Sugar & Spice
SUGAR & SPICE
RACHEL
was dark except for a soft, golden glow coming from a light in the kitchen. I knew it would be closed, but I still wanted to walk by. I peered in the window, imagining Cam moving through the bakery on a busy day when a figure dashed across the open kitchen doorway. I drew back for a moment and then leaned in again, pressing against the glass. Moments later, Cam stuck his head out of the kitchen.
Shit.
He saw me. What do I do?
It was as if my feet were suddenly two-hundred-pound weights. Part of me wanted to run, and part of me wondered what he would say when he opened the door to see me standing outside.
Okay, act natural. You weren’t spying, you were just walking by.
The glass door swung open, and the bell above it chimed a greeting. “Hey.”
Oh no .
Cam stood there, shirtless, wearing khaki shorts, and kinda sweaty with a smudge of flour on his forehead.
Hot Baker.
Abort! Abort! Duck and run!
Images flooded my mind of him lifting me up, my thighs pulsing as I wrapped them around his waist, carrying me to the kitchen island in the back. With one swipe of his muscular arm, he cleared the counter and laid me down. Moans and murmurs turned to pants and groans of pleasure. Him kissing my neck and tasting me on the way down?—
“Kicklighter?”
I blinked and released what I can only describe as an audible animal sound. “Uh, hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“I … yeah, oh yeah.”
He leaned up against the open door. “We keep meeting like this.”
“We do. We do. Well, I kind of have a thing for cake, I mean, this bakery, I mean, I really love the coffee here.”
“If you kind of have a thing for this place, you should know it’s closed for the season.”
I pointed behind me. “Actually, I was at that cocktail party and I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“The couples really annoying?”
“Yep.”
“I told you, I should’ve been your plus one.”
“I realize that now, but believe me, I saved you from the misery.” I folded my arms over my chest and kicked at the sidewalk. “I was the forty-first wheel, so I decided to take a walk.”
“Where was the party?”
“Troon North.”
“You walked twenty miles?”
“No, I Ubered and wanted to walk around.” I cringed. “Uh, you’re probably really busy. I’ll just talk to you later.”
He reached out for me before I could turn. “Wanna come in?”
Yes, and can we not talk and just ravage each other in a dusting of sugar? Can I just watch you do push-ups after, and then can eat all the cake in the bakery?
I shook my head.
“You don’t want to come in?”
“No. I mean, I do, I’m … I have a lot on my mind.”
He stood in front of the door, holding it open, and reached for me again. “Come in. You can help me with something.”
“What are you doing here so late?”
He locked the door behind me. “Need to finish some desserts for a corporate luncheon tomorrow.”
“You have a luncheon tomorrow? It’s going to be 115 degrees.”
“There’s always an occasional corporate gig in the summer when the conference room prices are the cheapest.”
I peeked through the doorway to the kitchen, immediately comforted by the wafts of butter, sugar, and cinnamon. “I see, is anyone else here with you?”
“Sent Shay home an hour ago, but I could still use a hand. Do you bake?”
“If by baking, you mean putting a two-day-old muffin in the microwave to soften it up, then yes, I bake.”
His deep, throaty laugh was my new favorite sound. “Fair enough. I can teach you.”
The kitchen was relatively large for how quaint the seating area of the bakery was. It gleamed with stainless steel appliances while the walls were decorated with cheerful yellow and green tiles. Shelves were stocked with perfectly aligned bags of flour and sugar surrounding a large, wood-topped island.
“Seriously, I’m probably more help to you if I stand here and offer to taste test what you make,” I insisted. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”
He slipped into a back room and returned with a cornflower blue cotton apron, then gestured for me to come closer, so I set my purse out of the way and stood in front of him. He slipped the apron over my neck, and I couldn’t help but breathe him in.
The soft light of the kitchen danced over his handsome face. His hands touched my waist and turned me around so he could tie the apron straps behind me. My skin tingled, intensely aware of his every move. Being near him again made me feel like a box of matches, all ready to ignite as soon as a spark touches the first one.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” he said, turning me back around.
We weren’t even baking anything yet and I was already melting. “Thank you.”
“Ready to have some fun?” he asked, slipping his own apron on.
