Page 41 of Cream and Punishment
As it turns out, Max had a flaw after all.
He was aninsanedriver.
He didn’t technically break any laws as he drove the four blocks to the bakery, but he’d used the line between “legal” and “not” as a jump rope.
But, hey, we made it there in record time and mostly alive, too.
When he’d set me down inside, he didn’t return to his car like I’d assumed he would. Instead, he took one of the pink aprons hanging on the wall and tied it around himself. Andby Java beans, he still looked hot as sin.
“Alright, Chef” —he flashed one of his wicked grins in my direction— “tell me what to do.”
“You’re helping me?” I asked, my throat tight with emotion. “You don’t have to do that, Max. I—”
I caught myself before explaining how I could’ve handled things myself, the lie too much for even my delusional self to believe this time. I couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t have walked home last night without his help. It had been my stubborn independence that had gotten me into this whole sprained ankle mess in the first place, and turning down his help now would only make things worse. No matter how wrong it felt to take advantage of it.
Try as I might, I was finding all sorts of things I couldn’t do by myself whenever I was around Max. It terrified me.
“You would’ve done the same for your friends.” He shrugged and set to wheeling a speedrack out of the walk-in fridge. “I assume these will go in the oven? I thought you mentioned something about taking things out first, and this makes the most sense.”
I nodded dumbly and limped over to preheat the ovens. “What makes you think I’d do the same, though? This is above and beyond, Max.”
He fixed me with a flat look. “You went out past your bedtime—something you hold sacred—just to pick up something heavy and awkward for a friend, all while knowing you’d have towalkthere and back, which you were prepared to do all by yourself in the dark. If that isn’t going above and beyond for your friends, I don’t know what is.”
I looked away, uncomfortable with the praise. “I think it was more impulsive than selfless.”
Impulsive. The girls had pointed that out about me, too.
“It can be both, you know.” He threw a knee-weakening wink at me. “Now what do I do?”
It took a few minutes to adjust to having him be my legs, so to speak, bringing me the necessary ingredients, popping things in and out of the oven, moving cinnamon rolls and croissants and donuts to cool, and all the minutiae of my routine I’d taken for granted when I’d had two functional ankles. But we settled into a rhythm easier than I expected. Max was a fast learner, observant, and had enough energy to power a tank.
When the front of house staff arrived to start prepping the cafe, I leaned over from where I was mixing new muffin batter and said, “If anyone asks, you have a food handler’s permit, okay?”
Max’s eyes twinkled, framed by the happy crinkles in his skin as he distributed the cupcake liners in the muffin tins. “Breaking the law, Dekker? I’m shocked.”
My jaw dropped. Clearly, he was teasing, since he’d been complicit in this the whole time, but it still struck a raw nerve after the Besserman disaster. “No, I—that’s not—and if Iwas, I have connections. The charges wouldn’t stick.”
I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was talking about, but it seemed like an incoherent version of what people on detective shows have said, so I went with it.
“Good point. You seem like the type to have a mafia don owe you a favor.”
I swatted at him, missing him by a mile. “The bingo mafia, maybe. I don’t stay up late enough for any other kind.”
“So that’s the real reason you needed the donkey suit, eh? To leave the head in someone’s bed?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes good-naturedly. “Keep it up and you’ll find out.”
His laughter filled the kitchen, and I found myself smiling wider because of it. If I wrote a list of my favorite sounds, Max’s laughter would easily take first.
The door to the front of house opened, and the two baristas Britt and Catie popped their heads in. Their eyes flicked between Max and me before doing a double take at him. Which was fair.
Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
Britt was still in high school, so she wasn’t a threat in the dating department, but Catie was cuter than a cucumber. Shiny blonde hair that never seemed to escape its ponytail, blue siren eyes, and curves in all the right places. Based on our few interactions, I was convinced over half our male clientele came solely to flirt with her, which she readily returned. And, hey, the tips reflected that, so good for her.
Normally.
Now, I wanted to poke those siren eyes of hers with a fork.
