Sugar Rush (8 page)
“You had both. Always.” On closer notice of her apron, he said, “Is that—?”
“The Mad Hatter,” she said. “I told you, I have a collection.”
“You collect aprons?”
“Since I was little and my mom taught me to bake.” When he smiled, she arched a brow. “Some find it charmingly quirky.”
“You never wore any to Gateau.”
“Shocking, I know. Because I’m certain the staff would have greatly appreciated the humor in them.”
His smile twitched wider at that. “You have a point, I suppose. I must say, this dry side of you is surprisingly appealing. What does it say?” He nodded toward her apron front.
She lifted her arms away so he could read the script that accompanied the copy of an original pen and ink art rendering of the Hatter seated at a long table, holding a tea cup aloft.
“
YOU’RE NEVER TOO OLD TO HAVE A TEA PARTY
,” he read out loud, then smiled at her. “I rather agree. You make a charming and somewhat more quirky Alice than I’d have expected. I seem to recall Alice spent the better part of her time being irritated and flustered, too. Perhaps if I’d come bearing tea and crumpets, with a bewildered, bespectacled white rabbit clutching a pocketwatch in his paw, you’d have been more willing to give me the time of day.”
YOU’RE NEVER TOO OLD TO HAVE A TEA PARTY
,” he read out loud, then smiled at her. “I rather agree. You make a charming and somewhat more quirky Alice than I’d have expected. I seem to recall Alice spent the better part of her time being irritated and flustered, too. Perhaps if I’d come bearing tea and crumpets, with a bewildered, bespectacled white rabbit clutching a pocketwatch in his paw, you’d have been more willing to give me the time of day.”
He saw her fight the smile, and unrepentantly grinned at her.
She lost the battle and even snickered a little, but was clearly disgusted with herself for it, and not at all happy with him, despite the smile that continued to hover around her mouth. “You’re incorrigible. You know that and you use it against the defenseless. Absolutely, positively shameless.” She lifted a warning finger. “Just because you made me laugh, don’t get any bold ideas that I’m going to hand my shop over to you and your production team. I don’t want the craziness of your world coming into mine that way. And that’s not to say I’m even buying any of the story you’re selling.”
He edged his weight onto the counter and lifted his hands out to the side. “What other reason could I possibly have?”
“I haven’t the vaguest clue,” she said. “And that’s what bothers me.”
“It’s not remotely possible to you, then, that I’m speaking the truth? About missing you? Being here for you?”
She resettled her folded arms on her chest. “If you missed me, you have an odd way of showing it. Other than the congratulatory flowers, which you sent from the entire staff at Gateau, I’ve not heard a single thing from you in any way since I left New York. Not that I thought I would, but given this big pronouncement of yours, that seems a bit unusual. If this is a sudden realization for you, I can think of a whole list of ways to get my attention, all discreet and personal, not to mention more intimate. Not one of those ways includes dragging your entire television crew down here so you can beam your show to the whole wide world from my little country island kitchen.”
He started to speak, then realized she had, yet again, a solid point. He dug his hands in his pockets. “Some would see the gesture as quirky and charming.”
Her lips twitched again. “Seriously, with that. Cut it out.”
“Oh, I’m quite serious,” he replied, then made her eyes go wide when he braced his palm on the flat countertop and hopped over to her side in one quick maneuver.
She immediately backed up, and kept backing up, as he straightened and moved toward her. “You know what else is quirky and charming?” he asked.
“Is that a rhetorical question? Baxter, really, what do you think you’re—stop!”
“No,” he said quite succinctly. “You know what I think? I think you’re still nervous, only it’s not professional in nature.”
“Maybe because you’re suddenly stalking me?” She backed around the L-shaped display cabinets, then quickly realized she’d backed herself into a corner as this path led to the wall comprising the far side of the shop.
He continued his approach. “I wouldn’t have to stalk if you’d stop running away.”
“I’m not running, I’m ...”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re ... ?”
