The Baker's Touch (3 page)

A smile creased her lips. “Thank you, James.”

“I’ve already called our insurance and someone to fix the door.” Avery grasped her hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm.

She hesitated, unused to the jolt of awareness sizzling up her arm.

“Something wrong?”

“I, uh…no.” She allowed him to lead her forward. Their footsteps echoed and were muffled on carpet. Only one place in the building contained carpet and that was the corridor leading to the consultation rooms. “Any particular reason you’re dumping me in a consult room?”

“It’s warmer up here and you don’t have to walk through a bunch of glass,” Avery said. There was a catch in his voice.

She clutched his sleeve. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“You’re entirely too perceptive at times.” He blew out a sigh. “I received a phone call the other day, asking if the shop was for sale.”

“And you said?”

“The shop isn’t for sale. What did you expect me to say? This is your family’s business and everyone knows it’s not for sale.”

She trailed her fingers along the smooth walls until they came to an opening. “But why would anyone think this business is for sale? We’ve been here for over a hundred years. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Right.”

“So you’re thinking the call and the break-in are related?”

“Maybe someone trying to scare you into selling.”

She snorted. “Like that would ever happen.” She shrugged out of her coat. Before she could find the coat tree to hang it on, Avery removed it from her fingers. Awareness zipped up her arm. Heat crept into her cheeks as once more desire sidled through her veins. “Thank you.”

He halted in front of her. “You’re not upset that I’m leaving you in here while we clean up the mess out there?”

She rested a hand on his chest. Warmth seeped through her palm. For a moment she considered what it would be like to have it pressed to his skin. Would he have coarse or downy soft hair or perhaps none at all? Damn her dream. Swallowing hard, she dropped her hand. “I would be more of a liability out there. No sense in distracting you from what needs to be done.”

“You keep things interesting.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Your hair is wet.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to come out. I could’ve handled this.” Disapproval hung in his voice.

She lifted her chin in defiance. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“But you are,” came the quiet reply. “I’ll be back to get you when we’re done.”

Stunned, Penelope could only nod. When he said things like that, she got the impression she meant more to him than just his co-worker, but he couldn’t be interested in her. At least she didn’t think he was, but then why should he?

The faint thud of his footfalls signaled his departure. Carefully, she made her way to one of the chairs and sat. On any other day, she’d be elbow deep in a bowl of cake batter or rolling out pie crust dough. Everything in the shop was made from scratch. Everything from cookies to frosting.

She dragged agitated fingers through her tangle of damp hair. If something more had been taken then maybe she could see the rationale, but a few blocks of chocolate and a broken door were not enough to intimidate her.

And speaking of the door... She stood and made her way to the entrance of the room. With one hand on the door jamb, she stepped into the hall and listened to the sounds of the bakery.

The murmur of voices along with the tinkle of glass and slight drag of straw strands against linoleum drifted to her ears. Beyond that, diesel engines grumbled while air brakes squealed. Downtown would awaken and though she wanted to open the shop for business, she had to be certain it was safe to do so.

She stepped back, her fingers fell on smooth cool paper. She stepped back in the room and peeled the page from its mooring on the wall. She slid her hand across the missive, surprised to find tiny raised dots—Braille. This couldn’t be right. She skimmed her fingers over the bumps again.

You are my everything.

Why would someone send this to her? Could it be her mystery man? Hope surge anew, but how did he know where she worked? She stepped into the hall again, this time walking until she stood at the edge of the hallway.

“Avery?” Cool air swirled around her ankles.

Footsteps shuffled, the squeak of hinges and his soft tread. “Yes?”

“Have you seen this?” She held out the sheet of paper.

“It’s in Braille, honey,” he said. “Where’d you find it?”

“Taped to the wall in the office.”

“Maybe your parents had one of the employees put it up.”

She shook her head. “This sounds like a love note or something.”

“A love note?”

