Page 52 of Storm in a Teacup
I open my mouth, shocked silent, trying to figure out how to sayhell nonicely before she laughs and says, “I’m kidding, Ben. Jeez, you are a control freak about this.”
“Oh, shush.” I get out the ingredients and a recipe card for the banana bread.
Linny finishes the loaf before I finish the scones, so she pours it into the correct pans, then watches me while I work. I feel her eyes on me, and while I don’t mind, Iam buzzing under her gaze. I knead the dough for a moment, just to get it to stick together before rolling it out. When I’m done kneading, I give it a light slap on the top.
Linny snorts from behind me. “Who are you? Donut Daddy?”
I spin to her. “Now,whois Donut Daddy?”
“No one. Just a TikTok guy.” Her burning cheeks indicate otherwise.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Lin.”
She sighs, pulling out her phone. She pulls up a video of a striking man who is baking in a very sensual way.
“Jesus,” I say. “That is wildly attractive.”
“It is.”
“I could be a Donut Daddy.” I meet her eye. “I would thrive as a sexy baking influencer.”
“Sure, you would. Go sexy-bake your scones.”
The oven dings, signaling it’s at the correct temperature.
I indicate my head toward that ding. “Can you put the croissants in the oven?”
“Sure.”
She comes back and continues to watch me, baking perhaps abit more sexily than I was before, now that I know where her standards lie.
“You do this by yourself every day?”
“Aye—for the most part. Scott is my backup baker. He handles things on Saturdays when I’m off and can throw something together when he’s here later in the day. But all this in the morning most mornings, is me. That’s why I get here so early, so I can have all this ready to go. I mean, here’s the thing, there are corners I could cut. Pre-made things I could buy and heat up, but what’s the fun in that? I own a café, so I can bake whatever I want. I love it.”
“I’m glad. And you change what you make every day?”
I shape the scones on a baking sheet while I say, “Yeah. I mean, I have the standards like the croissants, the blueberry muffins, and the banana loaf, but I like to add some change-ups every day. Sometimes depending on supplies, sometimes depending on my wild whims.”
“I enjoy your wild whims.” The timer goes off for the muffins. “I’ll get them,” she says, finding my oven-mitts and pulling the muffin tins out of the oven one by one, sliding them onto the metal cooling rack. I swap places with her, putting the scones in the oven.
She comes back over to me, checking the time on her phone. “I should probably get over to the shop soon.”
“You don’t open for another two and a half hours,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s half past seven. Her shop opens at 10 a.m.
“I told you, I have things to do. If Carolyn keeps buying every picture frame she sees, I will never get them all cataloged and priced. I also have to touch up the upholstery on this chair we bought in last week.”
My shoulders sag, partially because that was a natural instinct and partially because I’m being dramatic. “Fine,” I sigh. I stand up straight. “Thanks for giving me a hand this morning.”
“It was fun,” she says. We stand there regarding each other for a moment before the bell of the opening front door shakes us out of it.
“That’ll be Isla,” I say.
Linny grabs her jacket off the hook next to mine, slipping it on and pulling the scrunchie out of her hair. “Think she’ll want this back?”
