The Gossip File
“I mostly have to put the pastries in the oven and take them out again when the timer goes off. Any robot with oven mitts could do this job.
I taste a cooling croissant and cringe. It’s not awful, but there’s a suspicious aftertaste to it, almost like black pepper.
“Disgusting, right?” Taylor says, seeing my face. “We’re pretty sure all the stuff here is made at a spice factory. The resort must get it at a really good price.”
Carrie snorts. “Too bad no one actually wants to eat donuts that taste like”—she takes a bite—“basil.”
I’m tempted to ask why we can’t make the pastries from scratch, but I don’t want to rock the boat, not when I’m only going to be here for a couple of days.
At around 8 a.m., the breakfast rush starts. Some of the people who bustle into the café are clearly tourists who are staying at the hotel (based on their golf clothes and flip-flops), but most of the customers are resort employees who are there for their morning iced-coffee fix.
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