7. Brie
“And just where do you think you’re off to, missy?”
I cursed under my breath before turning around. I’d almost made it out the door, but leave it to one of my sisters—Amara, in this case—to halt my progress and make it into a thing.
“Just heading to the winery. Wanted to get some baking done.”
“What’s wrong with Mom and Dad’s kitchen?” she asked.
“Nothing…” I trailed off, mentally concocting an excuse to quickly get me out of this interrogation.
Naturally, I was too slow. In truth, I’d never been good at lying anyway.
“It’s cute that you still haven’t figured out how to lie,” Amara said, stepping closer to me, her golden eyes narrowed. “We all heard you and that hot chef make plans to cook together today.”
“He’s not hot,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Amara barked out a laugh. “Please, sissy. You’ve been drooling over the man since you laid eyes on him yesterday. Now, you’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”
Damn my sisters and their persistence and stubbornness. Short of attempting to make a break for the door, there was no getting out of this .
Plus, she was faster than me.
Dragging my feet, I followed her into the kitchen and toward the not-so-little breakfast nook tucked into the bay window overlooking the water off the point of Old Mission.
Up until this past summer, Mom and Dad had lived much closer to the winery, in the home we affectionately referred to as the Villa. My sisters and I had spent a lot of time in that house growing up, especially the summers, when we’d close up the house in Traverse City to spend our time on the peninsula, running around and wreaking havoc. Now, my parents lived in this monstrosity—honestly, what did two near-retirees with five children who no longer lived at home need so much space for? But it worked well when all of us were here, when there was a guest room for each of us, a massive dining room where we had holiday meals, and a living room with soaring ceilings currently decorated within an inch of its life, the tree the sort of thing you’d find at Campus Martius in Detroit.
While I was still getting used to the change of scenery, I couldn’t deny the view was breathtaking. I’d never tire of living on the water, and I loved this slice of paradise so much, it really was a no-brainer for me to come home once my apprenticeship was done.
By the time Amara set a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of me, the rest of our sisters had padded into the room and joined me at the table.
“Why do you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios?” Delia asked me.
“I was on my way out, but Mar forced me into this little family bonding moment. ”
Each of my sisters scoffed. “Please, little one,” Chloe said, tapping my nose. “You love us.”
I sighed heavily. I hated being called ‘little one’ about as much as I hated being called ‘Baker Brie.’ Those were childhood nicknames, and I was a grown woman now.
“What I love,” I said sharply, giving myself over to the temper that rarely plagued me but could be destructive nonetheless, “is being treated like an adult.” I narrowed my gaze on Amara. “And that means leaving the house without having to sit down and spill my guts all over the table. I don’t owe any of you an explanation.”
I rose quickly, stalking out of the room and out of the house, not stopping until I reached my car. The late-December air cooled the fire licking at my veins, and by the time I pulled out of the driveway onto the main road to the winery, I’d calmed significantly.
Had I overreacted? Absolutely.
But…my god. I was twenty-two. I wasn’t a child, and I hated when my sisters ganged up on me like that, acting like I was some helpless little girl who couldn’t live without their guidance.
I rarely allowed my temper to get the better of me, but things had been shifting for me lately. First was finishing my culinary arts programs. Graduating college was a rite of passage for a lot of people, and it was certainly a crowning achievement of mine to that point. Then, being selected to apprentice with Bryce was a major eye-opening moment for me. It was proof I could do things on my own, that I was fully capable of living my own life and being my own person without my family looking over my shoulder, directing my every move .
I wanted to return to Apple Blossom Bay when my time in Chicago ended, but not if my family couldn’t treat me like the woman I was instead of the little girl I’d been.
Though my temper had mostly fizzled out, I was worked up for a whole new reason by the time I pulled into the lot of the Chateau and turned off my car. A midsize SUV I had to assume belonged to Ezra was the only other vehicle in the lot. We hadn’t set a specific time, and I’d been hoping to beat him here, if only to have the upper hand. With that out the window, I took a fortifying breath and shuffled inside.
