Page 63 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

I would like to keep talking, but Damon comes forward and knocks on the window. We both get out, and June grabs my arm, pulling me aside. My friend has a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So, Emma,” she begins, her voice conspiratorial. “Yesterday? Spill the beans! I’d bet things got…really heated last night.”

I flush, caught off guard by her bluntness. “We just left the club to talk things out, June,” I hedge, hoping to avoid the details.

“You left to where?”

“His house. We needed a quiet place to talk.”

June raises an eyebrow. “And that’s all you did? Talk?”

My cheeks burn as my eyes drift over to Liam, seeing him grin as he and Damon exchange words by the car. He looks relaxed, carefree. Seeing him so at ease, the earlier vulnerability vanishing without a trace, sparks a flicker of understanding.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

“No,” I shake my head lamely, searching for a way to deflect further questioning. June isn't known for letting things go easily, but thankfully, Damon’s voice cuts in.

“Alright ladies,” he sings in a playful tone, “shall we get to the important stuff? Free cake awaits! Sweetheart?”

June chuckles, taking her husband’s outstretched arm. “Don’t get too eager. I’m making sure you don’t eat too much so you can fit into your suit on the big day.”

“What do you mean? I’m fit.” Damon gasps, checking himself out. “I haven't had a decent slice of cake in ages, now. Don’t be a joy-killer.”

We all laugh as we enter the bakery, greeted by the warm aroma of sugar and vanilla. The interior is set beautifully with towering display cases filled with an array of delectable pastries. A friendly-faced woman with a flour-dusted apron appears behind the counter, a welcoming smile on her lips.

“Welcome!” she greets warmly. “We have your cake tasting reserved for this afternoon. Are you ready to get started?”

“Absolutely!” Damon booms, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Let's see what culinary delights you have in store for us today.”

June rolls her eyes as the woman leads us to a secluded table in the back, presenting us with a menu of tasting options. The next half-hour unfolds in a delightful battle of tastes and textures. We sample a variety of creations—decadent chocolate cakes, light and fluffy chiffon cakes, fruit-filled delights bursting with flavor.

We’re still undecided when Liam points to the most traditional-looking cake on the list—a three-tiered monstrosity with layers of vanilla cake, buttercream frosting, and an avalanche of plastic flowers adorning the top.

“Classic vanilla for the win every time,” he declares, a smug smile playing on his lips.

I shoot him a playful glare. “Come on, Liam,” I tease. “Have some imagination! This isn't some grandmother's birthday party.”

He chuckles, “It’s the best one here.” He takes a bit of it. “This red velvet,” he pronounces, savoring a bite, “has a hint of citrus in the frosting. Interesting twist, but it clashes with the richness of the cake itself.”

To my surprise, the bakery owner nods in agreement with a delighted smile. “Exactly! We were aiming for a subtle tang to balance the sweetness, but it seems you have a very refined palate, sir.”

I take a bite of the cake, and my eyes widen at the taste. June and Damon taste it too, and settle for that cake.

Liam looks at me and spreads his arms, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. I watch him with a grin, a newfound respect bubbling within me. This man, who can be so frustratingly arrogant at times, but he has the charm that I can no longer deny.

Later, as we finalize our cake design with the baker, I ask him, unable to contain my curiosity. “So,” I start, leaning in conspiratorially, “how do you know so much about cake?”

Liam chuckles, a hint of pride in his voice. “Well,” he begins, “turns out I've dabbled in a bit of baking.”

I raise an eyebrow, skepticism etched on my face. “You? Baking?”

He beams. “Don't knock it till you try it.”

“He’s right.” Damon, catching the tail end of our conversation, chuckles heartily. “Liam here once baked us a cake during an expedition. It was the birthday of one of the kids at the IDP camp in Liberia. He didn’t have much to work with, but the smiles on the kids’ faces were priceless.”

I turn toward him, my mouth hanging open. Liam shrugs noncommittally. “I learned from my mom. She owns a popular bakery in California.”

I blink in surprise. “Your mom owns a bakery? Which one?”

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