Page 19 of The Icing on the Cake
She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “You shouldn’t give people your passcode.”
“I’m not giving it out to everyone. Only you.”
She frowns. “But why? You hardly know me.”
“I know you enough. And Emmy vouched for you, along with the rest of the town. Never doubt a small town for showing who to trust.” I nod toward my phone. “Take a look.”
She sets my phone on the counter, biting her lip. “You know how I found out my ex was cheating on me? Nate never let me see his phone,ever. But he left his phone on, and a message popped up. It was from Brittany—and that’s when I saw he had months of messages from her. He’d been seeing her behind my back and I had no idea.”
She shifts away from me slightly. “So yeah, when you showed up out of nowhere offering to help a complete stranger? I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“I don’t blame you,” I say. “After what he did, I’m surprised you let me through the front door.”
“I didn’t. You broke down the door.” Her lips quirk and it’s good to see that I made her smile.
I set the cupcake pan on her drying rack and then turn toward the mixing bowl in the corner. “What if I stayed and helped? I know you’re probably exhausted, and I hate the thought of you working all night alone.”
She nods toward my shirt. “But you’ll get your dress shirt dirty.”
“I have other shirts,” I say, already loosening the buttons. I undo the last button and shrug off the shirt, revealing a fitted white t-shirt underneath. “Problem solved. And we’ll get twice as much done.”
Neesha’s eyes widen slightly before she quickly busies herself with the mixing bowl. “What do you know about baking?”
“Nothing. That’s why you’re going to teach me. Four hands are better than two, right?”
She stares for another second before sighing like she’s seriously regretting this. “I guess.”
Her eyes flick to my left arm and linger on a small tattoo on my forearm—a simple maple leaf. She studies it for half a second before she quickly looks away.
“Maple tree enthusiast?” she asks, pouring some flour into a bowl.
“Canadian roots,” I say with a shrug. “A reminder of home and my grandfather. I’ve been living in Sully’s Beach the last few years, but I grew up in Ontario.” I look over the baking staples on the counter. “Okay, boss. Where do I start?”
She pushes the bowl toward me. “Can you handle mixing up the dry ingredients?”
“Seems easy enough,” I say, but as soon as I start stirring, a cloud of flour explodes across my shirt.
“Gently!” she says. “You’re baking, not demolishing drywall.”
“Got it. Less wrecking ball, more Julia Child.”
Her lips quirk. “Okay, Julia. See if you can manage the sugar without a disaster crew.”
While we work, I sneak glances at her, noticing the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating, and how the stray wisps of dark hair curl around her face.
“You know, you get this certain look on your face when you bake,” I note.
She looks up from the frosting she’s stirring. “What kind of look?”
“Focused…maybe even a little lethal?”
She lifts a brow. “Lethal?”
“Like if someone insults your cupcakes, you might throw a whisk at their head.”
“Depends how bad the insult is.”
“See? You’re dangerous.”
