Page 29 of Bake You Mine
She’d cleaned her plate once again, with not even a hand-cut fry remaining. He came out with the last course, a tiramisu paired with prosecco.
He set them both in front of her, then sat in the chair opposite her before he lost his nerve. Why did he feel like he was back in the Michelin-starred restaurant he worked at in London, under the glare of his imposing celebrity chef boss?
She reached for the wine first. “So, you don’t make any desserts here.”
“No room for a pastry chef unless I win. I do use the best bakery in the region.”
She rolled her head to one side and sucked on her teeth. “Let’s be real here; you have one of the best patisseries on the East Coast two doors down from you.”
“You don’t do commercial orders.” He knew because he’d had Sasha ask.
“Well, I do, actually. It’s a bit of a recent development, and one of the reasons I want the space. It’s hard to keep up with stock for the store, cake orders, and commercial orders. Well, maybe I should rephrase that. It’s the reason Iwillget the space.”
“Bold talk before we’ve started the first challenge.”
She managed a half-shrug. “Perhaps. Although you know I’m right about the desserts. If you want to win any coveted culinary awards, you’ve got to stop buying in desserts.” She reached for her spoon. “Maybe try a chocolate cake since you’ll probably end up eating one anyway?”
He snorted. “Hey, I thought I was the over-confident one?”
She dipped her spoon in the tiramisu. He averted his eyes. He already had a strange enough boner for this woman; watching her eat only made it weirder. After two bites, she set down the glass, her spoon clanging against the side.
“If you want my honest opinion, it’s okay. Not bad, but not the best I’ve had, either. If you’re going for an average dessert, you’ve found it.”
Ouch. He leaned back against the chair. “So average? That’s all you got?”
“I’ve seen your reviews. ‘Come to Elevation for the food. Skip the dessert.’ If you win, will you be adding a pastry chef? Because I don’t see another way around it.”
He ran a hand over his forehead. “I mean, I guess I have to.” He’d always seen himself as a chef who did what he wanted. He’d added a dessert menu after caving to pressure from his older brother.
She reached for her sketchbook and pencil bag. “Don’t be that stubborn chef, thinking you know what’s best for your customers.”
“Okay, I hear you. Although I’m surprised you’re giving your opponent business advice.”
“I’m not an asshole, Linley.”
“I’m figuring that out. Glad we’ve upgraded from grunting.”
“Were you going to drop the bill off, or what?”
He waved his hand. “It’s on the house.”
She dropped a twenty onto the table. “For your staff, then.”
She tossed her napkin on the table and stood. “Thank you for the lovely dinner. I’ll expect you at Petit Chou tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp. Maybe you’ll appreciate the intricacies and flavors once you see the work that goes into it.”
“Wait, six o’clock? I never agreed to that!”
She ignored his protests, turned on her heel, and left.
He watched as she moved through the restaurant. He needed to focus more on the first challenge and less on that infuriating woman.
nine
Aubrey’s daysat Petit Chou started before opening, usually by six. That was several hours later than her baker, Leroy, and intern, Annabelle. They started on the various bread and pastry doughs a little after midnight. She loved turning up at her shop, finding it cozy and warm, the aroma of baked bread heavy in the air.
On a typical weekday, she’d work for a couple of hours before going to drop Daphne off at school, then she’d get back to the shop mid-way into the second rush. They had one rush when they opened at six thirty, with the early birds and commuters. A second occurred around nine thirty, after the school drop off, and when older regulars turned up.
On the weekends, the pace was more leisurely. They opened at seven thirty, and Aubrey tended to work the breakfast shift. She’d get home around eleven to spend time with her kid or do back-end work, returning to the shop only if needed.
