It was early Saturday morning when a knock sounded on the door of Zester.

“Coming!”

Still tying a red scarf around her hair, Lyra rushed from the bathroom and opened the door.

“Boysen!” she exclaimed. “I was just about to swing by Whisk and see if you wanted to head down to breakfast. Ginger’s already there.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He grinned. “But not to head down to breakfast. To invite you to Whiz.” Stepping back into a bow, he gestured grandly towards the door of his and Mac’s room. “Breakfast is served.”

That was when Lyra noticed his apron was already dusted with flour.

“We’re going to be doing a lot of baking today,” she said, trying to contain a smile. “Don’t tell me you —”

Boysen held up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. But it’s always a good idea to get the ovens warmed up. And this way, we can get an earlier start.”

Shaking her head, Lyra let the smile spread over her face. “At least tell me you didn’t do anything too elaborate?”

“Just blueberry scones,” he assured her. “Easy and fun. Didn’t use any magic, either. No fuss.”

“Fine. You win this round.” She stepped through the door, closed it behind her, and followed him across the common area. “But tomorrow, I make breakfast. Deal?”

“Or you could just promise to burst into song throughout the day,” he suggested. “Sing for your supper. Or breakfast, in this case.”

“Sing for my scones?”

“That’s the ticket.”

“Me bursting into song at some point is basically guaranteed.” Lyra stopped in the open doorway, breathing in the delicious aroma of blueberry scones fresh from the oven. “But it’s not sufficient payment. I make breakfast tomorrow, and that’s that.”

“You’re on.” He led her to the kitchen portion of the room, where a variety of ingredients, bowls, and utensils were already laid out on the counters. Pulling out a chair by the table, he indicated the tea tray and platter of scones, each the size of Lyra’s fist and bursting with blueberries, placed neatly between two sheets of parchment and pens. “Working breakfast. We can make a plan while we eat. Help yourself to tea.”

Lyra didn’t hesitate. Sitting down, she poured a cup of tea, adding plenty of cream and honey. Then she chose a particularly massive scone and took a bite, closing her eyes.

“These are perfectly scrumptious,” she managed to get out while chewing. “Weren’t we supposed to make three different kinds of scones for Flavor?”

“Not these.” Boysen sat next to her. Choosing a scone, he held it up to the light for examination. “Secret Berry family recipe. Not for public consumption.”

Lyra took another bite. “And blueberries weren’t part of the assignment.”

“Exactly. If I’m going to make scones for breakfast, you’d best believe they’ll be blueberry.” He tore off half the scone and popped it into his mouth.

“Your favorite?” Lyra guessed. He nodded, mouth too full to speak. “I wonder why. Perhaps because you don’t have a brother named Blue?”

Swallowing, he gave her a rueful smile. “Probably. I’m also quite fond of bilberries.”

Lyra laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that! Bill is actually a normal name. Why don’t you have any brothers named Bill?”

“You’ve met my parents.” Boysen shrugged as he poured himself a cup of tea. “They’re a bit odd.”

“I met your mom,” Lyra corrected him. “And she’s lovely.”

“Lovely people are often odd, and vice versa.” He winked. “Present company included, of course.”

She considered throwing a blueberry at him, but took another bite instead. “Aren’t we supposed to be making a plan?”

“Yes. To business!” Taking another scone with one hand, Boysen used the other to begin writing their assignments on his parchment. ‘Flavor: three batches of scones. One plain, one with cinnamon, and one with garlic.’

“Plain, sweet, savory,” Lyra noted. “To practice Madame Hazelnut’s Deepening Spell.”

“Good ol’ Madame Hazelnut.” Boysen finished that column, then began another. “Texture?”

Lyra sighed. “Two loaves of bread. Each. With that proofing charm.”

“Right.” Boysen echoed her sigh. “Takes forever.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Maybe we can start with that?” she suggested. “Get it out of the way?”

Boysen wrote a large number ‘1’ by Texture and circled it. “Done. Then we can move right on to Presentation and get that out of the way.”

Lyra raised her eyebrows. “I wanted to end with Presentation. Frosting is fun!”

“Sure, frosting is fun.” Boysen ground his pen into the parchment as he wrote. “But five different colors of frosting to decorate five different batches of sugar cookies? That’s a bit more ‘fun’ than I can handle on any given day.”

“We have to practice Master Brulée’s Coloring Charm,” Lyra said. “And each color is a little different. Besides, repetition —”

“Is the key to baking success. I know, I know.” Boysen underlined the Presentation assignment five times to emphasize his understanding. “I would prefer to get all that repetition behind me as early in the day as possible.”

Lyra sipped her tea primly. “You just want to end with Flavor because it’s your favorite.”

“You like Flavor too,” he pointed out. “You couldn’t stop raving about the deepening spell after lab on Tuesday. ‘Soothing and satisfying’, I believe you called it?”

“Sure.” Lyra concentrated on choosing another scone. “But that was before our Presentation lab.”

“And before your tutoring sessions with the Coulis,” Boysen added quickly.