“I think so.”
“Okay, wash your hands over there, and let’s get to work.”
“Right.” I washed my hands under cold water hoping that might calm down the fire inside me. “And what are we making?”
He referenced a list stuck to a clipboard. “Individual strawberry tortes. Flourless chocolate cake.”
“Got it. Flourless strawberry cake and individual chocolate tortes.”
He laughed again and set a glass bowl beside me. “This is going to be fun. Your first task is to cut these sticks of butter into smaller chunks and put them in this bowl.”
“Roger that.” I tried to stay focused and not watch his magical hands as they separated eggs. “I still can’t believe you own a bakery. You look like a football player, but you are a baker. How did that happen?”
“I actually was a football player.”
“Really? Do you miss that?”
“Nah, I loved that time of my life, but being a baker and a businessman is easier on the body.”
“Where did you play football?” I swiped the butter off my knife with my index finger.
“I was a tight end for ASU. Made it to my second season before a knee injury ended it.”
Tight end. Yeah, that feels right.
“Yikes. Sorry about your knee.”
His lips tightened, but he didn’t look up from the eggs. “I’m not. I like baking. It helps clear my head. I can come here, zone out, and focus. Plus, I get a lot of satisfaction from the end results.”
“Did your mom teach you all of this?”
“No. We’d bake Christmas cookies, but that was about it. Shay taught me everything.”
I cleared my throat and looked down at my fine work. “All right. Feeling proud. I made a giant bowl of chopped butter.”
“Look at you!”
This time I laughed. “What’s next?”
“We’re going to mix up the dough for the tarts and get it in the fridge so it can chill for at least an hour.”
He brought out more clean bowls and measuring cups. “So, what’s on your mind?”
I whipped my head up. “My mind?”
“Yes, you said you had a lot on your mind and were taking a walk.”
Oh, that.
“Nothing. It’s … the party I was at … ever go to those events that make you acutely aware how painfully single you are?”
“Yeah. Pretty much why I don’t leave the house at night.”
Under Cam’s instruction, I began to set up the stand mixer. It was a struggle, probably because I’d never touched one before in my life, and Cam rushed over to help get the attachment secured. Little prickles danced over my skin when his hand grazed mine and his eyes lingered on me until he got the mixer started.
I brushed a stray hair out of my face and returned to my sugar measuring workstation. “You know, I never minded being single, but lately I feel like I’m in middle school playing dodgeball when all the couples come at me trying to set me up. Tonight, people tried to tempt me with Gary Ross.”
Cam’s head snapped up from his bowl of ganache. “Oh?”
I licked a bit of sugar off my finger. “Gary, turns out, is a fifty-year-old accountant who owns four cats.”
“Sounds hot. Are you going to call him?”
“I’m very tempted.”
Cam wiped the sweat dotting his brow as he spread tart pans out on the island. “My worst setup turned out to be my high school English teacher.”
“What? OMG.”
“My dental hygienist was always asking if I was dating anyone. Every single appointment, like clockwork, she would ask. One day, she told me she had the perfect person for me. I finally agreed to a blind date just to get her off my back. But when Mrs. Kellner—well, the ex-Mrs. Kellner—sat down across from me, I was so shocked I spit my drink all over her.”
I gasped.
“My hygienist said her name was Sarah Williams. Had no idea that was her maiden name, and I didn’t see a picture prior to our meeting, so I had no idea.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I know. We still had a good dinner and ended up gossiping about everyone I went to high school with.”
“You sure you weren’t hot for teacher?”
“Ah, no,” he said. “She’s my mother’s age.”
We shared a laugh and for the next couple of hours, we moved around the kitchen, sometimes growing silent as we concentrated on our tasks. Cam took a break to get me a drink from Shay’s secret stash of alcohol in the back and to turn on some lively music.
“What playlist is this?” I asked.
“Bossa Nova. It’s fun to bake to.”
I nodded in agreement, and we continued to move around the kitchen perfectly in sync. When I caught myself marveling at his back muscles firing and flexing as he pulled the tart shells out of the oven, a dish of custard filling slipped out of my hands and crashed to the floor. Having him shoo me away so he could clean it up almost sent me over the edge.
