2. Mason
Mason
I wish I could say I’m enjoying the Brookhaven Annual Fountain Festival. It’s usually one of my favorite days of the year. The whole town gathers in the city square, vendors give away treats, kids run around and play tag. Today is one of the reasons why people love Brookhaven, all wrapped in one little package.
But I’ve got two things keeping me from enjoying it to the fullest.
The first is that I wasn’t able to be a vendor this year. Normally, I would have jumped at the opportunity. I grew up here and have been coming to the Fountain Festival since I was three years old, the year the fountain was built. Every year since then, the whole town gathers to celebrate this central feature.
Although, let’s be real, we gather for any excuse to celebrate.
But I missed the vendor sign-up deadline, and to be honest, I wouldn’t have had the time to bake enough cookies for the entire town, anyway.
Which brings me to item number two.
My new assistant, Madeleine Sweet.
I was incredibly insulted when she showed up yesterday afternoon, claiming that my mother had set up an interview for her. It turns out she was telling the truth. Apparently, Mom did send an email letting me know about her. Which I missed, because I’m up to my nose in orders and can barely keep up.
And YES, I know that sounds like I need an assistant.
But I don’t.
A front desk receptionist is all I need. Someone to organize the business details and keep up with customers. Not help in the kitchen.
Besides being protective of my baking, I also can’t let myself be in such a close space with Madeleine. Because I can’t help the attraction I feel toward her. She’s absolutely stunning. Classy and beautiful, she carries herself with a presence you can’t deny. But she’s only twenty-four.
A surprisingly mature and accomplished twenty-four year old, but still—seven YEARS younger than me.
And let’s not mention that I’m now her boss.
So, for all these reasons, I need to keep her at a distance. I can’t allow her in the kitchen. No more conversations about the True Trophy Wives (even though I really want to know all about the Taylors’ wedding and their cake).
And definitely no touching.
Because even a simple handshake gave me a sensation I hadn’t experienced in years.
“Mason? You okay there?” Rosco, the man who owns the ice cream store and is running a stand for today’s festival, has his furry, gray eyebrows knitted together in concern.
I look down at my hand and finally notice that my vanilla ice cream is dripping all down the cone and over my fingers. “Yep. Just lost in thought. Thanks for looking out, Rosco.”
He nods and smiles, then moves on to the next customer in line. I grab a few napkins from his stand and try to mop up the sticky mess, taking a few bites of the ice cream to prevent any further disaster.
“Having some trouble there?”
I look up to see the exact reason for my distraction—Madeleine. Standing there in a fitted white t-shirt and jeans, she looks like the girl next door...with perfect legs and a million-dollar smile.
“I’m fine,” I grunt.
“Looks like it.” She puts her hands in her pocket and glances around. “So, all of this for a fountain?”
My hand is finally clean, and I throw the napkin and soggy ice cream cone into the nearby trash can. “It’s a pretty big deal.”
“What was there before the fountain?”
“Nothing.”
She presses her lips together, as if trying to keep from laughing. “And having a fountain is worth a festival because…”
“Because it’s a central hub for the town.” I cross my arms over my chest. If there’s anything I get defensive over, it’s Brookhaven. “Families gather here in the evenings while the kids play. Shopowners take their lunches here. It’s become a social center.”
She nods and takes in her surroundings again. “I guess growing up in bigger cities has made me lose out on a feeling of community.”
“I guess so.”
She watches the crowd for a few minutes. Maybe she’ll leave.
“Are you here alone?” I ask.
Or maybe I’ll say something to keep her here.
She looks back at me. Her blue eyes are so striking, I have to remind myself to focus on the conversation.
“No, my parents are over there.” She points at an elderly couple sitting on a bench, eating a caramel apple together. “They wanted to sit down, and I saw you and…” Her voice trails off, and she bites her lip, looking off into the distance. “Sorry. Maybe this is weird.”
I feel a pang of guilt. She’s new here, and seeing her parents’ age explains why they probably aren’t able to show her around. So she wanted to talk to me.
