Page 5 of Leo

All those times they claimed they were working; they were actually screwing each other’s brains out.” Taking a breath, she rose. “Now, get out of here, before Ben starts blaming me for keeping his wife out at this time of night.”

“Don’t stay too late.” Ingrid rose as well and glanced around the cheerful space with the chairs stacked on the tables after the girls had finished cleaning. She had been in business for the past thirty years after working at a restaurant and deciding that it was time for her to branch out on her own.

“I am going to miss this place.” She reached out to clasp the girl’s hand. “But I could not wish for a better person to pass it on to. You have turned this place into a showpiece, one that is immensely popular with the uptown crowd. I know you have great plans as soon as I draw my ancient ass out of here.”

Sherrian hugged the woman and held on. “You’re not that old!” She tightened the hold on the woman and closed her eyes in appreciation. She owed a lot to this woman and would never forget what she did for her. Letting go, she stepped back. “I am getting mushy, and you know how I hate that.”

Ingrid patted her cheek fondly. “Our Chad would have made you a great husband.”

Sherrian burst out laughing, eyes dancing merrily. “I think of him of more like a brother and he feels the same. How is Gayle?”

“My daughter-in-law is about to give us our first granddaughter. She is a rock star. Let me get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 2

He felt the jolt straight through his heart as soon as she opened the door. There she was standing with the lights behind her, wearing just a simple pair of faded denims and peach colored t-shirt with the ‘Tasty Pastry’ logo stitched onto the left breast pocket.

Her thick dark brown hair was piled on top of her head and secured with a pencil, with untidy tendrils curling all around her face. And to him, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“You are baking.” He had to force himself to appear casual.

“I’m always baking.”

“You have flour on your cheek.” He touched the spot lightly and just stopped himself from pulling her into his arms. She smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.

“Part of the package.” She smiled at him, and he felt his world shifted. “Come in. I made linguini. You came straight from New York?”

He followed her as she wound her way through tables and chairs and past the cash register and into a cavernous kitchen strewn with tools and signs of her work.

“I did, yes. You did not have to go through the trouble…“

“Sit.” She gestured towards the table lined up next to the cupboard.

Hiding a smile, he did just that and realized that this petite bundle of energy was the only one who spoke to him like that.

“Tell me what you think,” she passed him a plate with a tasty smelling pile of pasta and herbs. “I am experimenting with a new blend of seasoning.” She turned back to the stove and started wiping it down. “Did I tell you I am serving lunch now?”

“No!” He tasted the meal and lifted his brows. “This is excellent. Reminds me of a small café I went to in Venice.”

She blew out a breath and whirled to dig out a bowl. “Water or tea? I don’t have any of your fancy wines.”

“Water is good.” He dug into the meal with gusto. He had eaten on the plane, but this was the most delicious meal he had had in ages. She poured water and handed it to him and was about to go into the freezer when he stopped her.

“Eat with me.”

“I have to….”

“Sherrian.” His deep voice had her digging her hands into the wide pockets of her soiled apron.

Blowing out a breath, she dished out some of the pasta and sat across from him.

“How are you?” He asked quietly, sensing she was finding it difficult to broach the subject uppermost on her mind.

“Just fine and dandy.” She put down her fork and folded her elegant hands on the counter. “And that’s a damn lie.” Turning her head, she looked around the space. The counter where she had piled paraphernalia, the bags of flour, the food coloring she had been experimenting with, and the overall scent of baking that filled the air.

“I always knew I wanted to be a pastry chef.” She murmured, swinging her gaze back to him. “I used to pester my mother with questions and demanded tea and baking sets. She was a good cook herself, and I enjoyed watching her.” She was silent for a minute, reflecting on the past.

“They were killed in a vehicular crash when you were just fifteen.”

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