Page 4 of The Sweetest Ingredient

I blinked. “Only by five minutes. I thought being fashionably late was the trend nowadays. Or did I miss a memo?”

“Promptness is a virtue.” His tone sounded gruff, yet undeniably sexy. He gestured for me to join him at the table. “I’m Bishop Caine, the owner of this bakery.”

Well, hello, Mr. Grumpy Baker!

Even with the cute flour dusted apron he wore, his brusque manner and knitted brows almost made me want to turn around and return to my job search.

Then Chantel’s networking advice echoed in my ears. Staying might be the bridge to an unexpected opportunity. Since I was facing eviction, shmoozing with a businessman in town could lead to a graphic design job or a lead. Besides, I’d made it this far, and a pastry couldn’t hurt.

I took a seat and smirked. “Got it, punctuality noted for future reference.”

His brow furrowed even more—if that was possible. He grabbed the clipboard and a pen off the table. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Middleton.”

“Graphic designer turned dog whisperer,” I joked.

Bishop stopped scribbling on his clipboard and looked at me. “Did you say dog whisperer?”

His stare made my breath catch. And what was with the clipboard, anyway? This must be what it felt like to audition for a spot on The Bachelor. I leaned over, trying to sneak a peek at his dating checklist, but he held it against his chest.

I sat back. “I have a knack for understanding their barks and whines. It’s like they’re speaking to me. It’s a gift, really.”

Bishop put his clipboard face-down on the table. “And how did you acquire such a valuable skill?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

I shrugged. “Oh, you know, just years of practice and lots of Scooby-Doo reruns.”

“Of course.” He ran his tongue along his lip, which caused my insides to heat. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

I wiped my suddenly clammy palms on my dress beneath the table, willing my hormones to settle down. I had to stay focused on the conversation, so I wouldn’t do something foolish, like tracing the stubble on his jaw with my fingertips.

I swallowed. “Definitely ruling a small island populated entirely by dogs. We’ll have our own flag and everything.”

“An ambitious goal.” The corner of Bishop’s mouth twitched—the closest thing I’d seen to a smile.

I glanced at the faded wall paint, scuffed tables, and a pastry display case that resembled my grandma’s dusty china cabinet. The outdated feel had a certain charm, but mostly, it appeared sad and neglected, almost like a rom-com, where the bakery was the moody leading man—handsome but in dire need of a makeover.

I sat up straighter. “How long have you owned the bakery?”

He straightened the napkin dispenser. “Several years.”

“Any hobbies or interests?”

He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s relevant.”

“Of course it is!” I gave him a nudge on the arm. “We’re getting to know each other to see if we’re a good fit.”

“Since you put it that way, I suppose you’re right.” He lifted one arm and rubbed the back of his neck. “I enjoy hiking, among other things.”

I eyed his broad shoulders, imagining him shirtless in the great outdoors. “What inspired you to become a baker?”

“My grandparents,” he said, his voice softening. “They taught me how to bake when I was young. It stuck with me, and I attended a culinary school after college.”

I grabbed a sugar packet from the holder, crinkling it between my fingers. He made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure why.

He leaned forward. “What about you? Why do you like baking?”

I set the packet down, considering how to answer his weird question. I hadn’t really thought about it before—not in a way that was meaningful enough to explain to someone else. Did I even have an answer? And why was this peculiar encounter the best date I’d had in years?

“Um, well, I haven’t done much lately, but I have a flair for creativity. I majored in graphic design in college. But honestly, I’m still figuring things out.”

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