I’m standing by the stainless steel counter, doing my best to look like I’m occupied with inventory and prepping the dough for our fresh bread in the morning.
But my real focus is on the fiery dance unfolding in front of me—Karl and John, circling each other in the kitchen like two alpha wolves in a turf war. The tension is so thick you could spread it on toast.
“Karl! Chop those onions faster!” John barks, to which Karl surprisingly complies—and with a smile on his face, no less. I’m pleased. It’s not perfect, but it’s their first night. I just hope that it gets better over time.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket, shattering the moment. I glance down; it’s a call from Calvin, the representative for the cook-off. I’m suddenly flooded with a mixture of excitement and nerve
