Page 11 of Catching Mr. Right

Chapter Five

MANDY

“Earth to Mandy. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Casper clicks his fingers in front of my face. Loudly. It makes me blink. He does it again.

“All right. Okay. What have I done wrong?” I squeeze the contents of the piping bag in my hand. Some kind of pastry, I think he said. Shoe pastry maybe. Though I’m not sure what is has to do with shoes.

“Open your goddamn eyes,” he barks.

So I do. I glance at the trays on the workspace in front of me. Measured circles of yellow pastry lay in neat rows on the first one. That was the one I did before I started thinking about what Sam said to me about my being naïve and immature. The second looks like a kindergartener attacked it and the surrounding counter with Play-Doh. There’s globs and squiggles all over the place. Also there’s a dollop of pastry on my shoe, and another splats the floor as I bend to look at my foot. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up right away.”

“Damn straight you will.” Casper jerks his chin in the direction of the sink. “And then you’re going to take a break.”

“I don’t need one,” I argue as I gather paper towels and disinfectant spray. “I got distracted is all.”

“Distracted? You were practically comatose.” He stalks back to his side of the room as I start wiping up the mess. “I won’t have you in my kitchen unless your mind is on the job. You’re too much of a fucking liability.”

Shit. I’m struck by his words, frozen on the spot with my hand hovering over a messy splotch of pastry. I don’t particularly like Casper, but over the past couple weeks I’ve come to respect his ways in the kitchen. His ability to feed an entire army while barely breaking a sweat. Not to mention the way he mellows when Claire brings groups of kids into the kitchen for cooking lessons. He’s good with them. Encouraging and patient.

That must be why my eyes sting after he calls me a liability. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s rejecting me from his kitchen, after Sam rejected me yesterday, and the day before that. I press the back of my hand to my lips while I try to regain my equanimity. It’s okay. It’s totally fine. I don’t need either of them. I’ve never needed anyone, because there’s always… whatever is next. Once the summer is over I’ll go back to working at the school. I’ll wait for a new man to come along. Maybe he’ll finally be the one.

“Mandy?”

I blink. “Sorry?”

Casper’s dark gaze is troubled, his brows drawn together over his nose as he studies my face. I blink again. Just to make sure he can’t tell that his words got to me. Turning off the burner in front of him, he heads toward me while wiping his hands down the front of his jeans. I don’t know why I watch him do that. Maybe because it’s easier than looking him in the eye. He stops right in front of me, and I’m still staring at his crotch. Glued to that spot where his zip is, and behind that… huge. I know it. I just do.

“Look at me,” he orders, and I can’t. Normally I don’t give him an inch when he’s swearing and carrying on at me like a complete imbecile, but I can’t bring myself to be eye to eye with him now. I don’t like him. I don’t want to see if I’m right about what’s behind that zip. He doesn’t hold my attention at all. But it stings that I can’t make myself necessary to this kitchen. Indispensable.

His fingers move to my face, sticking under my jaw and lifting my gaze to his. A flicker of something crosses his features. Warm points of pressure from his fingertips don’t ease up as he contemplates me, and I have to wet my lips.

“All right,” he says. Then he puts his hands on my waist. Strong, capable arms lift me without asking permission. I don’t have time to make a fuss of his manhandling before he sits me on a clean section of counter. Grabbing the coffee pot he always has ready, he pours us each a cup. “We’re taking a break, and you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing.” I take the drink he offers. And it is nothing. Realistically, I have no reason to be upset over Sam, and even less of a reason when it comes to Casper. Our fingers graze each other as he removes his hand from the cup. There’s a slight tingle under my skin that comes from touching him. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with those work-hardened spots on his fingers. The way they rub my more delicate skin. It’s nothing though. Really. Just like it’s no big deal that he doesn’t want me in his kitchen. The same way the finality of Sam’s decision doesn’t bother me. I’m resilient. I bounce back. I’ll find a new dream.

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t press for an answer as he cradles his cup between his hands and leans on an elbow beside me. He takes a moment to sip his coffee before glancing at my bare knee. “Mandy, you’ve worked under me for long enough for me to be able to tell the difference between your usual sparkling personality and now, when something is clearly upsetting you. So you can either tell me about it, or you can grab your things and head on home.”

“But I’d rather stay.” I hate that he tells me to leave. I hate that it upsets me enough for my voice to become whiny with my plea to be allowed to stay.

“And I’d rather you stay too. Christ knows it’s a task to feed all these kids. Almost impossible by myself.” He stands up and faces me. His eyes crinkle for a flash and then whatever he was thinking is put aside, much the same way as his coffee. “But you aren’t trained, and I’m worried if you can’t concentrate you’re going to end up hurting yourself. You could have slipped in the choux pastry you dropped on the floor. What if I had you working with knives or over the burners or the oven?”

I thought him telling me to go home was bad, but it didn’t make me tear up the way his words do now. I’m crazy Mandy Pearce who always flirts with all the boys and is guaranteed to give you a laugh. Desperate Mandy Pearce to whom men give a wide berth and who couldn’t be more inexperienced if she tried. Cheery Mandy Pearce who never lets anything or anyone get her down because she’s just fine on her own, thank you very much.

Saliva pools in my mouth, and in order to change the subject so I can reign in my emotions, I blurt, “Sam thinks I’m a child.”

His jaw hardens the minute I mention Sam. There’s an audible crack and pop, and his jawline turns sharp as glass. “The guy you introduced me to when we were at Mayhem the other night? That guy is a cock.”

“He has one,” I agree. “But he’s nice. Sweet and charming.”

“Except to you.” He shifts closer, stepping right up to the counter between my legs so I now have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “What did he say to you?”

“He said I’m too young. Too immature and naïve to ever be attractive to a man his age.”

“Is that so?” Casper asks, leaning closer, his palms flat on the surface on both sides of my hips. His face is right in front of mine, his mouth so close I can’t ignore his supple lips as they move. “Is that fucking so?”

I feel like telling him yes, that is fucking so. I bite my lip so I don’t mock him, while I try to ignore the heat of his body and how near he is. Sam was meant to be ‘the guy.’ He was meant to be mine, and I’m not ready to feel whatever this spark is under my skin. Besides, Cas is older than me too, maybe even the same age as Sam. He’s only being nice, and most of the time he can barely manage that. “He’s probably right. I mean what do I know?”

“Mandy fucking Pearce.” Cas’s forehead touches mine, his gaze boring into me. It’s both hard and soft and hot and serious while he strokes my cheeks with his fingertips.

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