Chapter 1

Maya

The steam rises from the pot of mulled wine, carrying hints of cinnamon and star anise through the hotel ballroom. I adjust the temperature, giving the aromatic mixture a final stir before stepping back to survey my station.

"Everything good to go, boss?" Jerome, my sous chef for tonight's event, arranges the last of the appetizer plates.

"Almost. The mini quiches need two more minutes." I peek through the industrial oven's window at the rows of perfectly aligned pastries. The gentle bubbling of the gruyere tells me they're close to golden perfection.

The space around us sparkles with thousands of white lights woven through crystal-draped garlands. A massive Christmas tree towers in the corner, its ornaments catching and reflecting the warm glow. Some corporate parties feel sterile and forced, but Caldwell Enterprises went all out – the marble columns wrapped in velvet ribbons, the ice sculptures glistening on the buffet tables.

My phone buzzes. Another notification from the bank. I swipe it away without looking. Tonight's event could make or break Maya's Flavors, and I refuse to let anxiety about my business loan distract me from delivering excellence.

The timer chimes. I pull out the quiches, their buttery aroma filling the air.

"Look at these beauties." I plate them alongside fresh herb garnishes, arranging each one with precision. "Grandma Thompson would be proud."

"Your grandmother's recipes never disappoint." Jerome grabs the first tray. "Ready to wow these suits?"

"Born ready." I straighten my chef's coat and adjust my apron strings. The weight of my grandmother's vintage rolling pin sits in my pocket – my lucky charm for every catering gig since I started this venture.

The first guests filter in, their designer outfits and jewelry catching the light. I take my position behind the carving station, shoulders back, knife sharp and ready. This is my element – where passion meets precision, where every slice and garnish tells a story of tradition mixed with innovation.

A server rushes past with empty champagne flutes. "They're asking about the wine pairing for the main course."

"Tell them to trust the chef." I wink, my confidence growing as the room fills with appreciative murmurs from the early taste-testers.

The kitchen doors swing open as Sofie bursts in, her server's apron dusted with crumbs. "Maya, you won't believe the comments about those mushroom vol-au-vents. Table seven practically licked their plates clean."

"Thank goodness." I plate another round of appetizers, my hands steady despite the pressure building in my chest. "How's the timing looking out there?"

"Perfect rhythm. Though Mr. Harrison from accounting keeps asking for seconds." She snags a stray piece of parsley from the garnish tray. "By the way, I overhead someone mention they're from the Chamber of Commerce."

My knife pauses mid-slice. Chamber of Commerce means potential connections, future contracts, a chance to climb out of the financial hole I've dug myself into. "Which one?"

"Blue dress, silver hair. She's been eyeing the wine station."

I hand the platter to Jerome and straighten my nameplate. "Cover for me?"

"Always do, boss lady." Sofie bumps my hip as she passes. "Go work your magic."

The ballroom buzzes with conversation and clinking glasses. I weave through the crowd, stopping to answer questions about ingredients and cooking techniques. Each compliment helps ease the knot in my stomach – the one that formed when I saw this morning's bank statement.

"The mulled wine is divine." The woman in blue catches my eye. "Such a unique blend of spices."

"Family recipe." I extend my hand. "Maya Thompson, head chef and owner of Maya's Flavors."

"Barbara Chen, Chamber of Commerce." Her handshake is firm. "Tell me, do you cater smaller events as well?"

"From intimate dinner parties to corporate gatherings." I gesture toward the spread. "We pride ourselves on customizing each menu to our clients' vision."

"Fascinating." She pulls out a business card. "We're planning several networking events next quarter."

My heart skips. Next quarter – when my loan payment comes due. But before I can respond, Sofie appears at my elbow.

"Sorry to interrupt," she whispers, "but the kitchen needs you. Something about the salmon."

I excuse myself gracefully, tucking Barbara's card into my pocket. Back in the kitchen, I find Jerome managing the situation perfectly – the salmon's fine, but Sofie knew I needed an exit strategy before I started babbling about interest rates to a potential client.

"You're a lifesaver." I squeeze her arm as I pass.

"Please, what are best friends slash underpaid servers for?" She grabs fresh plates. "Now, let's show these suits what Maya's Flavors is really made of."

