On his TV show, Klaus Mikaelson rescues failing restaurants. In all his experience, he's never encountered a hidden gem quite like Caroline Forbes.

Klaus had seen a lot of failing restaurants in his day. It was absurd to him that he'd built a career on revamping these places for a television show, especially when he missed running his own kitchen. But he'd found a niche and some small celebrity, and he did enjoy the opportunity to grind the egos of bad owners under his heel.

Damon Salvatore, however, was proving to be in a category all his own.

"I shouldn't have to explain why it's necessary to order fresh produce when what you already have spoils," he bit out, pinching the bridge of his nose. The prat just stood there, his arms crossed in defiance as he tried to explain about the costs he'd been cutting. Stefan, the brother who actually had to cook the food, at least managed to look remorseful. "If these are the choices you're making, you deserve to go out of business."

When the brothers started to argue their case, Klaus stormed out of their office. He didn't care what they had to say; nothing excused sacrificing the quality of their product, especially at the expense of their customers' health.

It was unfortunate, too, because Giuseppe's Italian Eatery had some of the best desserts ever seen on the show. The place was a local haunt with comfort food and a homey presentation. The patisserie, though, was technically perfect and beautifully plated. While he might have been concerned to have such a disconnect between the dinner and dessert menus, Klaus pored through the numbers his own staff had compiled in their pre-show research. If anything, their pastry chef was a draw in and of herself.

In Klaus's particular opinion, Caroline Forbes was far too good to be working for the Salvatores.

Too annoyed to put up with the brothers for another moment, he made his way to the kitchen. As he expected, it was mostly empty but for the woman leaning heavily on a rolling pin as she flattened out a disk of dough. "I thought everyone went home to clean up for dinner service."

Caroline glanced up before focusing once more on her task. "Everyone else doesn't have to worry about laminating puff pastry for the dessert special tonight," she explained. "If I don't get enough layers folded into it, the apple tarts won't flake right."

"Can't have that," he teased. When she bit back a smile, his own spread wide on his face. He sobered at the attention she paid to the evenness of her dough, however. "You're a more dedicated employee than Damon Salvatore deserves, that's for sure."

She opened her mouth to answer - in kind, he assumed - but she seemed to think better of it. Pressing her lips together, she finally met his gaze with a stony frown. "Look, your critiques were fair," she said, likely referring to the dressing down he gave both brothers for the quality of the dining experience they were trying to sell. "More than fair, even, since Damon is the absolute worst and refuses to take any of my suggestions for actual efficiency. But Stefan is a friend, and he's a good cook when he doesn't let Damon handle the grocery list."

Klaus shrugged, leaning back against the opposite counter as she stared him down. "Maybe so, but Stefan doesn't appear willing to part ways. How long do you think this place lasts if they won't take my advice?"

Sighing, Caroline took to folding her dough in careful layers before wrapping it back up. "This is one of two restaurants in the area," she said. "I think it'll last, it'll just be miserable for everyone if things don't change."

"You wouldn't have to stay," he pointed out. "I could connect you with chefs all over the country, several of whom would take your skills in a heartbeat. Anywhere you want to go, I'll make sure you get there."

Her eyes were wide and shining, like she couldn't believe he was real. "Why do you care?"

He crossed his arms and regarded her carefully. "You're good, and you deserve better than Giuseppe's. Where did you train? And don't feed me some Southern drawl, granny's kitchen sob story. You've been taught, and taught well."

"Grandma Forbes absolutely passed down a recipe or two," Caroline retorted. "I also went to school in New York for a bit."

That made him frown. "Most patisserie schools have a high placement rate for those who finish."

She let out a shaky breath, which only made him frown more. "I didn't finish," she answered simply. "I was needed at home, so here I am. Stefan was nice enough to let me wreak havoc on his menu, the one fight with Damon he won."

"A well-picked battle," Klaus nodded, gently sidestepping the personal details she alluded to. "Damon doesn't strike me as the type to be reasonable in any scenario."

"He gives me hell whenever I demand the good chocolate, but I always get it." With a wicked grin, Caroline turned to place her dough in the refrigerator. "I bug the crap out of him because he knows he can't fire me. Some people only come here for dessert, and that's all me. It drives him nuts, which is a fringe benefit, really."

Chuckling, Klaus couldn't resist a fond smile at her petty tone. "You could always start your own place, rid yourself of the Salvatores altogether."

But she hesitated again, all humor drained from her face. "No, it's too big an investment. I take some specialty orders on the side, Stefan lets me use the kitchen here during off hours, since I usually clean it better than his crew. This is fine for now."

"You won't leave because home needs you, but you won't establish yourself on your own terms? I'm confused, love." His first impression of her had come with blazing glares and biting remarks. She wasn't a woman who scared easily, even when faced with a seasoned professional and his biased camera crew.

Her smile was a weak, rueful thing. "I don't know if you know this," she said, her voice dripping with irony, "but restaurants are an expensive business. Bakeries, too. A lot of them fail, some so badly that a TV show comes in and tries to save them from themselves."

"I've heard something to that effect," he noted drily.

"I don't make a lot," she admitted, "but I'm comfortable, and that's enough for me. For my mom."

Understanding washed over him like cold water, and all Klaus could offer was a sad nod. "Home needs you," he repeated, far more kindly than he did before. "You're still too talented for Giuseppe's."

Caroline laughed, looking far more comfortable than he felt at the realization he was going to have to leave her to this small town life. "It's this or the Grille, which is better suited to loaded brownies and ice cream sundaes. I do make pies for them, though."

"Of course you do." While he thought she could do so much more, he had no doubt Caroline Forbes exhausted every opportunity available to her in Mystic Falls. "If you change your mind," he said, privately hoping she would do so quickly, "feel free to give me a call."

She accepted the card he offered, but not without some skepticism. "Do you do this at all the restaurants you help? Pick the pretty girl and try to talk her into following you across the country?"

"You're very pretty," he agreed with a grin. "You're also an excellent pastry chef. I assure you, I usually leave my producer's card for the people I meet while filming. That's my private line for people I actually want to call. And," he plucked it from her hands to write on the back before returning it. "That's my personal cell, if you'd care to have it."

Slipping her tongue between her lips, Caroline shook her head. But he was relieved that her mouth pulled up into an easy smile. "Smooth. I see why they gave you a TV show."

He smirked. "I'm here for the weekend, flying out on Monday. Perhaps I could tempt you for breakfast before I go?"

"You'll have to be smoother than that," she replied. He really did mean just breakfast, but he liked that her mind considered him for more. Still, he was relieved that she pocketed his card all the same. "Let's see how the weekend goes first."

Nodding, Klaus promised himself he'd do his best to make Giuseppe's a better place for her to thrive. All else aside, Caroline deserved at least that.