Snow was beginning to fall, dusting the ground under my feet with a layer of delicate flakes. They caught on my hair and my eyelashes, and I paused for a moment to tip my head to the sky, sticking my tongue out to catch a few like I did when I was a child.
When I unlocked the lobby door and pushed into the foyer, music greeted my ears.
Def Leppard blasted as loud as the sound system would go, and I couldn’t help grinning. With “Rock of Ages” practically rattling the mortar that set the bricks of the foundation, Ezra didn’t hear me approach, so I took a moment to stand in the doorway and study him. His long sleeve thermal shirt was rolled up to his elbows, showing off sinewy forearms. A towel was slung over his shoulder, and he occasionally wiped his hands as he moved between the island and the stove. The scent of tomatoes wafted through the air, and a deeper inhale had me identifying other ingredients. Basil and freshly baked bread were the strongest, but something else I couldn’t quite name lingered as well .
Moving deeper into the room, I grabbed the remote that controlled the speakers and lowered the volume.
Ezra whirled on me, hand to his chest.
“My god, Brie,” he said, breathing heavily. “You can’t sneak up on an old man like that.”
I raised a brow. “Old man? You can’t be more than thirty.”
He dropped his hand and grinned. “You’re good.”
I shrugged. “Sorry I scared you. Maybe if you weren’t destroying your eardrums with the best of the eighties hair bands, you would’ve heard me arrive.”
He inclined his head to the speakers. “You like Def Leppard?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“My kinda girl,” he said, and I preened, toying with the end of my braid and turning my attention to the stove to avoid looking at him.
“What’re you making?”
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
My forehead scrunched in confusion. “ That’s your signature dish?”
Ezra chuckled. “Nah. My signature dish is Swedish meatballs with glazed dill butter potatoes and roasted veggies, but grilled cheese sounded more fun. Plus, it’s my son’s favorite.”
I blinked, blindsided by the off-handed comment. He has a son.
“What’s his name?” I asked, surprising myself with the steadiness of my voice.
“Hansen,” Ezra said proudly. “He’s nearly three and the light of my life.”
I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “And his mother? ”
He wasn’t wearing a ring, a fact I noted about him almost immediately when we’d met back in June, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a woman in the picture.
“She’s…gone.” A dark, haunted look passed over his eyes, and I’d do anything to return him to the brighter version of himself from a moment before.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to do anything, because a moment later, little feet pattered across the tile floor, and something small collided with my legs.
“Oof!” the small something exhaled sharply, and I whirled to find a little boy staring up at me.
It was easy to see who he belonged to, with his hair both naturally messy and the same chocolate shade as his eyes, both of which he shared with the man standing across from me.
“Be careful, bud!” Ezra said, moving toward us and crouching so he was eye level with his son. “You’ve gotta watch where you’re going.”
“Sowwy,” he said, though his gaze never strayed from me. “You pwetty.”
I flushed warmly as I knelt next to Ezra.
“Thank you,” I said, then extended my hand. “I’m Brie. I’m a baker. Who are you?”
“I’m Hansen, and I’m a boy.”
I laughed, delighted, as Ezra chuckled lowly next to me. “Hansen, this is my friend Brie. She’s going to bake some treats for us today. How does that sound?”
“I wuv tweats!” the little boy shouted, driving a tiny fist into the air.
“How about you help me while your dad makes our lunch?” I asked, then straightened to my full height and reached for his hand. “I was thinking we’d make cupcakes.”
“I wuv cuhcakes!”
I shot Ezra a wink as I led his son to the other side of the counter and retrieved a stool for him to stand on.
Then, we got dirty.
More of the ingredients landed on the counter than anywhere else, but Hansen was having the time of his life, and I was thoroughly enjoying teaching him. Across the way, Ezra continued to construct our sandwiches.
I’d just slid the tray into the oven when Ezra announced the food was ready, so while he got Hansen settled at the workspace with a highchair from the dining room, I put away any perishable ingredients before joining them.
