Page 62 of Feasting on Her Curves (Forbidden Fantasies)

“Patrick,” I said bluntly. “He’s taken it upon himself to try to break us all up. A long time ago, we agreed not to date each other’s sisters. I don’t have a sister, and neither does Donovan or Gavin. Now that we’re all adults, it seems silly to follow that pact, especially since we all really like Petra, and she likes us.”

“Makes sense,” Bernie agreed.

“So, I was wondering if you could maybe talk to Patrick, get him to see our side?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bernie hesitated.

“He’s not answering Petra’s phone calls,” I added, desperate to get her on board. “She’s really hurt and angry at him. We all are.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Petra’s mother agreed. “He shouldn’t be ignoring his sister, even if he has some kind of grudge against you.”

“He’s trying to start fights with us,” I informed her, just to be clear. “Physical fights.”

“Oh my goodness,” Bernie said, her hand flying to her mouth. “I will definitely have a chat with him. He can’t be doing that.”

“Thank you.” I pressed my hands together in the prayer position.

“Since you’re here, why don’t you stay for a cup of coffee?” Bernie suggested.

“I thought you would never ask.”

I stayed for half an hour, filling Bernie in on everything that was going on with the bakery. She had spoken to Petra recently, although I learned that Petra hadn’t wanted to share her troubles with Patrick. Bernie did know about the renovations that were coming up and how nervous and excited her daughter was.

After leaving Bernie’s home, I went uptown to see Petra. The bakery was having a sale to celebrate its last day before closing down for renovations. They were only scheduled to be down for a week, but Petra wanted to leave on a high note. She explained that if people were treated to good food at a good price, they would be anxious to return.

I got in line and waited my turn to buy one of Petra’s delicious pastries. Along with a renovated outside and an updated dining area, the bakery promised a new assortment of treats after the upgrade. I couldn’t wait to see what was on the menu, but Petra was keeping me in the dark.

“Hey there.” She kissed me hello, waving me into the back.

There were two other kitchen staff there, and everyone was busy. They had to pack up all the tools and secure the food in the walk-in freezer. Despite the fact that the contractors had promised it would only take them a week, we all knew that was the best-case scenario. Any number of things could go wrong, which would necessitate a longer absence. The kitchen had to be prepared, and Petra was stressed out, to say the least.

“Can you grab the plastic wrap?” she asked, putting me to work.

I helped her move large mixing bowls and utensils from their cabinets into storage boxes. The boxes were going to go into Chad’s office to keep them safe. I teased her as we worked to lighten the mood.

When we were finally done, the two other staff members clocked out with a promise to see her again soon. Petra seemed sad. I knew that she worked long hours and that giving it up would mean she had lots of time on her hands.

“Think of it like a vacation,” I said.

“I know,” she sighed. “I just wish we were already through it, and I could get on with the work.”

I picked up her hand and kissed it, holding her eyes gently. “Patience.”

“I’m not very good when it comes to patience,” she replied.

“I know what would make you feel better,” I said.

She looked at me expectantly. I didn’t want to give my secret away just then. Instead, I took her by the shoulders and steered her out the back of the restaurant. We went to my car where I had parked on the sidewalk. She got in, giving me some leeway to do what I wanted.

I drove back to my apartment, helping her out of the passenger seat. We walked hand in hand through the lobby of my building, up to the fourth floor where my place was. I let her in, all the while talking about unimportant things.

Pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table, I grabbed a baguette from the counter and began to slice it. There was some fresh fig jam I was dying to try, an online find from a little store back in Boston. Setting the picnic before her, I indicated the scope of my master plan.

“This is it?” she asked.

“It’s great jam,” I said. “Just try it.”

Petra took a bite and was pleasantly surprised. She licked her lips, taking another healthy taste before responding. “This is great! I should use some of this at the bakery.”

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