She could practically hear the smile vibrating in his voice. “Don’t get any ideas. I have no one to send me love notes.” The man she was going steady with dumped her or rather she dumped him New Year’s Eve.

“What does it say?”

She huffed.

“C’mon, P. What’s it say?”

“As much as you type up notes for me, you still haven’t learned?”

He laughed, a warm throaty chuckle which reminded her of tempered chocolate. She wanted to hear that wonderful sound all day. He threaded her hand through the crook of his arm and led her back the way she came.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if there are any more notes hanging on the walls. So spill. What does it say?”

“You are my everything.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment.”

“It is, but from whom?”

Avery paused. Paper rattled. “There’s a rather crude drawing of a sandwich on the bottom.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over the lines. “Looks like peanut butter and jelly.”

She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s a nickname my grandfather gave me as a kid and shortened it to P.” She shook her head. A smile twisted her lips while her heart softened at the memory. She loved that gruff old man, now sitting on an island somewhere ordering his nurse to bring him whatever the local flavor was. “He’s way past retirement and urged my parents to turn the shop over to me. I know he didn’t leave this note.”

“Then you have a secret admirer.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why? It’s the perfect time of year for it.”

She shook her head and pursed her lips. There was no secret admirer for her. After the way things ended with Sam, she didn’t want to think about anyone wooing her. Her ego hadn’t quite recovered from the dent, even if her heart had.

“C’mon, P. You’re the first one of us to celebrate the holiday. You love the idea of love.”

“Didn’t you get the memo? Valentine’s is canceled this year due to a missing heart.”

He chuckled. “That’s funny. I’ll have to use that sometime.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” He pressed the paper into her hand. “Someone thinks you’re everything to them. That’s all that matters.” A soft click filled the silence. “I don’t see anything else. Maybe I should check the other rooms.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She turned, reached out and grasped only air.

“Nothing here, P.” His voice was farther away and the three other doors opened and closed. A moment later he returned to her side.

She shook her head. “After everything that’s happened, it’s just strange to find it in here.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for any other love notes and alert the staff.”

She could just imagine what her employees would say about a secret admirer. At least she wouldn’t catch any speculative looks. Being blind did have its perks. “Maybe not the staff.” She touched his sleeve. “They don’t need to know.”

“Whatever you say, P.”

She went still as he leaned close. The subtle scent of his cologne enveloped her as easily as his heat.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

A faint breeze brushed her cheek, followed by fading footfalls. He was gone. Was he flirting with her? She had half a mind to call him back, but then what? If she were wrong, she’d make a total fool of herself and she’d had enough of that for the year.

Chapter Three

They didn’t open for business, but Penelope had the bakers stay. They still had orders to fulfill even if they weren’t waiting on customers. The door was slowly being repaired and the only heat in the building came from the bank of ovens. Every now and then cold air swirled through the room nipping at her ankles and toes.

She concentrated on the modeling chocolate she manipulated. It was supposed to be petals for roses, but the candy was too dry and the flowers kept breaking. She bit back a curse when yet another crumbled in her hand. There had to be a way to salvage this batch of candy. The timer hummed then buzzed. Thankful for the distraction, she set her work aside and grabbed a set of oven mitts. Shrill chiming split the air. The dang phone hadn’t stopped ringing either.

“Hot swinging,” she hollered to no one in particular. The last thing she wanted to do was burn one of her workers. The oven door slammed shut and she carefully made her way to the cooling rack and set down the tray of cakes.

“Penelope. Phone.”

“I’ll take it in my office.” She tossed the mitts on the rack and headed for the swinging doors ten steps away. She could use a break from her task.

It was much cooler back here, a welcome respite from the heat of the kitchen. Her footsteps echoed on the flat concrete. She fumbled with the doorknob on the second door on her left, walked in and kicked it closed.

“Hello.” The greeting came out a bit breathless.

“Hey… Am I catching you at a bad time?”