She ran out of room when her back hit the small stainless steel sink mounted to the wall behind the end of the side display case. She bumped up against it, and braced her hand behind her to steady herself. “Baxter—”
“Leilani.” He didn’t stop until he was almost hip to hip with her.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Testing my theory.” He leaned in closer.
Her eyes went wider ... and her pupils wider still. And ... definitely not in fear.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he murmured.
“You—don’t do it, Baxter. I—there are windows. Lots of them. Right over there.” She flung a hand in the general direction of the front of the shop, taking out a silver napkin holder as she did so.
“You’ve never been clumsy before, to my knowledge. I seem to be wreaking a bit of havoc on your natural grace and poise.”
“The windows,” she repeated. “With people. On the other side. Looking in. And seeing—”
He reached up and stroked a finger down the side of her cheek. Her lips parted on a little sigh. But it was when she moistened the bottom one with the tip of her tongue that his suspicions were completely confirmed.
He slid his fingers to the side of her neck, until her skittering pulse was right beneath his fingertips. “You’re not afraid of me, Leilani.”
“No,” she agreed, the word more of a whispered rasp. Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “I’m not afraid of you.”
He lost the battle—if he’d ever been seriously waging one to begin with. He’d just needed a sign that he wasn’t alone in this. He cupped the back of her neck and lowered his head, craving a taste of that moist bottom lip more than he’d craved even the rarest of Belgian chocolates.
At the last possible second her gaze flew up to his. “I am afraid of being the center of nasty rumors again. And ... and of the ugly gossip that will make my work suffer, this time threatening my shop. And making me feel like ... like ... I did. Before. All over again. It was one thing in the city, Baxter. But I work where I live now, and it’s a very small place. Surrounded by people I know and care about. So, don’t do this to me. Not now. Not here. Please.”
He couldn’t have imagined anything she might have said that could have shifted the mood more swiftly, or had him pulling himself up so abruptly.
But that did it.
He lifted his head, his gaze pinning hers. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” She pushed at his chest, and he lifted his hands and moved away. Anything remotely playful in the tension between them was definitely gone.
“Explain it to me.” He moved further back, then leaned against the case, shoving his hands in his pockets. No defensiveness on his part, just honest concern. And complete mystification. “Please. I truly don’t understand. But I want to.”
She held his gaze, then sighed, looked down, and muttered something under her breath he couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like “why now?”
“Because now is the first time I’m hearing about it,” he said.
She met his gaze again. “It wouldn’t be, if you’d ever paid attention.”
“Paid attention to what, exactly?”
“Me. Your staff. And everything that was being said about our supposed inappropriate relationship.”
His eyes widened. “That’s what you’re upset about?”
If it was possible, her eyes widened even further. “You mean you know about all that?”
“Of course I do. My kitchen, my domain. I don’t miss anything that happens in my kitchen. You should know that. It was rubbish then, just as it’s rubbish now. Anyone with a pair of eyes in their head knew how amazing you were. Are. Your talent speaks for itself.”
“It would have helped—a lot—if you’d spoken up for me. Just once.”
“And give them the benefit of lending even a shred of credence to their silly chatter?”
“Ch-chatter?” Her mouth dropped open, then snapped right back shut. “Silly to you, maybe, but it made my life—my work life, which was my whole life—absolute, utter hell.” She tried to smile, and failed miserably. “That was your job, Chef. Not theirs.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, which turned into a shoulder roll. Then she blew out a long breath and shook the tension from her arms before folding her hands in front of her. As if she could shake off the memories as easily. “I signed on to be your target, take your hell. And I appreciated every challenging second of it. More than you will ever, ever know. But I didn’t sign on to be their target, for mud-slinging character assassinations and sabotage.”
“It’s part of life in kitchens everywhere,” he said. “Not an excuse, but a simple truth. And I run mine with a far gentler hand than most. I believe humor works over screaming every time. Charm has its benefits. But, at best, it merely keeps the battle under some semblance of working control, because there is no real way to diminish the reality that it’s a cutthroat, competitive business. Stabbing others to get ahead is to be expected. And your back had the biggest target. The trick is to not take it personally.”
