Page 21 of Whisking It All

She sighed and considered her answer. She hadn’t intended to take their conversation from flirting to mining her childhood trauma, but that just seemed to be the way things went with DDB. One minute they were debating whether or not someone could realistically have an orgasm in public without anyone knowing, and the next he was spilling his guts about the death of his parents when he was in college. He understood what it was like to have that empty hole in your heart that could never be filled in, only patched over.

They messaged daily, but they’d never shared real names, photos, or locations. She knew he was the chef-owner of a restaurant, that he favored unique twists on classic dishes. He shared her love of Brilliant British Bakes and her disdain for the bastardized American version of the show. He lived somewhere near the beach, had a brother he didn’t see often, liked to watch British period dramas, and had an inexplicable dislike for Brozone, the most popular boy band in the world. And he made her laugh. She looked forward to their conversations so much that it was sometimes hard to remember that they didn’t actually know each other.

He’d asked her to meet in person a few times, but she couldn’t bring herself to risk losing the fantasy of him. It was just easier if DDB stayed a fantasy, the mythological perfect guy who she might someday run into in line for a croissant in Paris. If they met, what were the odds that he’d actually live up to the Henry Cavill clone in her head?

WhiskyBusiness: He couldn’t handle calling me “good girl” *wink emoji*

Easier to flirt than say anything real. Safer. If she was going to make it through the next few months, she couldn’t afford to let her demons out to play. They had a habit of not going back in the box when she needed them to. Better if she never opened the lid in the first place.

DiceDiceBaby: Have you been?

DiceDiceBaby: A good girl?

Definitely not.

Tessa slid down further into the armchair. The conversation was rapidly moving from flirting to full-on sexting. While she was definitely intrigued by the idea, sexting in her own cramped apartment in Vegas was one thing; doing it in her father’s living room was another. And for some stupid reason she felt guilty about sending sexy messages to DDB now that she was going to be spending more time with Jamie.

Working with Jamie, she reminded herself. Just working.

Not that she owed any kind of fidelity to DDB, or to Jamie for that matter, but her overdeveloped sense of guilt didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

Before she could decide how best to reply—encourage this line of conversation or gently steer them back to debating whether short crust pastry was superior to American pie crust—the doorbell rang.

She opened the storm door to her father’s house to find a curvy, petite blonde on the front porch. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that highlighted sharp cheekbones in her otherwise round face, and her eyes were rimmed in a dark, smoky liner that made them look too large for her face. She held a basket of assorted scones and muffins and greeted Tessa with a crooked smirk, one edge of her mouth rising higher than the others.

“You must be TJ.”

Tessa winced. “It’s Tessa. But yes, that’s me.”

“Oh,” her confident grin faltered, clearly embarrassed by the mistake. “I’m Kyla. I help Cheryl bake for the farm stand—well, I did until she got put on bed rest. She said you were opening the pop-up at Nuthatch this year. I’ve worked the holiday pop-ups with Cheryl for the last three years, so if you need help…” She straightened her shoulders, adopting the posture of a confidence she clearly didn’t feel. “I’m punctual, always prepared, and a fast learner.”

Tessa smiled, hoping to set Kyla at ease. “Come on in, Kyla. It’s nice to meet you.”

Kyla followed Tessa into the large farmhouse-style kitchen, setting the basket of baked goods down on the poured concrete island in the center of the room.

“What’s with the muffins?” Tessa asked, gesturing to the basket.

“Cheryl sends over a basket from the farm stand every week. If she doesn’t, Ethan won’t take the time to eat breakfast. Since she’s on bed rest now, I made most of this one myself.” She turned a few of the muffins in the basket, nervously adjusting them as though they were on display in a shop and not in a basket on the kitchen counter.

Tessa’s heart clenched at the idea that her father’s friends looked out for him that way. If she had lived in town, she’d be the one to fill his kitchen with breakfast pastries, to make sure he took care of himself… “That’s really thoughtful. I’m sure he appreciates that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kyla continued. “Just some ginger scones and blueberry muffins.”

“It’s perfect,” Tessa assured her. “Thanks for bringing it by.”

“I made them myself. If you like them, maybe you’ll give me a call if you need help with the bakery? Or if you want me to take over making the weekly delivery. Now that Cheryl’s closed the farm stand until after the baby’s born, I’ve got some time on my hands. The ginger scones are my own recipe, and my number’s on the card in the basket,” Kyla said, pointing out the little square of cardboard sticking out of the side of the basket.

Tessa pulled out a scone and took a bite.

Kyla flushed. “Oh, you don’t have to do that now. I mean. You can try it when I’m gone.”

“This is good,” Tessa said as she went in for another bite. Not the best scone she’d ever had, but it was a solid recipe. “Your ginger could be candied a bit more, but I can teach you that. How about you come by the vineyard on Monday and we’ll work out the details?”

“Yeah?” Kyla shook off the moment of excitement that had bled through her nervousness. “I mean, yeah, sure. I could do that.”

“Great.”

Kyla headed for the front door, but paused and swung around to face Tessa again, a sheepish look on her face. “I was going to head over to The Rookery to meet my boyfriend for a drink. You could come. If you wanted to. I mean, I know you don’t really know anyone in town yet and—”

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