“So good,” Hansen groaned happily around a mouthful of food from where he sat between me and Ezra, and I barked out a laugh.
“He’s quite the kid,” I told Ezra, who practically had hearts in his eyes as he watched his son enjoy his meal.
“He’s definitely something,” Ezra said softly, ruffling Hansen’s hair before diving into his own soup and sandwich.
Before I took my first bite, I remembered what my dad had said about Ezra’s grilled cheese being life changing.
I held the triangle of sandwich out in front of me, inspecting it closely as I said to Ezra, “You know, my dad speaks very highly of this particular dish.”
Ezra chuckled. “He and Cal do order it a lot.”
“How much is a lot? I feel like that much cheese can’t be good for my dad’s arteries. ”
“At least three times a week.”
“Dang, that’s impressive.”
Ezra shrugged. “It’s only impressive if you think so.”
I could tell there was a lot he wasn’t saying with that statement, and it warmed me to realize my opinion mattered to him.
So, with his eyes on mine, I dipped the sandwich into the tomato soup, lifted it to my mouth, and took a bite.
Flavors exploded across my tongue, and I closed my eyes to savor them all. The slightly acidic bite of the tomato balanced the heavier flavors of the cheese perfectly. The bread was expertly toasted, the crunch providing a nice contrast to the soft cheese.
Ezra watched me closely, his gaze lingering on my mouth. I couldn’t resist tracing the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip and watching his chocolate eyes shift from milk to dark.
That spark between us once again electrified the air, and I was grateful for the presence of Ezra’s son. Otherwise, who knew what I’d be liable to do?
I’d never felt this way about a man, never experienced any sort of compulsion to rip his clothes off. I wasn’t a virgin, but my dalliances were few and far between.
And I’d only been with boys.
Ezra Wendt was all man, and I wanted to sink my teeth into him, to savor him like I was his food.
Hansen noisily slurping his soup pulled me out of my daze, and I snapped my attention back to my own meal, my cheeks surely turning as red as the soup thanks to my rising embarrassment.
God, who did I think I was, salivating over Ezra? He’d lost his wife somehow, and I was sure the last thing he needed was some girl going moony-eyed over him. Especially not when that girl was his boss’s daughter—and eight years younger than him.
The tugging sensation in my chest urging me toward Ezra was nearly impossible to ignore, but I’d try my best.
We consumed the rest of our meal in a fraught silence that was ultimately broken by a voice shouting for Ezra from the dining room at the same time the oven timer went off. I rose to turn it off and take out my cupcakes.
“Ez?” the voice asked as it came closer. “You here?”
“In the kitchen, Dad!” he hollered back, and a moment later, a man who bore a striking resemblance to his son appeared in the entryway.
“Papa!” Hansen shouted, throwing his hands out for a hug from where he was strapped into his highchair.
“Hi, ?lskling ,” the man said, crossing the room to drop a kiss to his grandson’s head.
“What’re you doing here?” Ezra asked.
“You weren’t answering your phone, and I wanted to make sure Hansen was with you.”
“I’m wight here,” Hansen said, pointing a finger at the center of his chest.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. I didn’t get to spend much time around kids, but dang, he was cute.
As if noticing me for the first time, Ezra’s father blinked slowly, eyes darting between me and his son.
“Fredrik Wendt,” he said, extending a hand for me to shake. “You can call me Rik.”
The Wendt genes were strong, given that Ezra was a near carbon copy of his dad. Same height, nose, milk chocolate eyes, strong jaw, and messy hair—though Rik’s was threaded with silver. And when he smiled, it was the exact same as Ezra’s, down to those slightly elongated canines and the way it tilted higher on one side.
“Nice to meet you, Rik. I’m Brie Delatou.”
“Delatou, huh?”
“Yep,” I said proudly. “My family owns this place.”
“Well, in that case…” He leaned conspiratorially closer and, in a stage whisper, said, “Thanks for getting us out of New York.”
