9. Alexandra
nine
Too many beers, too little sleep.
I wake up with a dull headache, but still push the door to the bakehouse at six a.m. sharp, right on time for my first day. I’m barely awake, but I need to get through this day, and the next, and the one after that.
However many days to make up the five to six months that separate me from claiming Red Barn Baking as mine and fulfilling my grandmother’s wishes.
Small, steady steps, getting me closer to the goal.
No more late nights with too many beers for me.
The good news is, the smell of baking bread clears away my headache instantly.
The bakehouse hums with the sounds of ovens at full speed, the clatter of metal trays against metal tables, and the chatter of a handful of people working. Bright lights shake my system close to awake mode, but my eyes protest and blink repeatedly. A couple of people smile warmly at me, then go about carrying trays in and out of ovens, shaping dough, mixing things.
Strapped in a white chef jacket with a straight collar, Christopher is pacing between two rows of prep tables.
Except for a few stolen glances at Lazy’s last night, I haven’t seen him since our too-close encounter in my bathroom almost twenty-four hours ago, and I’m not sure how this morning will go.
Minutes into my first day of work, images of my boss’s naked torso and wet jeans are superimposed with his smirk as he toyed with my vibrator. My hands are clammy and my knees weak. What’s up with that?
I take a steadying breath, trying to act cool and detached as I wait for him to notice my arrival. His back to me, he approaches a petite woman dressed in the same white chef uniform as him. Leaning over, he points to something on the prep table, making her laugh, his eyes dancing in response. Their complicity is obvious, rippling through the room as others smile at their exchange. Even my traitorous body starts to relax.
Until she turns to me, her laughter replaced with an inquisitive look that bounces from me to Christopher.
Christopher’s gaze does a full swipe of my body, and I feel myself burn up with embarrassment. “Alexandra’s our new apprentice,” he says, answering her unspoken question.
She tilts her pretty face up to him. “You okay, boss? You look like you’re having a stroke,” she teases.
“And this is Kiara, our on-and-off pastry chef.”
Kiara plants her fists on her hips. “On-and-off?”
“When she’s not chasing some pipe dream in a big city, she graces us with her presence,” Christopher says, his gaze not leaving my body. “Meanwhile, Alexandra’s here to stick it to some office-bound assholes.”
Kiara seizes me top to bottom, a small smile spreading on her face. “That right?”
“Just ask her,” he shoots back, gaze darkening as if I’m still half-naked and wet in the bathroom and really, what’s up with that?
Her eyes dart between the two of us, curiosity and amusement in her gaze. “I just did. You didn’t let her answer.”
Arms crossed, which, incidentally, makes his biceps bulge, eyes still pinned on me but trailing down the length of me and that’s just downright unnerving, he answers without missing a beat. “She didn’t answer ’cause you’re too intimidating. I don’t want you scaring her away.” My spine tingles at his confession.
“Well, I’ll be fucked,” Kiara mumbles. “I’m scary now?”
Christopher glances at her. It takes him a nanosecond to round her body with his gaze. She’s all of five feet, maybe one hundred pounds. Seeing her point, he explains, “Your social skills need polishing.”
“Look who’s talking.” She steps away from Christopher. “Yo, Bambi.”
She’s looking my way, so that would be me. “Y-yes?”
“Why’d you come all the way to Creepy Creeks to learn how to bake?”
Creepy Creeks? Okay.
Modeling my conversational style after hers, I point my thumb to Christopher. “What he said.”
“To stick it to the big guy?”
My lips curl up. “Something along those lines, yeah.”
“Huh. I’ll need the whole story over a coupla drinks, but until then, I can say I like you already.”
Five foot, one hundred pound pastry chef with a pixie cut who’s clearly making an effort to not swear like a sailor likes me? I beam. “Thanks. Feeling is mutual.”
“Don’t get too excited ’til you really know me, honey.”
Christopher clears his throat. “If you ladies are done. You. Kitchen,” he tells me, pointing his chin to the door. His eyes are drilling through me, and I can almost feel the physicality of his gaze.
