Page 9 of The Sweetest Ingredient

She didn’t smile at my terrible pun, but Jordan snickered.

Lucia eyed me skeptically. Her dark hair had streaks of gray at the sides and temples, spilling out of her tight bun that made her resemble a strict librarian who’d just discovered a wayward overdue book. I’d better watch my back with her. I didn’t need any frenemies.

“Start by frosting those scones,” Lucia ordered.

I went to the sink, washed my hands, and then slipped on gloves. Ensuring my hair was securely pulled up, I moved to the vacant counter space. Lucia observed me warily, her lips pressed firmly together.

“What are you waiting for?” Lucia waved a spatula at me like a sword of justice. She seized a piping bag and thrust it into my hands.

A wave of nervousness hit me, given my lack of experience. But why dwell on trivial details?

Sure, the stakes were higher than my stack of unpaid bills at home, but I couldn’t let them catch onto the fact that my expertise came from a night spent binge-watching baking shows on Netflix and not from working with an actual oven. My sister, my dog, and let’s not forget my landlord’s incessant love for timely rent payments, were all counting on me.

As I started practicing my piping skills on the tray of scones, Lucia returned to drizzling colorful sprinkles onto a batch of cookies.

Jordan faced me. “Did the boss fill you in on the annual bake-off yet? It’s the most important day of the year for us. The two bakeries in town and a few townsfolk go head-to-head, showing off the tastiest and most imaginative pastries.”

“It sounds very competitive,” I said.

“Oh, it is, for sure.” Jordan went back to work.

Holding the piping bag, I was suddenly struck with memories of my grandma, the pet treat creation queen. I choked back a lump swelling in my throat. Her big smile flashed through my mind, and that familiar heartache made itself at home in my chest. I resumed icing the scones, and thought about her recipe for dog biscuits, wondering if I could somehow recreate them and honor her memory.

When I finished frosting, I set the piping bag down. “What should I do next?”

“Before you start on another project,” Jordan said, “you should probably check in with the boss.”

He led me into an alcove, where Bishop was glazing cupcakes.

“Bishop, Kenzi’s here. I know you’re busy, but do you have a minute?” Jordan said.

I waved at my boss. “Hello.”

Bishop gave me a curt nod. Seeing him again did peculiar things to my heartbeat. His well-defined arms, sexy brown eyes, and spiky, dark-brown hair could easily rival the dashing heroes of any Austen novel. That is, if Mr. Darcy had traded in his ruffled shirt for a V-neck black shirt, darkwash jeans that clung to him in all the right places, and a baker’s apron.

Bishop didn’t smile or offer any pleasantries. “I hope you’re ready to apply yourself and learn quickly.”

I gave him a mock-serious nod. “Sure. I’ve already binge-watched, like three seasons of The Great Baking Show, so I’m basically a pro at this point.”

Jordan smiled, but the stern-faced Bishop only grunted.

“I forgot you were funny.” Bishop raised one eyebrow. “We’ll see if your peculiar humor translates into skill.”

“Not to worry. I mean, baking is like creating art, but with flour...and potentially fire.”

“Let’s avoid the latter.” Bishop handed me a clean pink apron from a hook on the wall. “We need more frosting. Can you work on that?”

“Okay.” I tied on the apron. “How much are we talking?”

“Enough to frost an army of cupcakes,” Jordan said. “Come with me.”

Jordan escorted me to a counter laden with the usual suspects for frosting—butter, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and milk. Beside them was a small note scribbled with what looked like a simple recipe.

I grinned. Thank the baking gods!

Pouring the sugar into the mixing bowl, I paused. Was it one cup or two? Well, two sounded sweeter. Adding a dash of vanilla and milk, I frowned. Icing was supposed to be fluffy, not watery. I’d go easy on the milk.

With a deep breath, I channeled my inner-artist and began blending the ingredients, careful not to over mix. The mixer hummed along, and my concoction began to take on a surprisingly decent consistency.

---