Chapter 6
Rafe
Knowing I’d put that vulnerable look in Jojo’s eyes should have made me more careful. Instead, it made me want to get closer.
“Do I need to double-check your work before we get those cakes in the oven?” She jerked her pinky from mine and moved toward the mixing bowl.
“I already did.” I’d caused enough chaos for one day. I wasn’t going to make things worse by screwing up a recipe.
Jojo dragged a spoon through the batter, checking the consistency before pouring it into the prepared pans. Then she glanced toward the chocolate melting on the stove. “Keep stirring that for me. Slow and steady. It needs a gentle touch.”
“I can be gentle.”
Her head snapped around. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” I asked, even though we both knew.
“Flirt baking.”
I picked up the spoon and moved it through the chocolate. “Maybe I’m just being friendly.”
“Just don’t scorch it.” She turned away, but not before I caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth.
I focused on the pan. Special effects looked like explosions, flying monsters, and blood spraying from severed limbs. Most of the actual work was far less exciting. Measure. Test. Adjust. Repeat until everything behaved exactly the way it should.
The coffin had behaved perfectly in my shop.
That thought soured the moment. I should have checked it again before I did the demo.
Jojo might joke about cake murder, but what I’d destroyed mattered.
The cake was proof she could build something beyond waiting tables and squeezing orders into the scraps of time left after taking care of everyone else.
I wasn’t going to be the reason she lost that chance.
After she double checked my work, I helped slide the pans into the oven. Jojo set the timer, then immediately reached for another bowl.
“Take a breath,” I said.
“I’ll breathe after the cake is done.”
Helmut appeared carrying two baskets loaded with burgers and fries. “Last customers are gone. I’m locking up.”
“We don’t have time to eat,” Jojo said.
“The cake needs to bake whether you glare at the oven or not.” He set the food on the counter then looked at me. “The cameras work, and she knows where I keep the knives.”
I put my hands up, palms out. “I’ve already been threatened with a cake dowel.”
“Good.” He nodded, satisfied. “Saves me the trouble.”
Jojo shoved him toward the door while I tried not to laugh. After he left, the main dining-room lights clicked off. Orange Halloween bulbs still glowed around the front windows, and paper ghosts drifted in the air from the ceiling vents. Rain tapped steadily against the glass.
The restaurant felt different without the customers… quieter… more intimate.
Jojo reached for the powdered sugar.
I caught her wrist before she could pick it up. “Food first.”
Her gaze dropped to my hand, so I released her. I’d been touching her too much since we met. Or maybe not nearly enough.
“The timer says twenty-four minutes,” I added. “You can spare ten.”
She glanced at the oven, then at the baskets. Finally, she let out a tired breath. “Fine.”
We carried the food into the dining room and slid into a booth near the kitchen. My apron bunched under me, and the hairnet itched like hell, but I left both on. Taking them off felt like admitting my shift as Jojo’s assistant was over.
She took a bite of her burger and closed her eyes for half a second. The sight made something tighten in my chest. Jojo was beautiful giving orders and threatening bodily harm, but I liked this version even better.
“You should be at the rehearsal dinner,” she said.
“Luke gave me a pass.”
“You’re the best man.”
“I already know where to stand.”
Her brows lifted.
I reached for a fry, buying myself a second. “I’ve done a rehearsal before.”
“You’ve been in other weddings?”
“I was almost in my own.” The words settled between us, heavy even after nine months.
Jojo set down her burger. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop. “My fiancée called it off the morning of the wedding.”
Her face softened with quiet understanding. “What happened?”
“I worked too much.” I rubbed my thumb along the edge of my cup. “Every time she complained, I told her things would settle down after the next job. Then there was always another job.”
“You were building your business.”
“I was also expecting her to keep waiting while I did it.”
The truth tasted bitter. My ex hadn’t blindsided me. She’d warned me. I’d just believed loving someone meant they would stay until I was ready to make room for them. By the time I figured out I was wrong, she was gone.
“So now I don’t make promises unless I know I can keep them,” I said. “A promise ought to mean something when you make it.”
She held my gaze across the table and looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t.
The oven timer rang so I didn’t push it. We returned to the kitchen and fell back into the rhythm we’d found earlier. Jojo rotated the pans and started the buttercream while I finished the spiders. Measuring chocolate was easier than thinking about what she’d stopped herself from saying.
A knock sounded at the back door, and I went to answer. I’d texted Luke to bring the topper to the restaurant and he stood outside holding a small cardboard box. His gaze went to my apron and hairnet.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
“Formal best-man attire.”
Jojo leaned around me. “He’s my assistant.”
Luke looked between us and grinned. “I’m just dropping off the topper.”
He handed me the box and made a few snide comments about my hairnet, then left for dinner.
Jojo wiped her hands and came closer as I opened it. Inside, a ceramic bride and groom stood under a delicate arch. The paint was faded and one side looked it had been glued back together.
She lifted it, testing the weight. “This can’t sit on the top tier.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too heavy. All that weight would press into one spot.” She turned it over, studying the bottom. “I can display on the table though.”
“Luke really wanted it worked into the design.”
Her eyes narrowed. “The last thing you worked into the design was a skeleton.”
“Fair.” I studied the topper, then her sketchbook. The middle tiers were fake. That gave us options. “What if the topper didn’t rest on the cake?”
Jojo crossed her arms. “I’m listening.”
“I can build a support into one of the fake tiers. I’ll run a rod up through the center, anchor it in the foam where it can actually hold weight, and let it carry the topper all the way to the top. It'll look like it's sitting on the cake. None of that weight will touch the frosting.”
She hesitated, and I couldn’t blame her.
“No springs,” I promised. “No moving parts. Nothing jumps, screams, or attempts murder.”
“You get one chance.”
That was all I needed. I found a few pieces among the supplies we’d hauled in and put together a simple support. Jojo stayed close, questioning every measurement and making sure I respected her design. I liked that about her. She knew what she wanted and expected people to listen.
When the support was ready, we tested the topper. It held.
Jojo added black roses around the base, softening the old white arch and hiding my work. What had looked out of place in the box now seemed made for the cake.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
The compliment made my chest puff out.
A streak of chocolate marked her cheek. “You’ve got something right there.”
She wiped the wrong side.
“The other side.”
She missed again.
I stepped closer and raised my hand, pausing long enough for her to move away. She didn’t. My thumb brushed the chocolate from her skin. Her breath caught. Mine did too.
The restaurant had gone quiet around us. Rain beat against the windows. The mixer sat silent. Even the ridiculous hairnet stopped itching.
“This feels a lot like flirt baking,” I said.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “Maybe the rules are different after closing.”
I slid my hand to the side of her neck. “Tell me to stop.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
I leaned in and kissed her. For one heartbeat, she stayed still. Then her fingers twisted into my apron and pulled me closer.
The kiss went from careful to desperate. She tasted like chocolate and salt and something I could get addicted to far too easily. I backed her against the counter, keeping one hand at her waist and the other cradling her neck.
Jojo’s fingers tangled in my hairnet and knocked it sideways. I didn’t care. She could have ripped it off and strangled me with it, and I probably would have thanked her.
The timer shrieked. We broke apart, both of us breathing hard. She blinked hard, here hands still gripping my apron.
“Saved by the bell?” I asked.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth. “Delayed by the bell.”
For the first time all night, I couldn’t wait for the cake to cool.