Page 2 of Baking With A Rockstar

Hannah drops her hand from my arm and walks over to the fridge. “Do you want me to bring any of the girls back with me after our hike? You know how much they love you and your baking.”

Just thinking about those women makes me chuckle. “Not today, but thanks. I just want to make a small batch for us later today. But if we deem them good enough, I can make a big batch next week at the bakery and we can invite them over then.”

Even though my bakery won’t be open for a while, I use every chance I can to bake big batches in my beautiful massive industrial ovens.

“Sounds perfect. I can’t wait.” She grabs her water bottle from the fridge, waving at me as she leaves. “Now, enjoy the little break, and I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, and say hi to the rest of your squad for me.” I smirk at the term like I always do, but it’s just perfect. The six seniors who make up the quilt club are worse than a group of teenagers sometimes. It definitely never gets boring when they’re around.

For the next few minutes, I’m completely focused on my baking. It’s something that centers me, no matter what mood I’m in. Once I’m happy with the dough, I cut it into equal pieces. The brown hazelnut spread is next, and I smear it on generously with a knife, because there’s no such thing as too much Nutella.

After folding each piece to form an open tube, I place them neatly next to each other on a baking sheet. Since the oven is still occupied, I put the baking sheet on the counter and move on to the next bowl of ingredients that’s already waiting for me. I love days like today, where I can just bake one thing after the other. It calms me down while also allowing me to think clearly about what the week ahead will bring.

Since I’ve decided not to rush things with the bakery, I still have a few months until I’m going to open it here in this small California town. Not only is there a lot of preparation that needs to be done, but I’ve quickly figured out that trying to raise an infant at the same time isn’t the easiest thing—even with all the help I’ve been getting.

The song on the radio ends, and the host interrupts my thoughts. “Sources claim that our very own Brooksville citizen, rockstar Hudson Mitchell, was spotted at the airport this early morning. If it’s true, and he’s really back in town, please be kind, folks. Remember he’s one of us.”

“Rockstar?” I snort to myself. “I’ve been here for several weeks now, and no one has mentioned anything about a rockstar living here—not that I’ve been out much. And here I thought we could have a quiet life in this place. Thank goodness Monica didn’t move with us, she’d be all over this.” My best friend is the worst celebrity gossip, even though she knows to keep it to the bare minimum with me.

I shake my head, as I realize I’m talking to myself, a habit I don’t think I’ll ever stop—something Sebastian wasn’t very fond of.

Stop it! No thinking about him, he’s not worth the time.

The oven timer beeps, successfully distracting me from my thoughts. I take out the baking sheet with the Danish bread, and after carefully placing it on the stove, I put the next sheet in. The sweet smell of baked goods drifts into my nose, and I let out a loud sigh just as my stomach lets out a growl. I put my hand on my belly absentmindedly, immediately noticing Hannah might have been right about us having to up our workout routine.

Focusing back on my work, I lose myself in the bread dough once more. Swaying gently to the music coming from the radio, I startle when the front door shuts with a loudbang.

“Weird.” I stop, my hands still deep in the soft dough, and listen. “Maybe Hannah forgot something.”

“Gosh, what smells so good in here? I would’ve come back earlier if I’d known this was waiting for me.” The voice—male, anddefinitelynot Hannah—gets louder with every spoken word, indicating the person is coming closer to the kitchen. A man is coming closer tome. A stranger.

I’m frozen in my spot—certain I look like a deer caught in the headlights—and I’m afraid my heart will burst out of my chest in a second if it keeps beating this wildly.

Who on earth could that possibly be?

Hannah and I have been living here for the past few days while her kitchen gets renovated. All she’s ever said was that it belongs to a family member who doesn’t use it right now. She didn’t mention anyone else would be here with us.

“Seriously, so good. I’m starving.”

Before I can even think about running or hiding, the person walks around the corner and into the kitchen.

The man’s wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and nothing else—I repeat, nothing else.

What on earth?

To complement the set of wide-open eyes that are practically jumping out of my sockets, my mouth hangs slightly open now too. Perfect.

The smart and rational side of my brain seems to be on a break because all I’m capable of doing is raking my eyes over Mr. Basketball Shorts. He’s tall with broad shoulders and the most pronounced abs I’ve ever seen up close. The baseball cap on his head is turned backward, and he’s currently wiping his face off with what I assume to be his shirt. That is the only reason he hasn’t seen me yet, and why I haven’t seen his face yet either. But I’m going out on a limb here and say it’s probably as gorgeous as the rest of him.

My eyes drift back to his magnificent chest, following the beads of sweat that are slowly running down his torso to the V-shaped lower abs until they disappear into the pair of shorts that sits low on his hips.

Sudden heat shoots through my body, making my cheeks tingle from the force of it. My brain uses that moment of distraction to finally kick back in again, reminding me of the situation at hand.

A total stranger is standing in my kitchen.

Half-naked.

And we’re all alone in this house.

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