Chapter 9
SERENA
It’s been three weeks since I offered our kitchen to Burke for his operations and he and his daughters have been busy preparing large batches to be packaged and distributed.
Because they are only in local stores, they are able to handle the orders on their own as it is a much smaller scale.
But if they continue to grow, they will definitely look into their own space.
I hate to admit this, but the ice cream is ridiculously delicious and I may or may not have bought a few gallons at my local grocer to inhale all by myself. I’ll never tell Burke that because it will give him a big head and we just can’t have that.
My heels click as I walk down the hall to our kitchen at the end of our warehouse.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I want to drop off the dish I made for our company dinner that will happen in just a few hours.
We will be closed for the next four days to give our employees ample time with their families, and we always host a pot luck just after close which is early today.
I turn the corner and see Burke rushing to clean the stainless steel in a rush. A line of dishes are lined up against the back counter, ready for people to dig in at a moment’s notice. When I enter the kitchen, Burke looks up with panic on his face.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be out of here shortly. We had a problem with a batch and I was trying to make some more before the holiday. One of the stores was hoping to have it by today and it doesn’t look like I’ll get the order filled.”
My feet take me to the counter where I place my dish with the others, then join Burke at the work space.
“Did you get it all done?” I ask him as he continues to wipe everything down.
“Not quite. But I know you all are having your dinner soon, so I don’t want to be a bother anymore.” He shakes his head and I can tell by his flushed cheeks and sweat lined forehead that he’s upset.
“Burke,” I say his name but he doesn’t stop. “Burke. It’s okay.” I reach out and put my hand on his, putting a halt to his frantic motions. “We’re not eating for another couple of hours and we won’t be in here. This is just the staging area.”
His eyes are glued to my hand on his and I grow self conscience and pull it away like I’ve just touched fire.
I’ve softened to him over the last few weeks that he’s been here. I already had a friendly relationship with his girls, and his grumpy demeanor seems to be fading more and more. Mine may be melting a tad bit as well, making me more tolerable.
“Well I’ve gone well past my time, so I’ll get out of your wa–”
“How much do you have left to make?” I stroll slowly towards the cabinet that holds towels and aprons and grab my favorite one.
“Uh I-um about, uuh…” he fumbles with his words and when I look up after tying the apron on, his eyes are glued to me.
I look down and chuckle slightly as I know the apron catches most people off-guard, but it sums up my personality perfectly.
It’s of a woman with dark hair pulled into a 50’s style do and wearing tiny shorts and crop top while standing by a grill with a spatula in hand.
A large steak is sizzling on the charcoal grill and it says, “I like my meat juicy.”
I don’t wear this outside of the kitchen and every person who has seen it just laughs. I’m a smartass and my jokes are of the that’s what she said variety.
“What?” I ask, sliding up next to him and grabbing the paper sitting under his palm.
“That’s a…very unique apron. Was it a gift?”
“Sure, to myself. Is there something wrong with it?” My eyes scan the paper with measurements and ingredients listed.
He’s never shown me his recipe as he guards the secret, and I’ve never asked. I have no intentions in taking his idea. Like I told him, I’m not a thief and this is my being helpful.
“N-no. It’s just not what I would expect from someone like you?”
“Someone like me? I repeat and come to a hard stop at the door of the freezer. “That’s a rude thing to say.”
He shakes his head as if trying to get all of his marbles back into place. “No. I didn’t mean…I would’ve taken you for a plain color. Maybe black or white. Definitely not something like that.”
I pull the large door open using all my muscle, and walk inside. “I’m not a stick in the mud like I’m sure you assume. I do have a sense of humor.”
Burke follows me in and stands at the door. “My girls have told me as much. What are you doing?”
With a large case of peaches in my hands I tell him, “Helping you fill your order. We have a few hours, so let’s get it done.
I’ve never made ice cream before, so you’re going to have to tell me what to do.
But I’m quite good at following instructions and pick things up easily.
” He examines me from head to toe and reaches out to take the peaches from me.
“I promise not to steal or memorize your recipe. I’m only here to help. ”
He looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe what I’m saying, but gives in. “Grab that milk,” he says, jutting his chin at the large gallon on the shelf.
I do as he says and follow him out. He sets the peaches down and uncovers a large box like machine that I know is the churner.
He begins assembling it and I walk around the kitchen, opening cabinets and looking for the remaining items on his list. We made sure to give him ample space to store his ingredients so that he wasn’t hauling everything back and forth.
