“So, you’re going to invest in Dominique’s Kitchen?” Reesa asked as she and Myko, inexplicably ignored by Dominique and her staff, prepared to make basic pralines.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Myko said. He began studying the recipe they were given. “Pecans, multiple sugars, heavy whipping cream, butter . . . considering these instructions, it’s going to have quite the fudgy consistency.”
She stared in disbelief. “It certainly is.”
“What? I don’t just sell baked goods, Mareesa,” Myko said, his tone one of light teasing. “While I was still learning how to walk, my grandfather and great-aunt made up their minds to get me in the kitchen. It’s in my blood. In fact, Sartori started out much like Dominique's.”
“I hate to say this, but I don’t know the company’s history.”
“That’s alright. It’s not a prerequisite. Besides, there are gaps in my knowledge too.”
They then worked together, easily and in silence, until the pralines were cooling on parchment paper.