“I didn’t say that,” she protested, her heart strangely heavy all of a sudden. The air around Boysen was vibrating again. For some reason, her own insides were churning in response, swirling around her heavy heart at uncomfortable speeds.

Trying to keep her voice light and even, she went on, “It’s fine if you want to end with Flavor. Everyone thinks their discipline is the most important. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Everyone thinks that way? Who told you that?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” She picked up her pen and began writing out their schedule, keeping her eyes determinedly on the parchment. “So, we’ll start with Texture, then the coloring charm, then —”

“Hang on.” Boysen grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop writing. Reluctantly, she looked up at him. “Let’s get back to that sweeping statement you made about the entire baking world. Everyone secretly thinks their discipline is the most important? Did Cardamom tell you that?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “What’s the big deal?”

“And he also told you that old baking families are ruining the profession and persecuting poor ‘new’ bakers like him?”

She tugged her hand free, her cheeks flushing. “It’s been tough for him. He’s had to work really hard to get where he is.”

“So has everyone here,” Boysen said heatedly. “Old families don’t get any special treatment. Remember Aniseed? The Mints are as close to baking elite as it comes, and she was out the first term.”

“But a Meringue got the first Stellar Enchantment Pin,” Lyra shot back.

“Because she worked incredibly hard. You know that better than anyone.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “That’s not all she did.”

“About that…” His voice softened. “You want to tell me what happened between you and Caramelle?”

She paused, then shook her head. “I would rather not.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Boysen’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve already been over it with the Coulis?”

“No,” she said flatly. “Not with anyone.”

He stared at her, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

“I mean it,” she persisted. “Some notes should be left unsung, or they’ll spoil the harmony.”

“Whatever you say.”

She set her teacup down forcefully, nearly spilling tea across the parchment. “Sharps and flats, Boysen, what is your problem today?”

“Okay, okay.” He lifted his hands in another gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry, Lyra. Truly. You’re right. Some notes should be…”

“Left unsung,” she finished. “Or they’ll spoil the harmony.”

“Yes. That. Some flavors are too strong, so you leave them out of the stew. I get it.” Picking up a scone, he offered it to her with both hands. “I present you with this, the best of the batch, as a peace offering.”

Lyra eyed the scone. “Best of the batch? How can you tell?”

“Instinct.” He gave her his most winning grin. “Flavor’s all about gut, right?”

She studied him and the scone for a few more seconds. Then, sighing, she accepted the ‘peace offering’ and took a large bite.

“Yup,” she said after swallowing. “Best of the batch.”

He bowed his head with mock formality. Then his face took on an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I don’t want to argue, Lyra. I just want you to remember… Cardamom’s perspective is just that. His perspective. It’s not necessarily universal truth.”

“So he’s lying?”

“No.” Boysen gritted his teeth in exasperation. “I’m only saying… his experience is his experience. It won’t be the same for every baker. It might not be the same for you. And that’s okay. You don’t have to agree with him about everything automatically.”

Lyra looked down at her hands, remembering the moment when Cardamom had covered them with his own.

“He believes in me,” she said softly. “He thinks I could be something really special.”

“That, we can agree on.” The warmth in Boysen’s voice drew her eyes up to meet his. He smiled. “I amend my earlier statement. Anything nice the Coulis says about you, agree automatically. Everything else… maybe take it with a grain of salt.”

“A grain of cardamom?” she said innocently.

He grimaced. “Sure. Actually, that’s perfect. Tricky spice, cardamom. A little goes a long way.”

“Ha, ha.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Lyra finished her ‘best of the batch’ scone. Boysen took an inordinate interest in his tea, pouring another cup and adding cream with deliberate precision.

Slowly, Lyra’s insides stopped their uncomfortably rapid swirling. She took a long time fixing her own second cup of tea, following his example and keeping her eyes on the table.

What was all that about?

Boysen was supposed to be a safe space. He was the magic of Whisk, no question. What would the first term have been like without the haven of his smile? Lyra couldn’t imagine it. Frankly, she didn’t want to.

She also didn’t want to rock the boat again, but she wasn’t quite ready to abandon their earlier conversation just yet.

“So…” She took a deep breath. “You really don’t think Flavor is the most important? Not even a little bit, way deep down?”

Boysen thought for a while before answering, which she appreciated. It made it easier to believe him when he said, “No. Honestly, I don’t. And I can’t answer for Honeycomb, but I suspect she would say the same.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. “You think a Master of Flavor wouldn’t claim —”

“Nope.” He shook his head firmly. “Why do you think the academy is structured the way it is? Because a true baker needs to know all three disciplines, and respect their interdependence. The professors are experienced enough to understand that. Flavor is my favorite, and it comes the most naturally to me, but it can’t stand on its own. Neither can Texture, nor Presentation.”

“That’s what I thought,” Lyra confessed. “It’s just… Cardamom seemed so sure.”

“Which is why we take Cardamom’s words with —”

“A grain of cardamom. I know.” She gave him a determined smile. “Thank you.”

Now it was his eyes widening in surprise. “For what?”

“For… listening. Talking. Making breakfast,” Lyra answered.