I should have used the damn vibrator. Maybe I’d feel more in control this morning.
“First things first. Make some coffee,” he grunts when the door closes behind him.
Thank god for that.“How d’you like it?” I ask.
He seems surprised. “It’s for you.”
Another boss telling me to get some coffee first thing in the morning? I really need to work on looking more awake.
“I take mine hot and naked,” he adds.
Holy crap. The heat on my face crawls down to my chest. I stay carefully with my back to him, busying myself with water and ground coffee as he continues, “No cream, no sugar.”
“O—okay.” My voice comes out a quack. Get a grip.
I pull myself together while going through cupboards and drawers in search of mugs and spoons. The smell of coffee completes my calming down process. I find cream and sugar, fix my cup the way I like it, and set Christopher’s on a coaster on the farmhouse table without my hand shaking too much.
“Thanks,” he grunts, and takes a long sip. Then he points to a pile of papers he’s been busy setting on the table. Snatching the top document, he says, “That’s the apprenticeship contract. We need to sign it.” He drops it back on the table, where it lands and slides with a woosh, and grabs a pen from a drawer.
He scribbles his name on the last page, then hands me the pen.
I flip straight to the last page and start signing my name on the other side of the page, across from his.
“You’re not reading it,” he comments.
“Should I?”
“Jesus, Pierce. I need to teach you other skills than just baking.”
“I can read, if that’s what you mean.”
“Skills like not getting fucked over.”
“You didn’t read it.”
“I drafted it. Think I know what’s in it.”
Oh.
“Nah,” I shrug. “I trust you. How bad can it be? I need to work here every day for the next five or six months. Follow your instructions.” In the packet Barbara put together, there was a pretty clear description. I was going to have no personal life during this apprenticeship. Having the day off yesterday was a pleasant surprise.
I finish signing and set the pen back on top of the contract.
He huffs. “You’re handing me your ass for the next six months.”
“I’m fine with that,” I reply a little too quickly. “Metaphorically,” I add, feeling that darn blush coming back.
The air sizzles.
“Pierce, seriously. You shouldn’t be so trusting. No wonder Red Barn is walking all over you.” He seems genuinely pissed off. It’s cute in a hot kind of way.
I cup my hands around my mug. “It’s okay. They gave me the lowdown on how this was going to work. I’ll read the contract tonight, as part of my homework. How’s that?”
He comes closer to me, handing me the contract. I free one hand to grab it, and our fingers touch briefly, warmth spreading from my fingertips to my core. “If you don’t like it, we can discuss it,” he says, his body very close to mine.
“I think I’m going to like it just fine.”
His eyes dart between mine, hesitating between concern and amusement, making me all sorts of mushy. I could stand there for hours debating which is the most endearing—his frown line or his single raised eyebrow.
Or the heat of his body seeping into mine.
My mood goes up three more notches, but for all the wrong reasons. I need to stay focused in order to complete this apprenticeship. Swooning over my hot boss is not going to help me accomplish that. It’ll drive me away from the only reason I’m here.
Focus, Alex. Focus.
He lets go of the contract and returns to the pile on the table. “This here is your bible,” he says about the several booklets neatly stacked. “It’s the theory part. It normally takes a year, sometimes more, to go through it, but you’ll have to cram that in six months.” He sifts through the separate booklets, making annotations on their front pages.
“It’s totally doable,” he adds. “I’m dividing these in sections. There will be a test each week. We’ll start with the first section in a week, and so on. In two months, you’ll have covered the basics, and you’ll start work with me at four in the morning. Until then, I’ll see you here at six every day, except Mondays—our day off. I’m going to ease you into it. No point breaking you now.”
One year of training crammed into six months, with the basics done in two months?
Sure.
My goal of becoming Red Barn Baking’s next in command just reached a new level of highly unlikely.
But sure. I’ll do it.
“Next up. Work attire.” He rubs his hands and points to a pile of white clothes. “You can wear these on top of your clothes,” he says, eyeing my leggings and sweatshirt. “You might get a little hot. Tomorrow, wear only a T-shirt. And your shoes.” I’m wearing white Keds. “Get something with more support.”
