The children's charity event, despite the hamster drama, was a resounding success, thanks in no small part to Hammy making a triumphant appearance, delivered personally by Ellie Chen. President Sterling even made a passing joke in his speech about "the resilience of small creatures, especially those found unexpectedly in one's study," which earned him a bewildered look from the Senator and a suppressed giggle from Ellie.
Days turned into weeks, and Ellie's rhythm in the White House became more assured. She still had her moments – like the time she accidentally polished a bronze bust of a former president so vigorously that his nose acquired a blinding, almost blindingly reflective sheen, making him look perpetually surprised. Or the day she mistook a sensitive document shredder for a coffee grinder and very nearly shredded the Vice President's lunch order. But overall, she was getting better.
Her bond with President Sterling, though entirely unconventional, continued to grow. He'd often "forget" his reading glasses in his study just so she'd have to bring them in, leading to brief, often humorous exchanges. He'd ask her about Xanadu, about her family, even about her opinions on mundane things like the best way to fold a fitted sheet (Ellie had very strong opinions on this). He seemed to genuinely value her unpretentious honesty, a stark contrast to the carefully curated flattery he usually received.
One afternoon, the White House kitchen was in a frenzy. A State Dinner was planned for the notoriously finicky Ambassador from a small, affluent European nation known for its exquisite cuisine. The menu was a closely guarded secret, designed to impress. Ellie was in the kitchen, carefully scrubbing a stubborn grease stain off a stainless-steel counter, mostly out of habit.
Chef Antoine Dubois, a flamboyant Frenchman with a perpetually worried expression, hovered over a magnificent, towering dessert. "Magnifique!" he declared, adjusting a tiny spun-sugar swan. "A masterpiece! The Soufflé Royale, Ambassador Dubois's favorite! It must be perfect!"
Ellie, ever curious, leaned closer. "Oh, Chef! It looks like a cloud! Is it very delicate?"
"Delicate, Miss Chen? It is an angel's whisper! A culinary dream! One wrong step, and it collapses like... like the current peace talks in the Middle East!" Chef Antoine mopped his brow dramatically.
Just then, the phone rang, and Chef Antoine rushed to answer it, leaving the Soufflé Royale momentarily unattended. Ellie, mesmerized by its ethereal beauty, wanted to get a closer look. She reached out, drawn to the shimmering sugarwork.
Her hand, unfortunately, brushed against a shelf above, knocking down a small container of what she thought was ordinary sugar. A fine, white powder rained down onto the delicate soufflé, settling like a layer of fresh snow.
"Oh, just a little extra sweetness," Ellie muttered to herself, oblivious. She gave the soufflé a final admiring nod and returned to her scrubbing.
Minutes later, Chef Antoine returned, his face a picture of grim determination. He looked at the soufflé, then gasped dramatically. "Mon Dieu! What is this?! What have you done, Miss Chen?!"
Ellie looked up, confused. "Oh, I just added a little sugar, Chef. For extra sweetness. It was a little dusty up there."
Chef Antoine stared at the container in her hand, then at the soufflé, then back at the container. His face went from worried to horrified to utterly apoplectic. "Sugar?! Sugar?! Miss Chen, that is not sugar! That is... that is the Ambassador's special, low-sodium, organic, gluten-free, no-sugar, artisanal SEA SALT! He has a severe sodium sensitivity! One bite, and he will... he will explode with sodium!"
Ellie stared at the container. Sure enough, "Artisanal Sea Salt" was written on it in tiny letters. Her eyes widened in horror. Sea salt. On a soufflé. For a diplomat with a sodium sensitivity. This wasn't just a culinary disaster; this was a potential international health crisis. And it was all her fault. Again. She had turned a diplomatic delicacy into a dietary disaster.