We work together, mostly in silence, as he instructs me what to do. The smell of fresh peaches makes it feel like summertime and not Thanksgiving, and a song gets stuck in my head. I hum as I chop up pecans and dump them into a bowl.
“What’s that?” Burke asks, breaking my concentration.
“Huh?” I stop the motion of my knife and look up at him.
“The song. What are you humming?” He has a small, lopsided smile and little bubbles swirl in my belly.
“Oh, um you’ve probably never heard of it.” I keep my eyes zeroed in on my knife and swallow the tune down.
“Try me,” he says and pulls out his phone.
“It’s called Thin Moon by Mayer Hawthorne.” It’s not a mainstream song or even very popular, but the guy is my super nerd crush and I listen to him daily.
I watch Burke as he slides his finger along his screen then smiles when he finds whatever he’s looking for.
The sound of piano keys fills the room from the small speaker and I know instantly what song it is.
I continue on with chopping pecans as the song plays and Burke stands just off to my side.
I begin humming again and move my hips just slightly, side to side.
“I like it.” Burke’s voice is velvety and smooth and I shiver when it hits me in my core.
“Yeah?” I ask and he nods.
The sound of the churner is going, the piano notes are playing, and Mayer’s voice croons a silky melody. I'm so lost to the music and chopping pecans that I don’t notice the spatula that is suspended in front of me at first. I pull back and look cross-eyed at the creamy mound that sits on it.
“Time for the taste test,” he tells me and gives that spatula a small shake.
I set down the knife and wipe my hands on the apron. Cautiously I stick my tongue out and swipe up the cool cream. It’s perfectly sweet without being overly sugary, and the taste brings back memories of playing in the tall grass and running through the pecan orchard.
“Mmm. Even better when it’s fresh.” I moan, then throw my eyes open when I realize what I just said.
“What?” Burke asks, not sure if what he heard is correct and I brilliantly, at the same time, say, “what?” Like I’m questioning myself.
“You said this is even better when it’s fresh. Have you had some previously?” I lick my lips and swallow down the last remnants of peachy pecan deliciousness.
“Um, well see, the other night I was at Coopers picking up a few things and I saw that they had a couple of gallons of your ice cream left. I thought I would try it out and it’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” He asks with a cocky smirk. “The way you moaned sounded like it was a helluva lot more than not bad.”
My cheeks burn red and I close my eyes before admitting, “Okay. Fine. I’ve been buying it for weeks. It’s delicious, I love it, and I dream about it when I run out.”
When I roll them open, I see Burke’s smile large and wide and arrogance wafting off of him like cologne. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with that amused look on his face. It’s infuriating.
I watch as he picks up the small bowl and dip the spatula in, coming away with another dollop of fresh ice cream.
My eyes are glued to his hand as it moves closer and closer until it stops just a breath from my lips.
I look up at him and his steely gray eyes are watching me, waiting for what I’ll do next.
Slowly, I open my mouth and let my tongue lap at it. He doesn’t waver in his gaze and when I close my lips, his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. This time around I’m able to control my moaning and swallow it down with the ice cream. When it’s all down, I lick my cool lips and stand unmoving.
From my peripheral, I see his hand coming into view.
I’m nervous and not sure what to do. Should I slap his hand away?
Do I bite his finger if it gets too close?
Or should I just drop everything and run?
While I’m standing here stupidly contemplating the what if’s, I’m jolted when he presses his finger to the corner of my mouth and swipes.
I watch his hand as it retreats, my eyes crossing at the tip of my nose.
My heart is pounding, there’s a whooshing sound in my ears, and I feel my toes tingle as the blood rushes down. Burke’s lips are moving but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I feel like I’m in a tunnel and he’s at the other end, trying to call out.
“Huh,” I ask, blinking my eyes.
“Ice cream. You had a smudge of ice cream on you.” He holds up his finger that is dotted with a spot of ice cream.
“Oh. Okay. Well,” I say as I fight to untie my apron. I give up and say, “I think I heard my brother. I’ll be back. Take your time.”
I stumble over my words and my feet as I try to flee, apron still hanging from my neck and full blown panic on my face.
I walk out and don’t look back because I’m feeling utterly embarrassed.
Of course he would have no way of knowing that his small touch opened a floodgate between my thighs and I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid, like rip his clothes off and roll around in ice cream just so I could lick him clean.
Oh god, I hope I have an extra pair of panties in my office.