Getting dressed in front of Christopher, even if that means adding layers to already existing clothes, is hot as sin. I can feel his gaze on every part of my body, every move I make.
I trip a couple of times trying to get into the pair of white chef trousers that tie with a string and fit kind of loose. Christopher’s gaze follows as I fasten each button of the white chef shirt in thick cotton with a mandarin collar. I finish with a long apron that wraps around my back and ties in the front, and a skull cap.
All the while, Christopher is standing in front of me, legs apart, arms crossed, hips thrust forward, frowning.
I’m melting.
Does he still see me half-naked and wet from a broken shower, or is he just making sure his new apprentice starts right?
“You’ll need to tie up your hair under the cap. The cap should cover your forehead. It’s meant to absorb your sweat.”
Sweet. I roll my loose hair as best I can and try to tuck it under the cap, but it keeps falling back out.
Christopher rummages in the drawer where he found the pen and produces a scrunchy that has to belong to Skye. It has a bunch of green turtles on a pink backdrop. Our fingers touch briefly again as I take it, the warmth of his leaving a burn in mine, this time.
I quickly tie my hair and put the cap on.
He leans in and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “That’s much better,” he says in a soft voice.
Ohmygod. Please stay bossy and borderline grumpy. I can’t deal with kind Christopher.
“Let’s go,” he whispers, and my knees buckle.
As we head back to the bakehouse, the kitchen door to the outside slams, and a teenager barges in. Christopher’s brows knit. The kid hastily removes his jacket and disappears somewhere.
He reappears minutes later, rushing into the bakehouse in white garb just like the one I’m wearing, except it’s embroidered Isaac Fletcher. He stands with his feet slightly apart, hands along his sides, and says, “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Hey, Isaac,” Christopher says, and I swear I see the kid visibly relax. “Everything okay?” Christopher asks softly.
Isaac blushes slightly. “Fine. Great. Sorry again.”
Christopher grunts. He puts one hand on Isaac’s shoulder, and the other on mine. “This is Alexandra. She’s new. Why don’t you give her an overview of the baking process.” He lets go of our shoulders and takes a step back.
“Sir?” Isaac asks.
“Chris,” Christopher corrects him. “Your exam is coming soon. Let’s hear it. Start with a description of the equipment.”
Isaac points out and names the ovens, refrigerators, racks, mixers and their different functions, prep areas and how they are dedicated.
“You have a good memory, Alexandra?” Christopher interrupts.
“Yeah, I think so.” I shrug.
“You’re not taking notes.”
“Oh. Right.” I run into the kitchen to grab the first of my training booklets and a pen, and nearly trip on my feet when I rush back.
“What’s this for?” he asks me, pointing to a giant mixer that stands directly on the floor. Luckily, I remember that one. Isaac just went over it. I think.
“It’s for… kneading dough.”
“What is the purpose of kneading?” He isn’t looking at anyone in particular, and certainly not at me, which makes it more comfortable, in a way.
I still feel I should answer. “I don’t know.”
“Isaac?” he says, his arms crossed on his chest.
“Kneading is one of the steps in preparing the dough. It consists of working the dough to release the gluten in the flour,” Isaac says.
Christopher tilts his head toward Isaac. “That’s it?”
“… release the gluten in the flour… in order to… capture the air during the proofing process.”
“The air?”
“The… carbon… dioxide.”
“Correct. You need to go over your definitions, Isaac.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Chris.”
“Right. Yes, Chris.”
“Alexandra,” Christopher says.
“Y-yes?” I’m trying to write everything Isaac just said in the margins of the booklet.
“Relax. It’s all there in the manual. No need to scribble all over the damn thing.”
“Oh—I thought…” I thought I was supposed to take freaking notes?
“I was just messin’ with you.”
Isaac bites his bottom lip, a silent chuckle shaking him.
Christopher slaps Isaac on the back. “Having fun?” He keeps his hand on the teenager’s shoulder and shakes him gently. “Alright, son, show our rookie around. Treat her good, yeah? We don’t want to scare her away.”