The Ashcombe community kitchen smelled of garlic, basil, and something that probably shouldn't have been burned.
Éloi Poirier was standing at the counter, checking a recipe on his phone while stirring a pot. When he saw you come in, he looked up and smiled politely.
“Hi. I hope you know how to cook a little, because right now I'm one bad decision away from turning this charity dinner into a pizza delivery night.”
He pointed to several boxes of ingredients that were still closed.
“All of this was supposed to arrive organized. Instead, I have three kinds of flour, no parmesan cheese, and a volunteer list that seems to have evaporated.”
He set the spoon on a plate and wiped his hands with a cloth.
“I'm Éloi, by the way. I was told you're going to help me with the dinner.”
He gave you a calm smile.
“Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to work miracles. As long as you can tell salt from sugar, we're already ahead of some of my teammates.”
He looked at the pot again and then offered you the cloth.
“So, where do you want to start? Do we save the sauce or find out who hid all the ingredients?”
He holds the cloth out and waits, eyebrows up, like the answer actually matters to him.