Page 17 of The Sweetest Ingredient

I blew out a breath, believing the universe wanted my confession postponed a little longer. “We should probably help pick up those books.”

What was I thinking, anyway? I couldn’t risk telling him my secret and losing my job, not when I still needed to pay off my bills.

We both rose from our seats, making our way to the scattered books. Bishop handed me hardbacks while I stacked them neatly on the floor.

Two employees rushed over and righted the bookshelf. They finished re-stacking the toppled books, and we returned to the reading nook.

I grasped my novel. “I should get going. Bree’s expecting me soon.”

Bishop nodded. “Of course. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

Warmth rushed through me at the invitation. “Definitely.”

We gathered our belongings and made our way to the friendly lady behind the counter. I kept peeking at Bishop, feeling a bit sad that our day together was ending.

As we exited the bookshop, the wind decided to play hairdresser and sent a rogue curl pirouetting across my face. Bishop eased the strands away, his fingers grazing my forehead and making my skin tingle.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and walked along the sidewalk.

I watched him retreat, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was no denying it now—I liked Bishop Caine. And soon I’d have to reveal my secret. One that could threaten everything between us.

Chapter Seven

From the front counter, I assisted four of the bakery’s regular customers with their pastry orders. Once they departed, I scanned the vacant shop. Each day we had fewer visitors. While I cleaned the tables, Lucia and Bishop busied themselves in the kitchen, attending to a phone order for a retirement party delivery.

I sighed. After our afternoon spent at the bookshop, I liked Bishop even more, which made the guilt of my lie weigh heavily on me, like a bag of flour hanging from my neck.

Did I risk telling him the truth? Or did I cling to this job like that stubborn bit of dough on the mixer?

Sure, honesty may be the best policy, but if I confessed...where would that leave my sister and pup?

A battle between integrity and self-preservation raged within me. And survival won out. This job provided security unless, of course, I got caught.

Bishop, wearing his trademark apron, bustled out of the kitchen and refilled the coffeemaker with fresh grounds. “Have the others told you about the upcoming bake-off?”

“Jordan mentioned it.”

Bishop frowned, his forehead creased. “I’m worried that if we lose the competition, we might as well rebrand my bakery to Doughy Disasters.”

“Charming name. I’ll design the logo,” I teased, but then, noticing his somber expression, my smile faded. “Just kidding. No pressure, then.”

He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers. “Winning the bake-off could improve business.”

I studied his chiseled face, stern brows, and a jawline that could cut glass or possibly chocolate cake. Under the apron, Bishop wore a snug-fitting, dark-blue shirt that accentuated his toned physique, the fabric molding to his muscular frame, and causing my heart to do a funny little jig. My gaze drifted over the lean lines of his jeans, appreciating how they embraced his sturdy thighs. On his feet were pristine white sneakers, seemingly too immaculate for the hazards of the kitchen.

He touched my hand. A ripple of desire zipped through me from where his fingers brushed mine, my skin tingling at the friction.

“Kenzi? Still with me?”

Caught in my shameless ogling, my cheeks were undoubtedly a shade resembling ripe tomatoes.

“We need to remind people why we used to be the undefeated champions in Serenity Falls. I’ll enter my signature cupcakes into the competition,” he said, austere pride in his voice.

“But don’t you enter them into the bake-off every year? What if we went beyond cupcakes and showcased something more daring? Like...tarts or trifles?” Or pet treats?

“I like to stick to the traditional menu,” he said firmly. “I want to win that baking competition and beat my cousin Maxwell. He owns Sweet Sensations, the only other bakery in town.”

“He’s a relative? And you both own bakeries? That’s weird…”

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