Chapter Twenty-One
I had my elbows on the countertop in the bakery, chin in my hands as I watched a young couple across the room from me. They were sitting at a little table for two, feeding each other bites of their respective desserts - hers, a red velvet cupcake, while he enjoyed one of Penny’s new Caramel Lovers’ Lava Cakes - giggling to each other as she got smears of cream cheese frosting all over him.
They made me smile, even as they sickened me with their cloying sweetness.
I had probably been watching them for a little too long now, I had even stopped pretending to rearrange the pastries in the display panel.
It wasn’t even how good-looking they both were or how freshly in Love they seemed to be that had me so entranced.
I think it was the way he kept touching her; with such loving care. As though he cherished her more than anything else in the world, as if he relished every moment he was privileged enough to touch her.
I watched with fascination as he trailed his fingers lightly up the outside of her arm. It made me shiver.
And the way she glowed with happiness as he touched her; I wish I could feel that comfortable with anyone touching me.
How deeply I longed to be touched.
I was so absorbed in watching the young couple that I didn’t even hear my own doorbells jingle as a new customer stepped into the shop.
Thus, I was immensely surprised to find myself suddenly gazing at a man’s torso, wrapped in a tight black T-shirt.
I jerked my eyes up to a handsome, grinning face and I quickly straightened into a standing position. “Mason!” I gasped in surprise. “What’re you doing here?!”
I patted myself down self-consciously as I imagined I must look a mess, all covered in cake flour with no makeup to speak of and my hair in a careless bun.
He continued grinning down on me. “Thought I’d take a cheat day. What do you recommend to someone who wants to shamelessly consume calories?”
This made me laugh, but I was still incredibly tense, having him here.
This was the first time I had seen him in here, if he had been in once before, as he claimed, I must’ve been in the back that day.
The shop suddenly seemed much too small, and it was already undersized. With his massive form taking up so much air, I suddenly felt like the place had shrunken to the size of a dollhouse.
“Uhm, the new Caramel Lovers’ Lava Cake is pretty good.” I heard myself say.
There were only a few left, in fact. Penny was currently in the kitchen, making the next batch.
I was the only one on counter right then because it wasn’t terribly busy at 2pm and I had sent Zoe into the back to whip up more frosting.
I was all alone with Mason, in other words, even the grossly cute couple were getting up to leave.
“Sounds awesome.” He said, glancing across the display case of desserts he probably almost never ate. “They all look amazing, actually. Do you really make them all yourself?”
I flushed with helpless pride. “Well, my team and I, yes.”
“But you come up with all the recipes, right? That’s incredible. How do you decide what to put on your menu?”
I fidgeted nervously as he squatted down to better inspect my little custard tarts topped with glassy fruit.
“Uhm, well, there’s stuff people always love; fudge brownies, croissants, giant oatmeal cookies, stuff like that. Cakes of course.
“And then I experiment with other recipes for fun. I try to put new stuff out every month. And of course we do seasonal stuff that people expect; pumpkin spice everything in the fall, eggnog fudge in winter, hot cross buns in the spring, and frozen cake pops in the summer. We also do cakes for order.”
“Wow. You must be kept pretty busy.” He said, straightening up from the display case.
I shrugged modestly. He had no idea. If I wanted to make a profit, I pretty much had to work 12 hours a day, 7 days a weeks. I knew I should think about hiring another manager soon, or at least another pastry chef, my employees were practically begging me to, but I just wasn’t ready to slacken the reins on my business baby. Not yet, anyway.
“I think I’ll take one of those little pie things.” He told me.
“A custard tart? Sure.”
“And a large black coffee, please.”
“Okay.” I rang him up and then slapped money into the cash register from my own wallet, waving him off firmly when he tried to pull out his. “On the house. Please, I insist.”
He hesitated then smiled in a somewhat sly fashion. “Take a break and come eat this with me and I’ll let you pay for it.”
Let me?
I sighed. “Sure, let me grab Zoe from the back to cover the counter for me then.”
Mason sauntered off with his coffee and his tartlet and I took off my apron as I stepped into the back.
“Zoe, sweetie, can you cover front for me, for, like, ten minutes, please?” I called out as I went to the mirror in the staff bathroom to try to smooth down my flyaways and check to make sure that I didn’t have anything in my teeth.
