Chapter 3 #2
Pulling the heavy wooden door, she stepped inside Craving Clean, which was just as different from her place on the inside.
Where Sugarfall enveloped its customers in pleasure and nostalgia, Craving Clean projected precision. Fewer tables, all in straight, neat lines. A menu board with bold fonts, no flourishes. Every item—protein bites, oat bars, sugar-free truffles—was neatly displayed like an exhibit in a museum.
Of course, there was artfully placed Pittsburgh Steelers memorabilia to draw the eye and impress the patrons.
And there were plenty of customers. Not a line out the door like when Craving Clean first opened, but quite a few people sipping smoothies in glass tumblers, biting into muffins the size of fists, nodding as if they were doing something good for their bodies.
Marshall Hampton was behind the counter, talking to a customer with that tall, broad-shouldered, effortless charm that made her toes curl in her boots.
When his gaze landed on her, his whole face lit.
“Gracie! Well, this is a treat. How’s the science fair project going? I hope Olivia isn’t eating you out of chocolate chip cookies. She doesn’t get them here.”
She came closer to the counter, praying her voice wasn’t stretched thin or her cheeks weren’t the color of those organic strawberry oatcakes in the display case.
“No, she’s…she’s just awesome,” Gracie admitted. “I adore your daughter.”
But not you, she thought quickly, praying nothing like that came out of her mouth. I don’t adore you. I really don’t.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” he said easily. “Olivia thinks you hung the very moon she hopes to visit one day.”
Gracie laughed softly, rooting around for the perfect comeback, but she had nothing but a dry mouth and empty brain.
No jokes about raising future astronauts or how Olivia’s dog was named after a NASA scientist. No, all those witticisms would come to her around three o’clock in the morning when she mentally replayed this conversation.
“I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to stop by and, um, say your bakery looks…great. Really great. Very…clean.”
He chuckled, leaning on the counter. “That’s the idea.”
Right. Of course. Clean. “And I wanted to tell you about a strange turn of events,” she added.
He wiped his hands on a black apron and signaled to one of his staff. He had three people working today? Her heart dropped.
“Roberto, can you cover the counter? I’m going to grab a drink with Gracie.”
He was? A drink?
“We have a great selection of tea.” He gestured to the drink station. “Nettle and dandelion detox? Ashwagandha & Holy Basil Calm Brew?”
Oh, jeez. “Do you have coffee?”
“Great choice. Try it with hemp milk and monk fruit.”
She just looked at him, trying not to react. From his laugh, she must have failed. “I have cream and…” He winked at her. “You know what. A small packet in the back.”
She nearly melted like the very sugar he mocked. “Just black. Thank you.”
He nodded and, a minute later, came out from behind the counter with two cups, leading her to an empty table—giving her hope that there was at least one of those. Maybe he wasn’t stealing all the business.
“So,” he said as they sat. “What brings you to the dark side?”
She laughed despite herself, letting the aroma of the coffee rise and give her inner strength.
“I’ve been over here before.”
“Not very often,” he said, breaking into a smile that…oh, goodness. Who needed sugar when his smile was so sweet?
“Well, it seems I might be here more frequently,” she said, hoping to slide into the topic on her agenda and not just make small talk and gaze longingly into his impossibly dark eyes that were fringed with way too many long lashes.
Honestly, he was a beautiful man. His skin was the color of espresso dusted with cocoa powder, dark and warm. His hair was short, neat curls that framed his head, and he had just enough stubble to be masculine and not unshaven.
“I like the sound of that,” he said.
The sound of…what did she say? She couldn’t remember, since she’d been on another planet cataloging his perfection.
“Of you being here more often,” he explained, the tiniest frown pulling. “Are you okay, Gracie?”
Good heavens, she had to get it together. “Yes, yes. I’m just the bearer of some surprising news.”
A shadow of concern crossed his face. “Is Olivia okay?” he asked, sitting up almost imperceptibly straighter.
She loved how much he cared for his daughter—it was evident anytime they were together. How she wished Sam felt that way about Benny. But her son’s father was far away, physically and emotionally.
“She’s fine, she’s great.” She felt her whole face light up. “She’s a wonderful influence on Benny.”
He beamed at the compliment. “That kid is special. And so’s yours.” He took a sip, holding her gaze over the rim. “So, what’s up?”
She looked down at her cup and turned the handle to a right angle. “So, it seems we have to make a gingerbread house. Together, for the block. For the Mistletoe on Main festival.”
Marshall straightened, brows raised. “Really? That’s…interesting. Why only one?”
Gracie lifted her shoulders. “No idea. But the lady who’s coordinating it stopped by and said that’s what she wants. I guess they don’t want two gingerbread houses on the same block. It’s not bad marketing for us…for our shops.”
He nodded, glancing around with a slight frown. “Guess we all could use a little marketing.”
Really? Was he worried about the success of Craving Clean?
They regarded each other for a moment before he cocked his head. “Well, that’s an interesting merger of…philosophies.”
She smiled at the euphemism. “I have no idea how we’re supposed to blend our tastes in baked goods. You’ll want to build walls out of flaxseed crackers, and I’ll want mine to be made of, you know, gingerbread.”
“And you’ll want frosting so sweet it could knock out a moose,” he teased, “while I’ll be looking for a zero-calorie cream substitute.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not even food.”
He grinned, and it made her insides flutter dangerously. “We’ll find common ground.”
Roberto came to the table then, carrying two plates.