It shouldn’t fill me with warmth, but it does.
“Do you want me to show you around?” I ask.
What? Why did I say that?
Because beautiful girls make me do stupid things, that’s why.
Her face lights with joy. “I’d love that.”
I lead her over to the next stand, where Martha is serving fresh pineapple and strawberry smoothies.
“I’m looking forward to my first day,” Madeleine comments.
I nod but don’t say anything.
“And your test,” she says with a grin, taking a sip of her smoothie through the straw. It’s hard to focus on her words when she swallows and licks her lips.
Concentrate, Mason. I narrow my eyes at her. “This is serious. I need to believe you have the skills necessary to work in my kitchen.”
“Oh, trust me. I can tell you’re serious.” Her expression is anything but serious, but I refuse to give in.
We try a few more samples, and I avoid any meaningful conversations, keeping things surface. I don’t know how to keep her at a distance without being a little rude, but it’s safest this way. It doesn’t seem to bother her, though.
The final stand is a barbecue, where Aram is grilling up his lamb kabobs and handing them fresh off the grill, wrapped in pita to everyone who passes by.
“Hello, pretty lady,” he says to Madeleine, offering her a miniature sandwich. If he wasn’t seventy years old and happily married, I’d feel almost jealous at the way he’s freely flirting with her.
“Hello, there,” she says, flashing him a smile and accepting his offering. She takes a dainty bite, her eyes widening. “This is incredible. Did you marinate the meat in red wine?”
“I did, I did! For a full twenty-four hours!” He beams with delight, then winks. “I like this one,” he says quietly to me.
My face reddens with heat. “She’s just my assistant,” I say quickly.
“Sure, sure.”
Before I can say more, Ani and Mari, his granddaughters, rush over and knock Madeleine straight into me.
Instincts kick in. I grab her around the waist, holding her tight against me, and her hands go to my chest. Her body fits perfectly against mine, and warmth floods through me, a million times worse than the handshake we shared yesterday. She stares at me, wide-eyed, but I can’t let go.
“Assistant, my foot,” Aram mutters.
That does the trick. I separate myself from Madeleine and school my expression back to neutral, pretending I’m not anywhere near as affected as I feel.
Ani and Mari squeeze Aram around the waist, completely unaware of what’s going on between me and Madeleine.
“Girls! Careful with the fire!” Aram scolds them.
“We want kabob!” they squeal.
Aram chuckles and gets them each a piece of meat and bread, and they rush off. Madeleine watches them with a smile, then looks concerned. “Where are their parents?”
Aram shrugs. “I’m sure they’re around somewhere. But it doesn’t matter. This is Brookhaven. Children are safe here.”
Her eyes soften, and I see her take a deep breath. “That’s beautiful.” She looks at me and smiles warmly. “I’m glad to hear it.”
The town is growing on her, and unfortunately, she’s growing on me.
I’m in trouble.
After that final stand, I made sure to send Madeleine back to her parents, making an excuse that I needed to get to work on some cookies. She’s working her way into my thoughts and my heart, and I can’t have that.
This is dangerous.
I headed back to Cookies, and now I’m cutting cold butter into my chocolate chip cookies (the secret to their perfect texture), convincing myself of all the reasons I need to stay away from Madeleine. Because today was almost… fun. And I can’t have fun with Madeleine. We need to have a professional relationship, one where I keep her at an arm’s length and NOT pressed up against my body.
Because that sensation is one I’m having a hard time forgetting.
So here’s the reasons I’ve come up with:
She’s way too young for me. Seven years is pretty significant.
And she’s inexperienced. Sure, maybe she’s worked in a few fancy bakeries, but that doesn’t mean she has the talent I’m looking for.
Not that I’m looking for anything.
And beyond everything else, she’s a distraction.
Dang it. Speaking of distractions, now the butter is melted all over my fingers. I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I’ve ruined this batch of dough.
I set it aside, but instead of starting again, I head to my office and sit at my computer.
If she wants a test, I’ll give her a test.