Suddenly, the kitchen doors swing open, and my heart stutters. Henry Caldwell strides in, his tailored black suit a stark contrast to the chaos of my prep station. His sandy blonde hair catches the light, and those green eyes lock onto mine with the same intensity they had back in college.

"Maya Thompson." He moves closer, navigating between prep tables with natural grace, like he owns the place. His cologne - something expensive and woodsy - teases my senses. "When they said Maya's Flavors was catering, I couldn't believe it."

I wipe my hands on my apron, fighting the urge to smooth my hair. Damn him for looking so put together while I'm covered in flour and who knows what else. "Been a while, Henry. Or should I say Mr. CEO now?"

"Still just Henry to you." The corner of his mouth quirks up. That same half-smile that used to make my stomach flip during our study sessions back in college. The ones where I spent more time watching his hands grip his pen than actually studying market trends.

Jerome bumps my elbow as he passes, nearly making me stumble. "Boss, the dessert station needs your attention. That's where you shine, after all." His words snap me back to reality - I have a job to do.

"Right." I clear my throat, but Henry steps into my path, close enough that I catch another whiff of that maddening cologne.

"The food is incredible." His voice drops lower, meant just for me, sending shivers down my spine. "Dad would have loved what you've done with the menu."

The mention of his father hits me in the chest. Richard Caldwell had always encouraged my culinary dreams, even letting me practice recipes in the massive Caldwell kitchen during college breaks. Back then, the Caldwell family were exorbitantly rich, but they were kind. They still are. And Henry has been a good friend since. "I added the spiced nuts to the salad. His favorite."

"I noticed." Henry's expression softens. His fingers brush my arm as he reaches for a sprig of rosemary, and electricity zips through my skin. "Remember when you almost burned down our kitchen trying to perfect that recipe?"

"You promised never to bring that up again." I grab the rosemary before he can, our fingers almost touching. The same magnetic pull I'd fought for years in college resurfaces, making it hard to focus on anything but the way his presence fills the space.

"Some promises are meant to be broken." He holds my gaze a beat too long, and I'm transported back to all those nights we'd stayed up talking about our dreams – his inheritance looming over him, my desperate need to prove myself in the culinary world.

Now that I have my own bakery, I've been making my dreams come true. But there have been pitfalls. Financial insecurity being the main one.

"Maya." Sofie appears at my elbow, breaking the spell between Henry and me. "The chocolate soufflés are ready for the first round."

"Duty calls." I step back, creating distance between Henry and myself. His cologne lingers, a reminder of how close we were standing.

"Don't let me keep you." Henry's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Though we should catch up properly sometime."

I focus on arranging the delicate desserts, piping fresh cream with steady hands despite my racing pulse. The soufflés rise perfectly, their dark centers rich and inviting. As I work, I notice several guests pointing at my dessert station, phones raised to capture photos.

Barbara Chen from the Chamber of Commerce approaches with two other board members. "Maya, these are absolutely stunning. Would you have time next week to discuss our upcoming events?"

"Of course." I hand her a fresh soufflé, decorated with a sprig of mint and a dusting of gold powder. Her eyes light up at the presentation.

"Divine." She takes a bite, closing her eyes. "Simply divine."

The buzz around my station grows. More business cards appear. More promises of future bookings. Even the head of marketing stops by to specifically compliment the spice blend in the mulled wine, asking if I'd consider bottling it for retail sale.

I catch my reflection in one of the polished serving trays – my hair pulled back into a low bun, my chef's outfit still covered in flour, my eyes shining bright. The subtle gold thread embroidery on my coat – a splurge I almost couldn't justify last month – catches the light. For the first time in months, that knot of financial worry loosens in my chest somewhat. After so long of being in the red, this event could be the turning point Maya's Flavors needs. No more late-night calculations trying to make the numbers work.

Jerome slides past with a fresh tray of garnishes, expertly weaving between guests who've congregated around our station. "Boss, we're getting requests for your contact information from at least three different companies. That tech startup in the corner? They're talking holiday parties, too."

I straighten my chef's coat, feeling the weight of my grandmother's rolling pin in my pocket. It's worn smooth from decades of use, a constant reminder of where I came from. Her voice echoes in my memory: "Cooking with love is good, but cooking with skill pays the bills."

Tonight, I'm doing both. And from the looks of it, Grandma's wisdom is paying off in spades.