Page 24 of The Proximity Effect

I fumbled for my phone, quickly saving the number listed on the sign. This was it. This was my fresh start. New job, new place, new me. Probably a new wardrobe too since my SoCal wardrobe would not cut it in the arctic chill of the mountains.

The bakery’s bell chimed cheerfully as I pushed open the door to Sweet Cheeks, and I was immediately enveloped in the heavenly scent of butter, sugar, and fresh-baked bread. I was here on a business mission, but after the morning’s awkward coffee shop encounter, I needed something to lift my spirits, and carbs seemed like an excellent solution.

The interior of Sweet Cheeks was exactly what I’d imagine if Willy Wonka had opened a bakery instead of a chocolate factory. Display cases sparkled with perfectly arranged pastries, and whimsical signs with puns like “Life is what you bake of it” and “Don’t go bacon my heart” decorated the exposed brick walls.

A tall man with perfectly coiffed hair emerged from the back, carrying a tray of what looked like the most sinful chocolate croissants I’d ever seen. He set them down with a flourish that would have made Mary Berry proud.

“Welcome to Sweet Cheeks, where we put the ‘sweet’ in sweet talk and the ‘sass’ in croissant!” He paused, frowning. “That doesn’t work, does it? I’ve been workshopping new catchphrases.”

“I actually think croissants could use a little more sass.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m Tessa Callahan, the new chef at Sterling Pines, and I wanted to discuss potentially rekindling the vendor relationship.”

“Stop everything!” He clutched his chest dramatically. “They finally hired a real chef? Thank God, because the stories I’ve been hearing about their recent attempts at cuisine have been...”

“Tragic? Criminal? Diabolical?” The list was really endless.

“Oh, I like you already.” He extended his hand. “Adrian, owner, baker, and failed catchphrase creator extraordinaire.”

I shook his hand. “I’d love to try one of those croissants.”

He grabbed one of the chocolate croissants and placed it in a bag before handing it to me. I slid it out enough to take a bite and moaned. The chocolate was still warm, creating the perfect balance with the buttery, flaky layers.

“This is absolutely amazing. Why on earth would they cut ties?” It was almost like the three men were trying to sabotage the resort instead of continuing to help it flourish.

“I was told it wasn’t in the budget, but I honestly think it was because I kept telling them stories about Gavin.” A sad, wistful expression crossed his face.

I barely knew this man and wanted to walk around the counter and give him a hug. “Were you close with Gavin?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, not elaborating further. “I’m glad you’re fixing what those idiots seem hell-bent on destroying.”

It felt like we were about to head down a path I didn’t want to go down, considering I was working for them now, so I decided to change the subject. I couldn’t make any new contract with Adrian anyway, not without the go-ahead and budget information.

“I saw a sign that there’s a studio apartment available upstairs. Are you in charge of that?”

“Girl, this is literally fate calling.” His face lit up, and he bounced a little on his toes. “Would you like a tour? It’s got original hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, and the most Instagram-worthy bay window you’ve ever seen.”

“That sounds perfect.” Finding an apartment above a bakery seemed like the universe was finally throwing me a bone or, more accurately, a croissant. Plus, waking up to the smell offresh-baked goods every morning? That was the kind of silver lining I needed.

The studio above the bakery had been perfect, and Adrian was a gem of a human and was even going to furnish the space for me. I’d be moving in when my stay at the resort ended.

Before returning to the resort, I’d found a department store to find passable chef attire. Wearing jeans and my boots wasn’t ideal for a restaurant kitchen environment.

When I pushed through the kitchen doors, ready to tackle my first official dinner service, I stopped dead in my tracks. Liam stood at the center prep station, surrounded by lunch-related carnage.

Looking on in horror alongside two other kitchen staff members, I watched Liam’s increasingly frantic attempts to assemble what might have once been intended as a sandwich.

My fingers twitched with the urge to intervene as he fumbled with ingredients like they were from a different century. The other employees wore expressions that matched how I felt: a mixture of fascination and secondhand embarrassment, like watching someone try to parallel park an SUV in a spot meant for a small car.

“That’s...” I bit my lip, trying to find a diplomatic way to say ‘absolutely horrifying.’ “...an interesting technique.”

Liam looked up, relief washing over his features. “Thank God. Please tell me you’re here to take over lunch.”

“Dinner prep, actually.” I set my bag down and pulled out an apron. “But I can’t watch this continue. That poor innocent bread doesn’t deserve this treatment.”

He stepped back from the counter, hands raised in surrender. “Be my guest. I’m better at throwing myself down mountains than making food anyway.”

From my understanding, he was the best at cooking of the three men, but clearly that was limited in scope. It was like saying someone was the best swimmer in the Sahara Desert. I’d seen five-year-olds with play kitchens demonstrate better knife skills.

I approached the disaster zone, assessing the situation. Vegetables were scattered across the cutting board like victims of an aggressive game of Fruit Ninja. A block of cheese had been mutilated rather than sliced, and there was literally mayonnaise everywhere except on the bread.

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