Page 32 of Bake You Mine
With the coffee cup in one hand and the tray in another, she walked around the counter toward Liam, who was scrolling through his phone.
“I was looking at your reviews. I’m glad the number’s bumped up a bit.”
“I’ve practically forgotten about them, anyway.” She hadn’t, but she didn’t want Liam to feel bad. It wasn’t his fault. More than anything, he’d gone above and beyond to make things right.
“Message received. What do you have there?”
She set the tray in front of him. “One black coffee and a ricotta and pistachio Danish.”
He pushed his phone to the side. “Thank god you weren’t serious about the cake.”
“Oh, just you wait.” She backed away from the table.
He picked up the pastry and inspected it. First, he tilted it around, inspecting the layers of pastry, with the oozy ricotta and pistachio mixture peeking out of the top. Then he held it to his nose.
She wasn’t sure why she’d expected him to shove the Danish into his gob. He was a chef, after all.
“This seems like a trick. Like it’s savory, but I’m going to bite into it, and all my teeth will fall out of my mouth because it’s so sweet.”
That would have been an exciting battle tactic. Aubrey wasn’t one to play dirty. “Why not find out?”
Aubrey smiled as he took a bite. She’d never tire of the crunchy, tearing sound pastry made as it was being devoured.
She also found the act of him chewing oddly sexy, so instead of making it weird, she left Liam to return to the kitchen to see if her next treat was ready.
The follow-up pastry was slightly sweeter, a kouign-amann.
When Aubrey returned with the golden-brown Breton pastry, Liam was licking his finger to dab up every last bit of Danish from the plate. Pow! Just like that, her insides turned around on themselves. Fresh and center in her mind was that damned eggplant hammock image again, now somehow even more zoomed in.
She coughed into her shoulder. “You liked it?”
“That’s one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth. So buttery, and how do you get the pastry to do that?”
She wanted to snicker or make a crass joke. Instead, she said, “Really?”
He leaned his large frame back in the chair. “You could make a variation to go with the cheese plate. That pastry is insane.”
She wasn’t the best at accepting compliments, so she set the kouign-amann in front of him after a quick thanks. “This is a little sweeter. Different kind of pastry, too. It’s yeasted.”
Again, he touched the pastry like a lover; he was on his way to pleasuring. She winced.
She slipped into the kitchen because she needed to get her shit together. Trying to ignore the signals her brain sent her, like,OMG, your crush is sitting in YOUR patisserie, eating YOUR FOOD.
How old was she again? She packed extra pastries for Liam to take to his kitchen crew to occupy her racing mind.
She’d always kept him at arm’s length because it was easier to keep up the illusion if she didn’t know him. Most of the time, the sparkle faded once you pulled your crush down from their pedestal. They were a real person, with flaws like anyone else. Now that she’d started to peel back Liam’s layers, she realized he wasn’t some hot chef asshole.
Funny how he’d admitted the same thing to her. Maybe they were just a pair of onions.
She had to keep her head in the goddamned game. It may be time to switch from war documentaries to sports movies.
They could have their little back-and-forth. They may even enjoy each other’s company a little. At the end of this, this closeness would be a thing of the past. They could return to being strangers. Because they would, wouldn’t they? Once the winner was decided, they would have no real reason to talk, other than the occasional good morning orhow about this weather, huh?
“Does he like them?” Daphne’s voice yanked Aubrey out of her thoughts.
She turned to find her daughter slipping fresh baguettes into pink bakery bags.
“Anyone who doesn’t like what Aubs makes is lacking in taste buds or common sense,” Leroy said.
