Page 5 of The Sweetest Ingredient

“Nothing wrong with that.” He pushed aside his coffee cup and shifted in his seat, his knee bumping mine.

We’d only touched for a second, yet I inhaled sharply, a flutter stirring low in my core.

He lifted his clipboard. “What’re your future goals, Miss Middleton?”

“Someday I’d like to specialize in pet treats and call them Pawsitively Delicious.”

Bishop lifted his pen and doodled on the clipboard. “Interesting.”

Clinking dishes from the kitchen area echoed through the quiet room. The sun filtering through the windows caught the chiseled planes of his face and the stubble gracing his cheeks and jaw, making him look even more stern.

“Do you live in Serenity Falls?”

He nodded. “I was born here, and after culinary school, I took over the family bakery.”

Resting an elbow on the table, I propped my head up with my hand and sighed dramatically. “Ah, a man who can bake. Be still, my heart.”

He held my gaze as his fingers slowly traced the rim of his coffee cup. “Is that all it takes?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate right through me.

“Good-looks and baked goods go a long way, Mr. Caine.” I leaned in closer, giving him my most coquettish grin. “But trust me, I’m not that easy to win over.”

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Not sure I needed to know that.”

“Anyway,” I said with a wave of my hand. “How is it we’ve never met before?”

“I didn’t grow up in town. I went to boarding school, but we’re getting off track,” Bishop said dryly. “How much experience do you have baking?”

“Does binge-watching baking shows count as experience?” I laughed. “Wow, you really like baking, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, I find the precision of baking...therapeutic. I like baking because it’s an art that demands precision and patience—qualities I find grounding.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me, how well can you handle yeast?”

Grinning, I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “Once, I had a deep conversation with a packet of yeast about rising up against the oppressive flour regime. And I’m happy to report that they’re currently living their best lives in a sourdough commune.”

Bishop stared at me, his mouth open, then slowly shook his head. He scribbled on his clipboard. “I must admit, you have quite the unique outlook on baking, and I like your sense of whimsy.”

“Whimsy is my middle name. Well, actually it’s Diane, but you get the idea.” I tilted my head. “Are you usually this serious?”

“Always.”

Whenever he spoke, I found myself inclining closer, drawn to his every word, and forced myself to sit back. “And what do you look for in a partner?”

“Dedication, punctuality, and a skilled hand with pastries. You?”

“A sense of fun, charm, and perhaps…a smidgen of broodiness.” I grinned, and was already hoping for a second date despite his gruffness. "Well, I can certainly whisk up some dedicated punctuality and whip my pastry skills into shape if that's a deal breaker."

He leaned back, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table. We sat in silence for several minutes, the quiet of the empty bakery enveloping us, punctuated only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant grumblings of a dishwasher.

“Your approach is refreshing and it's rare to find someone who sees beyond the flour and sugar to the art beneath. It’s about passion, isn't it? That's what I look for in my team." He locked eyes with me, a seriousness in his gaze that matched the gravity of his words. “You’ve got the kind of perspective that can transform the mundane into something meaningful. You have interesting qualities for a bakery assistant.”

I blinked in confusion. “Wait. What? “

Bishop folded his arms “Most people would’ve come in here bragging about the pastries they’ve baked. But you? You’re different. Look, I’m not only after baking proficiency—we need great customer service, too. My bakery has been slow the last few months, if you haven’t noticed, and I have a feeling that someone with your outgoing personality might just be the lifeblood we need to attract more customers...” He paused, glancing at his clipboard. “Interested?”

Huh? What was happening?

“So, just to confirm you’re not…and this isn’t…” A blind date?

“I’m offering you a job. I want you to work for me, Miss Middleton.”

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