Page 19 of Never Let You Go

She bats her eyelashes. Not in a way that wants to be cute. More like she’s trying to get rid of something that’s bothering her.

“I have to become a baker in order to keep my job at Red Barn,” she says. “And they said I have to complete my apprenticeship here. With you. They need me to pass the French baking exam. They told you that, right?”

She seems like a smart girl. So why does she put up with shit like that? “That sounds right,” I say. “They treat their employees like shit, just like their customers.”

Her eyes widen for a beat and her cheeks color. “Wait—what did they tell you about me?”

They didn’t tell me anything. The foundation that gave me my grant said I needed to take in an apprentice, and so I did. I didn’t ask anything about the apprentice.

“Nothing,” I say. I stand and look out the window, my back to Alexandra. Even if I don’t have any reason to question her honesty, something’s off. City girls who work in marketing aren’t the bread and butter of baking apprenticeships. Unless, that is, they’ve decided to turn their life around and pursue some lifelong calling. Not the case here, from the looks of it.

My brain needs something neutral to focus on. Something that’s not the hot new apprentice with questionable motives to be here.

Justin’s pub shines across The Green. Although it’s been pitch dark outside for a while now, it’s still fairly early, and occasionally the door to the pub opens to let a couple or a group in or out, spilling light on the sidewalk. And if you know what you’re listening for, you can hear accents of music too. Up on the hill, lights from farmhouses twinkle. A car’s headlights gently swerve in the darkness. It’s simple, and peaceful.

It’s the best place on earth.

“Where do you work? Offices?” I ask.

“Y-yeah.”

“Where?”

“Midtown.”

“That’s—Manhattan? High rise? You have a view on other buildings? What does it smell like?” I can’t begin to imagine it.

“Thirty-second floor. No view. No smell.”

“That’s gotta be the worst. So, let me get this straight,” I say, turning back toward her. She sits up and nods like she knows where I’m going with this. Like she’s been through the same thought process and empathizes with me.

“You’re here to learn enough of baking so you can pass an exam, so that you can then sit in an office and help make an industrial bakery that poisons people, millions more dollars?”

Yeah, she’s just as puzzled as I am.

Just not angry about it.

“You could put it that way, I guess?” She squirms in her chair. “Although the poisoning part?” She scrunches up her nose, purses her full, rosy lips. “Debatable?”

And in that moment, I want to debate it with her. Make her understand what baking is about. What food is about.

I also want to kiss away her worry frown.

“So, explain it to me. What is it that you do, daily.” I lean against the kitchen counter, towering over her, but from a safe distance.

She starts explaining the stuff she does, and every now and then throws some jargon, but not in an arrogant manner. More in the way of people who’re really good at their job. Breathe it. Her hands get animated and tell half of the story. Her eyes squint.

Her lips take all sorts of interesting shapes.

I’m not listening to what she says, but I’m totally digging the passion she has.

What am I going to do with her?

“I guess they wanted me to experience the real thing,” she says as a manner of conclusion.

My gaze flicks back to her eyes. There’s a quick recognition on her end that she caught me ogling her mouth. “So they sent you here?”

“You’re supposed to be the best baker in the country. Right?” She does a quick scan of my body, and I hope that glint is not what I think it is, because if she’s attracted to me the way I’m attracted to her… well, hell.

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