Blame it on the Mistletoe

Chapter 1

Of all the places Santana should be right about now, the kitchen isn't one of them – and yet, here she is tossing out yet another failed attempt at plating up the star of her next menu. She's been at this for hours and she's just about ready to scrap the dish altogether, which only fuels her ego. With her expertise and years of apprenticeship under one of the most talented chefs in the country, there's no way her downfall will be at the hands of a perfectly roasted quail breast.

"Maybe it's the plate," Santana mutters to herself as she sorts through her stash of plate samples.

Her sous-chef lingers on the opposite side of the stainless-steel bench, keeping a look out for the owners. "Five minutes, Chef."

"Heard."

There's only a matter of time before someone notices that she hasn't left yet but Santana takes advantage of every second until then. She is one month out from launching the new tasting menu for winter which means she has even less time left to finalize. From the carefully selected stoneware sourced from Japan to the delicately plucked petals placed upon each piece of preserved plum. Santana has put everything into this menu but, being the perfectionist she is, everything has to be flawless.

And it will be, she'll make sure of it...so long as the owners let her work in peace. A lot of meticulous planning goes into a new menu so, forgive her if attending some gaudy award ceremony in the heart of the city instead of figuring out a way to make this quail breast her bitch is the last thing she wants to do.

"I think this is it," Santana notes as she starts placing the components on the new plate. She doesn't usually opt for a white canvas, but it allows for the vibrant pea puree to really pop.

"Looks really good, Chef."

Santana nods. "Can you pass me the garnish." A plastic container filled with edible flowers slides into her view. She uses her offset tweezers to position the primrose petals and twists the plate when she's finished, looking for the best angle.

Her sous-chef leans in to admire the final product. "Yeah, this is definitely it."

Suddenly, the kitchen doors fling open causing both chefs hard at work to flinch. Santana winds up to go off on whoever the hell just barged into her sanctuary prior to service starting but falls short when she finds one of the owners fuming.

"Oh my God! What are you still doing here, Santana? You should've been in hair and make-up two hours ago!" Rachel shrieks as she moves further into Santana's safe space. "I paid good money for that!"

"I don't need to go to hair and make-up. I'm smokin' hot as it is," Santana quips. Her sous-chef tries to hide her laughter but Rachel notices.

"Don't laugh, Quinn. This is serious!" Rachel rants. "This the first time Understudy has been nominated for anything, history is being made tonight and we aren't even being represented properly! Santana, you need to go get ready right now!"

"What I need to do is finish this menu," Santana counters as she crosses her arms. "You were the one that decided to bring the launch date forward. Hate to break it to you Berry, but I'm not going."

"Kurt!" Rachel shouts, looking like she's about to burst a blood vessel. The co-owner enters the kitchen at full speed with a frantic look on his face.

"Why are you screaming? Has someone lost a limb?" He pauses when he sees Santana. "Nevermind, I see the problem."

"She says she's not going. Talk some sense into her before I fire her," Rachel says.

"Please, you can't fire me. You'd miss me too much," Santana teases. "And before you even start, Kurt, I already told you both weeks ago that I wasn't going to this stupid thing tonight. I don't know why you're surprised I'm still here."