Page 49 of Sweet Somethings

He hesitated. "It's getting late."

"Not that late." Her restless feeling had vanished, replaced by excitement and anticipation.

"I could come up, I guess," he muttered. "But weren't you just going somewhere?"

"I was thinking about doing some prep work for tomorrow's baking, but I can leave it until morning. That's only a few hours from now anyway." She opened the door. "Come in."

"What time do you start work?" he asked, following her up the stairs.

"Five, sometimes four, depending on how much I have to do."

"Seriously?"

"How do you think all the cakes and cookies get made and put into the display case?"

"I guess I didn't think about the actual baking part."

"The most important part." She unlocked her door and moved into the studio apartment, taking a quick look to make sure she didn't have any underwear lying around, but thankfully she'd done laundry earlier in the day, and everything was neatly folded in the basket by the bathroom. "As you can see, it's not very big."

"But it is very you," he said, his gaze sweeping the room, noting the double bed, the desk by the window, the dresser with the small, ancient TV on the top, the armchair and ottoman where she spent any spare time she had reading. There was a small bathroom off the kitchenette, which boasted an oven with stovetop, a refrigerator, a microwave, and a couple of cabinets. But while the furnishings were worn and simple in design, she'd added colorful throw blankets to the bed and the chair, a couple of plants by the window, and some family pictures on the desk to make it feel more homey.

Roman wandered over to those framed photographs. "This is your family," he said, picking up the last picture she had of her family together.

"Yes, it was taken the Christmas before they died. We always cut down our Christmas tree, which was what we did that day. Then we decorated it while drinking hot cocoa with marshmallows and listening to Christmas music. My dad loved the oldies. He'd sing along at the top of his voice with Dean Martin doing 'Baby, It's Cold Outside.'" She stopped, feeling the moisture gather in her eyes. She blinked it away, but not fast enough for Roman not to see.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad," he said.

"You didn't. I like talking about them. I don't get the chance very often, especially now that I don't see my aunt, who is the only one in my life who knew my parents."

"What about your grandparents? What happened to them?"

"My father's parents died before I was born. My mom's parents were divorced, and she never saw her father after she got married, so I've never met him. Her mom was around when I was a child. She was very cool. She was an artist. She painted beautiful landscapes. She died about six months before my mom did. I think it hit my aunt really hard to lose not only her mother but also her sister in such a short period of time."

"But she had you—that must have helped."

"I wasn't so great the first year. In fact, I was a pain in the ass. But thankfully she let me get through it on my own."

"What does she do?"

"She works in finance for a commercial real estate firm in New York."

"She never had kids?"

"Nope. I used to ask her if that was because I was such a headache she couldn't think about having another kid, but she said no, she'd just never really wanted to fill a house with children. She and her husband travel a lot. They're very happy."

"Not everyone is meant to have kids." He set down the family photo and picked up the one next to it—the one Donavan had recently given her. "I like this," he said with a smile. "You were born to be a baker."

"Yes, and I finally grew into that hat. Donavan actually found that among her mother's possessions. I don't know how it got there, but she gave it to me the other day. I should put it in the bakery; I just haven't had a chance."

"Your father would be proud that you followed in his footsteps."

"I think he would be. We talked about it a lot when I was a kid. It was our thing. We'd bake together most weekends. He didn't cook anything else. My mom was in charge of all the other meals. But he was the king of dessert."

"What was his favorite dessert?"

"Chocolate soufflé was his favorite and his biggest challenge. Meringues are extremely sensitive to humidity, temperature, and movement—you have to delicately and carefully whip and fold the meringues and then be super patient and resist opening the oven door until the timer goes off. When it all goes well, it's heaven. When it doesn't, it's a flop."

"Do you sell those downstairs?"

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