Page 31 of Bake You Mine
He palmed his face. “Great, like getting up this early wasn’t torture enough.”
The kitchen doors burst open, and Daphne ran in. “Hey, I know your nephew.”
Liam regarded Daphne with a smile. “I have a few, but most of them are older than you. You must mean Brody.”
“Yes! We’re in the same class. I’m Daphne.” She extended a hand to him. He didn’t hesitate to give her hand a firm shake.
“Brody says you’re the smartest girl in the class.”
Daphne clutched her cheeks, and her eyes got big, like those of one of the characters in that anime she loved. “Really?”
“Hey, little bug, I thought you were helping me with the bread?” Leroy’s booming voice carried in from the kitchen. Atsix-eight, he should have been a bull in Petit Chou’s china shop, but he moved through any kitchen with grace.
“Okay, as long as you let me score the dough.”
Leroy nodded, and Daphne skipped off to the kitchen. “Bye, Liam!”
If only she had one percent of her daughter’s confidence regarding romantic prospects.
“Your kid is pretty great.”
Aubrey smiled. “She is.”
He inspected the small space. Every shelf was stuffed to bursting, with cake boxes, baking supplies, and other bins leaning together in a Jenga-like fashion, leaving little space for the industrial machines they used.
“I see you’re running out of room, too,” he said.
“Well, that’s why we’re competing, right? I mean that, and the ten thousand dollars don’t hurt either.”
The two stood awkwardly before she remembered why she’d summoned him. “Right. The torture. Come with me.” She motioned for him to follow her through the double doors and into the café.
“Have a seat. I’m lacking an electric chair, so any will do.” She gestured to one of the tables squeezed into the small space.
He snorted at her joke, which endeared him to her. It was one thing to appreciate his physical attributes. To throw in a winning personality along with it meant danger. She had to be the general of her own heart, goddammit.
“Hey, it doesn’t smell like airborne diabetes in here today, so I’m hopeful that you’re not actually about to torture me?” He flicked up the partition separating the front counter from the café and stepped toward the closest table.
“I’ll never tell.” She grinned. “Any allergies?”
He settled his large frame into one of the dainty wire chairs. “No, but I wasn’t kidding when I said I hate chocolate.”
“This confirms my theory that aliens dropped you off as some sort of experiment.”
He laughed again. “A lot of people don’t like chocolate. You’re a pâtissier. You should know this.”
She stepped behind the counter, nearly colliding with her intern, Annabelle, as she brought in a tray of croissants, fresh from the oven. “I may have met one or two of you.” She turned to Annabelle. “Are the you-know-whats ready?”
Her intern nodded. “They’re cooling. I’ll bring one out in a minute.”
Once Annabelle slipped back through the bakery’s double doors, Aubrey pivoted toward Liam. “Let me guess, you don’t like coffee, either?”
“No, I live on the stuff. I’d love a black coffee, if you don’t mind.”
“I’d half expected you to be into trendier coffee drinks.” Aubrey reached for a chipped coffee cup and set it under one of the large silver coffee carafes that contained their house brew.
“What can I say? I’m a simple man.”
While Aubrey finished pouring his coffee, black as his hair, Annabelle walked out with one of their battered metal trays. In the center sat a plate with a ricotta and pistachio Danish—a customer favorite and, luckily enough, Saturday’s special.
