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Summary
The plate of risotto rests on the table between them, perfect except for one missing spoonful. Leah’s still looking at her, waiting for the verdict; Fatin suddenly, overwhelmingly doesn’t know how to do this.
It’s incredible, she wants to say. You’re incredible. You, you, you. I’ve been all around the culinary world, been Michelin fucking starred, and I’ve never met a better sous than the one sitting across from me right now. Sometimes I think a meal prepared by your hands is the only thing that’s ever cured my hunger.
“Yeah,” she says finally. “That’s fire, chef.”