His shoulders. His abs. For goodness’ sake.
Maybe he should put a shirt on for his own protection.
I didn’t realize I had been mumbling some of this to myself until I heard him say, “What?”
“Uh, nothing. You’re hot in here, I mean, I’m hot … it’s warm … am I …?”
“I can turn the air up,” he said, chuckling.
Cam gave me several spoonfuls of things to taste after that, as all the dessert components began to come together. He even let me handle the finishing touches on the tarts. I carefully placed tiny sprigs of mint with a pair of industrial-size tweezers and topped them off with berries.
His breath tickled my neck as he watched me. “No surprise you’re good at decorating.”
“Thanks,” I said, wiping my hands on my apron. “Not too bad, huh?”
“Not too bad? These are amazing.”
“I think I like this thing you call baking. It did help clear my head.”
“Told you.”
I helped Cam pack up everything we’d made, rubbed my sore neck, and sat down on a barstool that hugged the kitchen island. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” He grabbed his phone to text Shay that they were all set for the luncheon. He then set his phone down on the island and clinked my glass with his. “Thank you. You really helped me.”
“Not sure about that, but you’re welcome.”
His eyes glinted in the amber glow of the kitchen. “I mean it, and I’m sure all the guys at the party couldn’t take their eyes off you tonight,” he said.
“The only guys there were firmly tethered to their wives and girlfriends.”
He grinned and closed the gap between us. “That’s a good thing.” Little bits of lightning danced between us. “So, this might be the whiskey giving me a little liquid courage, but I want to …”
I sipped my drink and then slowly set down my glass. “What?”
“I want to take a mulligan.”
“But we aren’t at an event.”
My body started to thrum with anticipation as he stepped toward me and spread my legs with his knee.
“We probably need an addendum to our rules then,” he said. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do since you got here, but only if you let me.”
Tiny little pixies erupted in my chest. “Take that mulligan and do it, then.”
He ran his index finger and his thumb over his stubble and inched toward me. He took the tip of one of the bows of my dress straps between his thumb and forefinger. With a gentle tug, he pulled it, releasing the straps, and his lips parted when they fell, exposing my bare shoulder. His eyes dilated and I gave a quick gasp.
“Why stop there?” I breathed.
“Wasn’t going to,” he said, tugging on my other strap.
His eyes fell to my mouth, and the rest of the world seemed to blur. His hand grasped my chin, and the skin warmed as he ran his thumb over my pleading lips.
I tugged on his waist. “If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to scream.”
His lips skimmed mine when his phone rang, causing me to yelp and jump. We both glanced at it in unison and suddenly it felt like I had been doused with a bucket of ice.
The caller’s name flashed across the screen.
Britt.
That distance between us came rushing painfully back as he pulled back and stared at his phone. “I’m so sorry.”
He silenced the ringer and set it face down on the island.
“Why would she be calling you now?” I could barely get those words out. My mind was swirling and I started to collect my dress straps to retie them.
“I have no idea,” he said, just as his phone made a buzzing noise and he reached for it again.
I slipped off the barstool, the intoxicating cloud of our almost romantic evening dissipating by the minute. I glanced back at Cam, whose eyes were wide as he read a message on the screen.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “It’s … Nothing. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“To Britt?”
His eyes remained glued to his phone. “Uh … it’s … my brother. She’s saying it’s an emergency.” He sent a text and put his phone back in his pocket. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t she tell you what was going on in a message if it was a true emergency?” I asked. “Call her back and ask her what this is about.”
He stared at his phone for a second and then shook his head, whipping off his apron. “I’m really sorry about this.”
I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Please don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“Let me go with you,” I insisted. “We can pick up some fire ants on the way. I can toss them at her if she gets rough with you.”
“That sounds really tempting, but no, I don’t want to drag you any further into this mess with Britt. I need to deal with her myself this time. Let me take you home.”
I drew in a long breath and swallowed hard, gathering my things. “It’s okay. I’ll call for a ride.”
We hurried to shut down and lock the bakery, and I exchanged a few more awkward smiles with Cam before my ride arrived. He insisted he would call me in the morning, but my heart sank further and further as he peeled away in his Rubicon.