Her eyes popped wide.
“Better yet, look at it as a compliment and let it make you stronger. Which it was, and it did, when you think about it. It meant you were the one to take down. The more vicious the rumor, the more confirmation you had in your ability.”
“Strangely, it didn’t feel that way to me. As you said, it was your domain, and you were the king. One word from you—”
“Would have made it a hell of a lot worse for you.” He straightened away from the case. “For what it’s worth now, from all outward appearances, you handled it with amazing aplomb. Brilliantly played—which drove them bonkers, I might add. You never let them see you sweat, as you Yanks are fond of saying, and I was quite proud of you for it.” He took one step toward her. “And you quietly shoved their ignorance back in their faces when you ended up first in succession to Gateau’s throne.”
“Yes, that went over really well. But then, throughout history, thrones are rarely ascended by the most deserving, but the most conniving. And often, those accompanying the king are hardly looked upon as, shall we say, decent, upstanding citizens. Quite the opposite.”
“As you said, it was my kingdom. And I don’t run my kingdom that way. I know that. You know that. And they knew that, too. When I left you in charge of Gateau it was because you were the best choice to run it. Anyone foolish enough to think otherwise, soon had proof of their own idiocy.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. It was that, or reach for her. And he’d screwed up enough for one day. He ambled back around the counter, to the customer side of the display cases. She remained where he’d left her.
He turned when he got to the door. “I handled things the best way I knew how—which was to keep my hands off you, and let you fend for yourself, as I knew you would. Or you weren’t meant to be there in the first place. If you’d come to me, and told me how you felt about it, I’d have explained why I handled it as I did. Though it wouldn’t have changed things in the kitchen, you’d have known without a doubt, that you’ve always—always—had my full and utter support. What bothers me most is that I thought you already did know that. Apparently, it wasn’t enough.” He put his hand on the knob, then looked back at her one last time. “It was because of everything that happened, that you’re not finding out until now.”
She walked back to the register, standing behind the lower counter, where they could see each other fully. “Which part?”
“How I feel about you. Personally. From the moment you stepped into my kitchen you earned my professional respect ... and neatly snagged all of my personal attention. But because of our positions and work environment, I could hardly do anything about it. I’d have never compromised you, or me, for that matter, or Gateau. But it doesn’t change the fact that I wanted to. All the time. Hours on end. Pure torture. The television show offer was timely. A great opportunity, yes, but do you know what decided me on taking that leap? It offered a reprieve.”
“You love being host of your own show. You’re not capable of hiding your passion for things. How you feel is always written all over you. It’s part of your charm. Which is why I’m still finding it hard—”
He strode across the shop in a few short steps, was around the counter before she had time to move. His hand was on the back of her neck and his mouth was on hers before his brain had a chance to make an argument against the action. He kissed her like a dying man.
And, this time ... she kissed him back.
When he lifted his head, they were both breathing like they’d run a marathon. “Don’t call me a liar, Leilani. It’s insulting.” He stepped back and she leaned on the counter for support after he let her go. He walked back to the door, knowing it was past time to leave. Before he put his hands on her again. Next time it wouldn’t be just a kiss. And the nosy old biddies of Sugarberry would have a hell of a lot more than speculation to gossip about.
“Setting the show here was an excuse. I readily admit that. And using your shop as the set was nothing more than a way to be near you. To give me time—us time—and a good opportunity to work together as partners, not employer-employee, to see what could be, now that we’re both in a position to do whatever we want. I honestly thought it was a harmless plan, and yes, that it might even be a good thing for your new business. No insult intended.” Baxter braced himself in the open doorway, and looked directly at her. “I’ve meant every word I’ve said today, Leilani. And I meant what I told you this morning. I’m not doing fine without you. So, I did the only thing left to do. I came here to find out how life could be,
with
you.” He closed the door behind him as he left, wishing he could close the door on their past just as easily.
with
you.” He closed the door behind him as he left, wishing he could close the door on their past just as easily.
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