Page 37 of Sweet Somethings

"Last time I got the Princess Burger," she replied. "But I don't think you want that one. I doubt it's manly enough for you."

He grinned, reading the colorfully written description of a petite burger topped with lettuce, tomato, and sweet pickles. "Definitely not enough meat."

"You should go for the Royal Flush burger. Three patties, two layers of cheese, topped off with veggies and secret sauce."

"And that's a little too much meat. Maybe I'll get the Prince." He stepped up to the counter to order.

As he finished, Juliette said, "I'm paying, so just move aside. I'll take the Princess Burger," she added. "No sauce, please."

"Got it. One Prince and one naked Princess," the kid manning the register yelled back to the line of cooks.

Roman laughed. "Naked princess. Now that I like."

She smiled back at him. "Don't get any ideas."

It was a good warning. Unfortunately, it was coming too late. He'd been getting ideas about her since the first moment they'd met—actually before that. His body had been stirring with attraction since he'd spotted her through the bakery windows.

Pushing that thought away, he decided to grab a table while Juliette paid for their order.

He found one outside on the deck. It was a sunny, brisk day and he figured they might as well take advantage of the weather with a seat near the railing overlooking the water.

Juliette joined him a moment later with two glasses of water. "This is nice," she said, settling in the chair across from him. "It's been awhile since I've been out to lunch. What about you?"

"I eat out a fair amount."

"That's right. I saw the empty cupboards in the house."

He sipped his water. "You've been snooping a lot today."

She made a face at him. "I could try to deny that, but I won't. What kind of stories was Donna telling you while I was looking around?"

"She told me all about her days as an actress. Apparently, she was breaking a lot of hearts back then. She did mention that her husband died of a heart attack three years ago."

"I wonder if that's when she stopped paying attention to her bills. In her generation, the woman often left that kind of job to the man. I remember my parents arguing about the bills, but it was reversed. My mother cared about the bills; my dad was all about the baking."

"What about you? Whose footsteps do you walk in?"

"Both of them. I love the baking, like my dad. He was my inspiration to become a pastry chef, but I have to care about the business or I don't have enough money to buy ingredients to bake. It's different, because it's just me. I don't have a husband or an investor; I have to make things work."

"Do you have any family besides your aunt?"

"Some distant cousins I never see."

He rested his arms on the table, curious to know more about her. "Did you like New York at all?"

"Not in the beginning. You thought you didn't fit in when you came here, well, I was definitely a fish out of water in New York. I had a Southern accent. I dressed funny. I was sad, so sad, in the beginning that I couldn't talk to anyone. I couldn't even go into my aunt's kitchen. It felt wrong to bake without my father. So I did pretty much nothing but sleep and watch mindless TV. I don't think I made a friend for at least a year."

"That's hard to believe. You're such a friendly person."

"I was lost for a while. I know you can relate. We both had to make big changes in our teen years. Even though the reasons were different, the result was the same."

"That's true."

"But New York eventually grew on me. My aunt tried hard to make a home for me. She used to take me bike riding and horseback riding in Central Park so I could see trees and sit on the grass and feel like I wasn't living in a concrete jungle; it helped. Eventually, I made friends and I started to appreciate the museums and the theater and the excitement of the city."

"But you still wanted to come back here."

"I always knew I would. When you left, you swore you'd never come back, but when I left, I made the opposite promise—that I would one day return and live in the place that's really home to me." She paused. "My friends thought I was insane to move here, but I just knew I had to do it, especially after I won the baking competition and I had the money. The amount wouldn't have let me do anything in New York City, but here I could pay rent on bakery space and an apartment—my landlord offered me the studio upstairs for practically nothing. And I still have enough money to buy my ingredients and make my desserts."

---