Page 15 of Made for You

Laughing, I practically skip out of the bakery after bundling up and head back to Gran’s a few streets over.

The house is so warm and cozy with the wood stove burning. Gran is sitting on the couch, reading a book by the fire when I come in. There’s never been anything more inviting except for the large stone fireplace at the inn. I always wished I could come in the winter to snuggle up by the fire and read my books.

I shed my winter gear in the mudroom by the door. “Hey Gran, you up for some baking with me?”

“What for, dear?” She closes her book and lays it on her lap.

“Liam.”

A sly grin spreads across her face, “And just why are we baking for him?”

“Because. Hunter told me to. He said that we should talk to Liam about using the kitchen at the inn. They have a full commercial kitchen because they used to cook for the guests. But now, no one uses it. Then at least we could keep the contracts fulfilled with Liam and Esther.”

“What a clever girl you are. But how does baking come in?”

“Hunter thinks it’ll soften him up when I ask for a favor. I am sure you’ve noticed howtouchyLiam can be.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“I have noticed. It started the summer you didn’t come back. He lost his other half.”

I will not dwell on that statement from Gran, “I’m sure I’m not the reason for his less than stellar attitude.”

I turn my back to her and head into the kitchen to begin pulling out all the ingredients I need for cookies. Luckily we brought home some of the supplies we could salvage from the metal cabinets and refrigerators. And of course, Gran always keeps her kitchen fully stocked for middle of the night ideas.

Pulling the last batch out of the oven, I place the scalding pan on top of the stove. Gran and I both take in a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the cranberry cookie.

“They smell perfect,” Gran says to me.

Ever since I was little she taught me that the scent of a baked good was as important, if not more important than the look of an item. I’ve used that knowledge in everything that I cook.

If you need a measurement from me, I don’t have one. It just needs to smell right. Unfortunately, culinary arts teachers don’t agree with that philosophy.

Once the last batch is placed on the cooling rack, I take care to package up a dozen from the first batch into one of thesignature Sweet Violets boxes. The boxes are a lavender color with a plum logo, all wrapped up with a satin violet ribbon.

There’s something so special about being able to prepare items from the bakery this way, to know that people get excited just from seeing the packaging that Gran and I designed when I was eight.

I just hope Liam feels the same as I do, I really need him to say yes to me using the kitchen for Gran. Plus it benefits his business as much as ours.

“Okay Gran, I’m going to head out to the inn. Cross your fingers for us!” I pick up the bag with the cookies in it and drape it over my arm as I put on my gloves.

“Good luck, dear. Make sure you smile and flirting might help you too.” She tosses a wink at me.

I chuckle at her as I grab the car keys and head out the door. She must have been a force back when she was young.

When I pull up to the inn I realize I have no idea where to find Liam. Or how to get a hold of him. I assume Gran must have his number, but I forgot to get it from her before leaving. I was too excited about the prospect of having a kitchen to bake in with Gran.

I get the box of cookies out of the backseat and head off on my search. Starting with the inn, I walk up the front porch, memories of Liam and I sitting in these rockers bring a smile to my face. I’d sit and read while he worked on his wood carvings. I wonder idly if he still works on them. He’d probably make a killing on them today.

I don’t find him at the inn but I hear noises coming from outside so I wander back out and around the home. Mygaze follows the noise over by the barn, it sounds like he might be chopping wood so I walk over in that direction.

The sight in front of me makes my mouth water. Liam in a tight tee under a flannel, swinging the ax makes each and every muscle in his arms bulge. When he lifts his arms the tee goes up just enough to verify that he indeed has a magic V leading to…well…places I might like to explore. Or lick.

“It’s not polite to stare you know,” he says without missing a beat in his chopping.

“I was not —” I stop myself, maybe it isn’t wise to argue before asking a favor. “I brought your favorite cookies.”

I hold out the box of a dozen cranberry cookies. That act makes him stop what he’s doing.

He leans over the box to peer inside the clear top.

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