Page 3 of The Sweetest Ingredient

Nodding, I set aside my mascara. “Solid advice so far.”

Chantel tugged down the hem of her dress. “And flirt, but not too much. Guys appreciate a touch of mystery.”

“And mention your art,” Bree said. “Who wouldn’t be impressed by someone who can create graphic magic?”

I smiled. “So, keep flirting to a minimum, no creepy smiles, channel my inner artist, and don’t squirrel out. Got it.”

Bree snatched up a perfume bottle and sprayed it on me before I could protest. The floral scent swirled in the air as my sister set the bottle on the dresser.

A hard rap on the front door made me flinch. We left the bedroom, crossed the living room, and I opened the door.

Mr. Perkins, our landlord, stood in the hallway with a sour expression. He was a short, balding man, with a few strands of gray hair stubbornly clinging to his head, and wearing an ill-fitting track suit.

“Miss Middleton,” he grumbled, handing me an envelope. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“Of course not, Mr. Perkins. Just heading out for a while.”

“Hopefully to a job. Because your rent is overdue.” He peered over my shoulder at Chantel and Bree as if they were accomplices in some grand conspiracy. “Here’s your eviction notice. You have thirty days to pay up or vacate the premises.”

I clutched at the doorframe with one hand, my knuckles turning white. “Is this because I brought that karaoke machine to the last tenants’ meeting? I promise, no more renditions of Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

My attempt at humor had no effect on the landlord.

“Have a nice day.” Mr. Perkins turned and waddled away.

I closed the door and leaned against it, staring at the eviction notice in my shaking hand, wondering if living in a tent wouldn’t be so bad. At least I wouldn’t have to duet with Gladys in 3B ever again.

“Kenzi, just breathe.” Chantel placed a hand on my shoulder, her voice as soothing as a warm mug of tea. “You’ve been in tight spots before and you always find a way out. You’re the queen of last-minute saves.”

“Chantel’s right,” Bree said. “We’ll get through this, sis.”

While I appreciated their support, it was like being handed a lollipop at the dentist—sweet, but not quite enough to take care of the looming rent-shaped cavity in my finances. My unemployment had stretched on longer than expected, and the thought of going on a date seemed absurd compared to the urgency of my financial predicament.

“I don’t think this is the best time for?—”

“No, you’re going, bestie,” Chantel said firmly. “Maybe this date will be the start of something amazing and you never know who you’ll meet.”

I laid the eviction notice on a stack of old art magazines. “Then I’m off to meet Mr. Darcy, or more likely, Mr. Collins.”

“Good luck!” Chantel said while Bree blew me a dramatic kiss.

As I hurried downstairs, a streak of midnight fur suddenly darted under my feet. Dodging the cat’s swipes, I dashed outside. Was this a bad omen? Crossing paths with a black cat?

So much for luck being on my side. This date was predestined for disaster.

Chapter Two

The moment I walked into Doughy Desires, my senses were bombarded with the sweet aroma of baked goods. Vintage chandeliers gave off a muted glow, casting shadows on the faded furnishings, and the glaring absence of customers emphasized the quiet atmosphere.

Geez, talk about a bleak place for a first date.

As I scanned the room, I spotted a man sitting alone at a table near the window. He looked up from his coffee and our gazes met. Ah, this must be my blind date. My best friend clearly knew my type: tall, dark, and brooding. His chiseled jawline, brown eyes, facial stubble, and dark-brown hair cropped on the sides and left spiky on top screamed bad boy in all the right ways.

A flutter of attraction struck my chest as I approached him, hoping this date would be more interesting and fun than job hunting.

I wore my most flirtatious smile. “Hi, I’m Kenzi Middleton.”

He took a sip of his coffee and moved aside a clipboard on the table. “You’re late.”

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