A smile curved her lips at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “No, I was just pulling something out of the oven. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

“Why? What happened? You did it, didn’t you?”

“Did what?”

“The nasty with that detective.”

“I did not!” Moira screeched.

Penelope chuckled. Her friend had been playing hard to get with a homicide detective, but hadn’t done more than kiss the man. “Maybe not, but you want to.”

“This is not why I called you.”

“Okay. So what else is happening?”

“Somebody took pot shots at me.”

Penelope tensed. She knew her friend’s work was sometimes dangerous, but to hear her casual statement of “pot shots” left her a little annoyed. “As in shooting at you with a gun?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, you and Violet will be the death of me one day as I sit here in my little bakery and succumb to a heart attack because my best friends are stupid!” Penelope yelled the last part. “I swear you do this for fun. You couldn’t find a nice safe job somewhere. Not that that worked well for Violet. What do you two do, take out ads at Villains-R-Us with eight by ten glossies of yourselves? And asking, no, begging you to be careful is just... Are you even listening to me?” She huffed. “Do I need to come down there and—” A knock interrupted her tirade.

“What?” she called, holding the phone away from her mouth.

“There’s a delivery here and Avery’s dealing with the door guy,” a feminine voice called.

“I’ll be right there.” Penelope returned to the phone. “Moira?” She listened to the background noises on the other end. Papers rustled and a muttered curse. “Moira!”

“Yeah. What.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Would you stay out of trouble and not get shot at?”

“There’s no fun in that. So tell me, how is Avery?”

That was a good question. She twirled the curly cord around her finger as she leaned back in her chair.

“Pens?”

“He’s fine.”

More rattling and shuffling carried through the earpiece. What was Moira doing?

“Ya know, Pens, I’ve only talked to Avery on the phone when I’m looking for you, but I think I like your assistant more than I like the guy you were dating. But, hey, that’s just my observation.”

A loud snap startled her. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Moira asked.

“That sound.”

Hesitation. “Oh, nothing. I have to go, but I’ll call you later.”

“You better.” Penelope dropped the phone in its cradle, then rubbed her temples. She knew her BFF was up to something, but she’d have to wait for a phone call. She was tempted to call Violet just to see what she had going on.

She grasped the watch on her wrist. Darn, the thing wasn’t working again. It was probably too early to call her friend anyway. That was another thing. Why did Moira ask about Avery? Ever since she told Moira and her other best friend, Violet, about that New Year’s Eve kiss they both insisted the mystery man was Avery.

Penelope doubted that. Her assistant, Avery, maintained his professionalism. Well, it did seem like he was flirting with her earlier, but she was still coasting from her sex dream. She stood, walked to the door, twisted it open and stepped into the hall.

No additional cold air. No rumble of a diesel engine idling or the squeak of a pallet jack. Had she missed the delivery? She listened to the sounds of the bakery a little longer. A short bark of laughter drifted above the whine of a power drill. The clang of metal against metal told her everything was normal.

She moved forward and slowly entered the bakery kitchen. Heat enveloped her in its warm embrace. “Shay, I thought you said there was a delivery?”

“Front counter,” the young woman said. “I’d grab it, but I’m elbow deep in cheesecake.”

“I can get it.” Penelope zigged and zagged her way through the maze of tables and pushed through the low swinging doors. The drone of the power drill ceased. After all the noise, the silence was unsettling.

A faint mint smell wafted in the air. She sniffed and stepped forward.

“Penelope, stop,” Avery ordered.

She stood still. Footsteps scratched across the floor, followed by the scrape of something metallic. Something brushed her face and she held her breath.

A warm chuckle slid down her spine and tightened her nipples. She gasped. She knew that sound. In her excitement, she forgot Avery’s order not to move and stepped forward. Something rounded but sharp grazed her temple leaving a burning sensation in its wake.

“Penelope.” Equal measures of exasperation and concern clung to his smooth baritone.