“Just out of the oven, Marshall,” the young man said. “I thought you’d like to treat your guest to your newest invention.”
“That’s awesome, Roberto. Thank you.”
The man placed two plates on the table.
Gracie stared at two beautiful pastries with golden flaky crust and a pile of white froth and sucked in a breath. “Is that a cream puff?”
It looked a lot like her signature pastry, the very delectable dessert that had put Sugarfall on the map.
“I call it a Clean Puff,” he said proudly. “The shell is made from almond flour and oat fiber, bound with egg whites and a touch of coconut oil.”
Seriously? “Or you could use butter, flour, and egg yolks for a p?te à choux that would bring you to tears,” she countered.
“Tears when I think about gut inflammation.”
She felt her shoulders drop. “I don’t think about things like that,” she confessed.
He chuckled. “Anyway, the filling is a protein cream made from a silken tofu base with vanilla plant protein and some natural sweeteners. On top is seventy percent cacao for chocolate, and a dusting of coconut. Go ahead, try it. I can give you the calories, fat, and sugar content, if you like.”
“I’ll pass on that, but not this.” She picked up a small dessert fork and took a taste. The first bite was… “Darn you, Marshall Hampton.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Also, I hate you.”
He laughed heartily. “Now, there’s the high praise I wanted from you.”
He wanted…praise from her?
She thanked him by taking another bite and closed her eyes. To a completely untrained and casual palate? It was perfection. Guilt-free and maddeningly satisfying.
“What do you think?” he asked. “I really want the opinion of a real pastry chef.”
“My opinion is…” She swallowed a delicious bite. “Please don’t hire that…that woman again to do a media blitz comparing my cream puffs to your Clean Puffs, because it will be game over.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “For me.”
His whole expression softened. “Hey, really, I’m so sorry about that card thing. That whole approach was a mistake. I don’t want people not to go to your bakery! I just want more to come to mine.”
So they were both feeling the pinch of competition. Gracie filed that and sipped her coffee. “Anyway, we do have to find that common ground for the good of our little community.”
“Agreed.” He braced his elbows on the table and leaned in. “What are you picturing for a gingerbread house?”
Gracie lifted her chin. “Well, gingerbread, for one thing. Actual gingerbread. With molasses, butter, eggs, flour. You know—ingredients that make people happy.”
He rolled his eyes. “And spike their insulin like a ski jump. Got it.”
“And lots of frosting,” she powered on. “I envision some snowy rooflines and icicle fondant dripping down the eaves. Gumdrop paths. It should look like the North Pole and smell like Christmas.”
Marshall nodded slowly, as though taking notes in his head. “Okay. Classic. Traditional. Sugary.”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms, bracing herself for his rebuttal, a little surprised at how relaxed she felt. Must be the…plant protein.
He rubbed his jaw. “See, I was thinking more…modern. Straight lines from almond flour panels instead of gingerbread so it holds longer. We could do windows made of isomalt.”
She winced at the mention of the sugar-free substitute, even though it was known for making great “glass” on baked goods.
“Maybe a roof tiled with protein crisps,” he finished.
She stared at him. “Protein crisps. On a gingerbread roof.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he said with a grin. “They’re surprisingly architectural.”
Despite herself, she laughed, and the sound startled her. He made it too easy. Too…fun.
She shook her head quickly and tried to steer the conversation back.
“Look, whatever we build, it has to wow the town. This isn’t just about your shop or mine.
Mistletoe on Main is going to bring tourists, foot traffic, and oodles of attention.
The better the gingerbread house, the better the turnout—for both of us. ”
Marshall nodded, that warm smile still lighting his face. “Exactly. And you know, it might be fun to sort of…show off our differences.”
“I actually think that has potential,” she said. “Let’s go big in size, scale, scope…and our competitive edge.”
“Okay. How?”
“Forget a house, let’s do a gingerbread bakery,” she said as a mental image took shape.
“Two doors, two entrances. Maybe two buildings we creatively connect. One with your green-and-white awning and the Craving Clean logo. The other with my wooden sign and frost-encrusted windows. Big, maybe two feet tall. Side by side but…different doors.”
For the first time, Marshall didn’t immediately tease. His eyes sparked with something like admiration. “Well, now I see where your genius son gets his brains. That is a stinking brilliant idea, Gracie.”
And…of course, she blushed. A gusher that no doubt painted her cheeks scarlet. She tried to ignore it and cleared her throat.
“So…uh, you’ll get your protein shingles, and I’ll get my gumdrops. One side modern, one side classic. It could work.”
“It could,” he agreed. “It could be amazing.”
And for one breathless moment, she let herself picture it—not just the gingerbread house, but the two of them working on it.
Marshall with his sleeves rolled up, her with a piping bag in hand, standing close enough that she could smell that maddening mix of vanilla and clean soap that seemed to cling to him.
She shoved the thought away before she melted like his seventy percent cacao topping.
“My kitchen or yours?” he asked, yanking her back to reality with the question.
“Mine’s bigger, but you’ll surely get sugar shock just by walking in.”
“I’ll wear my armor,” he said. “Yours is bigger and I’ll do a lot of my work ahead of time. What day is this event?”
“The sixth and my calendar is crazy, but I’ll make it work.”
By the time she left, after more brainstorming, banter, and a schedule they could both meet, she realized she’d completely forgotten to be nervous around him.
She also forgot that she hated him. On the contrary, she liked him even more.
It was going to be a long gingerbread season this year, that was for sure. Long and not…horrible. Not horrible at all.