“Ugh, I’m almost done with this batch of buttercream.” Zoe called back. She was young, only a freshman in college, and she didn’t exactly take direction well.
“The buttercream can wait, Zo!” I may have snapped, just a little. “Just put it in the fridge and go up front, please!”
“Sure thing, boss.” I heard her sigh.
Semi-satisfied that I was looking decent in my floral blouse and white jeans tucked into my favorite pair of knee high boots, brown, I left the bathroom and tried to appear confident as I strode out of the kitchen and across the dining room floor to where Mason was sitting.
Of course, I would have to trip on a random crack in the linoleum and make a complete spectacle of myself.
###
Mason was sitting at one of the two window tables, with his back to the wooden accent wall.
I sat across from him with a sheepish smile, trying to pretend that I wasn’t now sporting a bit of a limp.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “You okay?”
I blushed furiously and took a sip of the water bottle I was holding. “Yeah, I’m just too clumsy for my own good sometimes.”
“Well, we’ll surely have to work on your coordination then.” He said with mild amusement. “I thought you’d have a coffee and a pastry with me.”
“I’ve had entirely too much coffee today.” I assured him. I had a nervous tick in my leg to prove it. “And I also have to watch how many pastries I consume a day or believe me, I’d eat them all and wouldn’t make any profit.”
This got him to laugh. A real laugh; now that was a good sound.
“So...what’s up?” I asked him, unable to stand the anticipation any longer.
He raised his eyebrows at me as he took another bite of his custard fruit tart. He had almost finished it.
“I have to have an excuse to come see you at work? If I’m to play a convincing boyfriend then I should probably at least know the color of the walls in your bakery.”
I laughed, glancing behind me at the rust red color of the wall behind the counter.
“Did you choose the color?” He asked me.
“Yep. Painted it myself, too. Saved myself money whenever I could, really.”
“That’s smart.” He polished off the tart and I smiled when his eyes rolled back and he groaned with unmistakable bliss.
That sound sent a tingle through my fingers. I wanted to make him moan like that, but for other, sexier reasons. Reasons that would take place in a bedroom and not in my own bakery, which was currently open to the public.
“That...is seriously amazing, Annie.” He told me when he had washed the tart down with more coffee.
I couldn’t help it if I was glowing in pleasure at the praise.
“Thanks. Glad you liked it.”
“It makes me wish every day could be cheat day. Good thing we’re not really dating, or you’d probably get me fat within a few months!”
He chuckled, sucking his fingers clean of simple syrup.
This got my internal light to dim, I could feel it.
He looked up at me and seemed to register his mistake. Instead of addressing it, however, he chose to move on past it, which was probably the right thing to do in this case. “So tell me, what’s your favorite thing to make? And contrarily, what’s something that you really hate?”
“Uhm,” this got me to wrinkle my nose as I thought about his question, “Cakes, honestly. The sign on the door says it all. I love cakes, everything about them; from the batter, to the layers, to the frosting, to the decorations that make it all come to life.
“Uhm, as for something I hate...passion fruit. Utterly useless and just...gross. And wrong.”
Mason laughed heartily at this. “Okay, good to know. No passion fruit for you.”
I smiled at him in wry consideration. “What about you, big guy? Any allergies? What’s your favorite cheat food?”
“Hmmm.” He ran his hand down the back of his head to slide his long black braid through his fingers. The gesture itself seemed to soothe him. “I’m allergic to hemp. Super random, I know. As for my favorite cheat food...well, now it might have to be your custard tarts.”
This made me laugh.
“But I don’t think anything will ever replace the love in my heart that I have towards pizza. Deep dish, Detroit style.”
“Mmmm, deep dish, Chicago style.” I told him like we were exchanging military clan information.
“Mmmm. Since it’s my cheat day, do you wanna come grab a pizza with me? I can come back and pick you up after work.”
“Mason...” I dropped my eyes to the Formica surface of the tabletop.
“You said it yourself, we need to get to know each other better before the party this weekend.”
I bit my lip and nodded. “Sure. Okay. Yeah. I mean, I had a movie night planned with Penny and her kids, but I could skip it.
“It’s not like I don’t see them several times a week as it is.”
He flashed me that smirk I was starting to associate with his face. It was a smug expression; the expression of a wealthy, good-looking individual who was exceptionally comfortable getting everything their way, all the time.
It was probably my least favorite thing about Mason Blacksteele.