have good legs.”
“What are you talking about?” She suddenly felt naked.
“Do you really know a lot about baking?” he asked. “That’s very important.”
“Of course I do,” she bristled. “I’ve always wanted to be a pastry chef. When I was seven years old, I received a Fisher Price kitchen for Christmas. I tried to like the gift. But I longed to bake real fudge brownies instead of ones made of plastic. I attended the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park and since then I’ve worked as a dishwasher at a seafood restaurant in Chelsea and as assistant to the assistant pastry chef at a French patisserie in Union Square,” she continued. “I work ten-hour days and I’m saving all my money. Next Christmas I’m going to open my own restaurant specializing in desserts.”
“I know the feeling.” He sighed. “I work all day on the show and go to law school at night. It will be worth it when I pass the bar and hang my own shingle. I’ll be doing something useful instead of tracking down nail polish to match Bianca’s raspberry trifle.”
“Any kind of work is useful,” Louisa countered. “You said that millions of viewers count on Bianca to teach them how to make chocolate truffle layer cake.”
“You’re absolutely right, and I can’t afford to lose my job!” He nodded vigorously. “That’s why you’re going to be Bianca’s replacement.”
“Me!” Louisa exclaimed. “I can’t just waltz off to London at Christmas. And I’ve never been on television in my life.”
“Being on television is easy. All you do is stand on a piece of tape.” He shrugged. “And you’ll be working with the best chefs in the world. Pierre Gagnaire, who owns Osteria Francescana in Paris, will be there and Andreas Caminada whose restaurant in a historic castle is the only three-star Michelin restaurant in Switzerland. It took Kate months of buttering up the organizers to get this invitation. It’s going to be televised around the world and the British prime minister and her husband will dine there,” he finished. “But I forgot it’s Christmas. I assume you have a boyfriend. Tell him that when you return, the show will pay for you to have a belated Christmas dinner at the St. Regis.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, I’m too busy.”
“Do you have a cat?” he asked.
“I’d like one. We had a gorgeous tabby when I was growing up,” she mused. “But I’d never see it. Besides my roommate is allergic.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend or any pets. And you have a roommate to make sure the radiator doesn’t catch fire. I don’t see the problem.” He stopped. “Unless you don’t have a passport. But Kate could fix that, she’s good at coaxing people in high places.”
“I have a passport,” she said. “I can’t go because the week before Christmas is the busiest time of the year for the bakery. Leaving Ellie in the lurch would be an awful thing to do.”
“Surely she can find someone else,” he urged. “We’ll pay your airfare and expenses and put you up at Claridge’s. You’ll have five days to explore London. Have you ever been to Harrods Christmas Grotto? It’s like entering Santa’s workshop. Or you can ice-skate at Hampton Court. Henry VIII’s sixteenth-century castle is lit up at night and it’s the most magical place you’ve ever seen.”
An all-expenses-paid trip to London at Christmas! She always wanted to visit the food halls at Selfridges and see the Changing of the Guard. And the fresh scones with marmalade and clotted cream at the Savoy were supposed to be heavenly.
“I’ve never been to London. Who wouldn’t want to see the holiday lights on Oxford Street and the countdown to Christmas at Trafalgar Square?” She sighed. “But Ellie has bills to pay. I can’t desert her because I want to visit Buckingham Palace. Though I always dreamed of meeting the Duchess of Cambridge and giving her one of my cupcakes. She is serious about helping others and her children are gorgeous.”
“If you’re so concerned with helping others you might start with me,” he reminded her. “It is because of you this happened.”
“We went over this, it was an accident.” She suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work. Leave me your number and if I think of anyone, I’ll call you.”
“It’s too bad your cakes won’t be featured on TV.” He glanced at the counter. “Can you imagine if viewers saw your croquembouche. When you open your restaurant, there would be lines around the block.”
“How did you know that was a croquembouche?” she asked. “Most Americans have never heard of it.”
“We filmed a segment of the show in Paris,” he explained. “Yours looks better than the one baked by the chef at the Hôtel de Crillon.”
“Do you think so?” She pulled off a puff and handed it to Noah. “Here, you can take a piece with you.”
“It’s fantastic,” he said while biting into the pastry. “The cream is sweet without being cloying.”
“That’s what I was hoping to achieve.” She brightened. “It would be wonderful to serve it at Claridge’s. And of course, I’d love the publicity.”
“And you’d be working alongside Digby Bunting. I’ve never met him, but I heard he’s the best pastry chef in England. Kate says his crumble pudding is perfection.”
“Did you say Digby Bunting?” Louisa gasped.
Digby was in his midthirties and was one of the most revered pastry chefs in the world. Louisa tried to master his cherries jubilee, but it always came out a bit tart. And she was dying to ask him how he stopped the meringue on his chocolate meringue cake from flaking all over the plate.
“Didn’t I mention that Digby was invited?” Noah asked. “Apparently he’s the IT chef in London. When he gives a cooking demonstration, it’s like the second coming of the Beatles.”
“I could ask my friend Lenny to fill in for me,” she wavered. “We were classmates at the Culinary Institute. He’s on vacation, but if I promise to pay him double he might do it.”
“Why don’t you call him?” Noah suggested. “The network will pay him, you don’t have any excuse not to come.”
Louisa pulled out her phone and entered the storeroom. She returned to the kitchen and her face broke into a smile.
“I had to promise him my macaron recipe on top of his fee, but he’ll do it.”
Noah leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
“I don’t mean to keep doing that but being around you is like riding a roller coaster,” he said. “One minute you’re flying high and the next you feel like you’re plunging to certain death. I have to tell Kate and book your flight. We’ll work on your wardrobe in London and I’ll call ahead to get a hair appointment at Taylor Taylor.”
“My hair is fine if I wash it.” She touched her hair and suddenly wondered what she had gotten into. “And I’m sure I have a black cocktail dress in my closet.”
“Leave it all to me.” He beamed. “Write down your address and a car will pick you up and take you to the airport.” He took off his wool coat and handed it to Louisa. “One more thing, this is for you.”
“What’s this for? It’s a little big and I don’t need a wool coat.” She frowned.
“It’s for the homeless man who sleeps in the alley,” he explained. “There won’t be anyone here to give him blankets.”
Louisa noticed a speck of cream on Noah’s collar. She wetted a napkin and dabbed it gently.
“What was that for?” He looked down.
“I didn’t want you to leave with a stain on your shirt.”
“Thank you.” He smoothed his collar and smiled. “We’re going to have an excellent working relationship.”
Louisa smiled back and felt a shiver of excitement. “I agree.”
Noah left and Louisa glanced at the clock. Noah said he had four hours and thirty-six minutes to get to JFK and that was half an hour ago! That meant Louisa had exactly four hours to finish the crescent cookies and race to her apartment and pack. She had to tell Ellie the news and call her parents and leave a note for her roommate.
The counter was littered with powdered sugar and chopped pecans and she wondered whether she had done the right thing. Then she pictured the windows of Liberty filled with Burberry sweaters and Oxford Street strung with fairy lights and the aisles of Fortnum and Mason stocked with shortbread.
The rain fell outside the window and she hugged her arms around her chest. The first thing she would do when she arrived was buy a raincoat and wellies. She was going to spend Christmas in London!