Behind him, Ezra groaned, and I giggled.
“My pleasure,” I said. “Although you really should be thanking my parents.”
“Don’t worry,” Rik said as he straightened. “We have, multiple times. Things were bad for a while, and I’m grateful Leon and Lena took a chance on my boy.”
Things had been bad? I mean, I’d seen the shadows cross Ezra’s eyes when I’d asked about Hansen’s mom, but bad could mean any number of things. Oh god, what if she’d died? I was over here thirsting after a man who was obviously in mourning.
God, I was such an idiot.
Unaware of my internal struggles, Ezra and Rik carried on a conversation that I only managed to process snatches of. Finally, Rik clapped his hands, jolting me from my trance.
“Well, I’m gonna take the little guy home,” he said pointedly, glancing between me and Ezra. Then, he asked his son, “When will you be back?”
“As soon as I clean up,” he said, dropping a kiss to Hansen’s head. “See you in a bit, bud.”
“Bye, Dada!” he shouted, waving so hard, his entire body shook as Rik led him out of the kitchen.
“So…that’s my family,” Ezra said sheepishly when they’d gone.
“I like them. Hansen is a great kid, and I love that your dad is so helpful. Hansen clearly adores him.”
The tips of his ears turned pink. “I’d be lost without them both. But I’ll admit, some days, it’s hard when he doesn’t have a mom.”
I couldn’t imagine what that must be like, and my heart squeezed painfully for both of them. God, we were so different. I grew up with this big, loud family around me, with more sisters than I knew what to do with most days and two parents who loved each other and us beyond reason. My heart ached for the hand Ezra and Hansen had been dealt.
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing it was woefully inadequate.
Ezra only grimaced and mumbled his thanks before he turned from me to busy himself with clearing up our dishes.
I moved to the rack of cupcakes. They had cooled enough to frost, so I piped the hot chocolate icing on top of them, setting a few into a container and bringing it to Ezra.
“For you, Rik, and Hansen.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Hansen will love them, I’m sure.”
I only nodded before trekking back across the room to clean up my own station before heading back to Mom and Dad’s. The air in the kitchen had become suffocating in the last five minutes, and I needed to get out. I needed to regain my composure and remind myself that, as much as I liked to delude myself into thinking otherwise, Ezra Wendt and I were not meant for anything more than…this. Cooking together. Maybe becoming friends who bonded over our mutual love of food.
Hurriedly, I rinsed my dishes and placed them in the industrial dishwasher alongside Ezra’s then turned it on and wiped down the counters.
At last, the kitchen was spotless. We had a cleaning crew that would come in while it was closed for the next three months to ensure there weren’t any issues, but one thing I’d learned in culinary school was to always keep my station clean. A messy work environment made for messy foods, and we couldn’t have that.
Cooking, after all, was as much about presentation as flavor.
After sweeping my gaze across the room a final time, I sighed and headed for the hooks on the far wall, hanging my apron and replacing it with my puffy winter coat. When I turned to say goodbye to Ezra, I found him only a few feet away.
“Would you want to do this again before you leave?” he asked, eyes darting everywhere but my face, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders curved forward, as though bracing for my response.
“You…want to?”
“Of course,” he said instantly, looking at me at last. “Why? Do you not want to?”
“No, I definitely do. I just…I thought I put my foot in it by bringing up the family stuff.”
“No, Brie,” Ezra said, his hand reaching, seemingly of its own free will, to toy with the end of my braid draped over my shoulder. We sucked in matching breaths as his fingertips brushed the skin of my neck, sending a current down my spine. “I was the one who brought that shit up. You didn’t do anything wrong. If you’re interested, I’d like to see you again.”
“Yes.” It was the easiest answer I’d ever given. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him for months, and the idea that he’d been thinking about me too had warmth and pleasure suffusing my limbs. “Tomorrow?”
“Can’t tomorrow,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “It’s New Year’s Eve, and we’ve got this whole movie marathon family tradition. I can’t miss it.”
“Which movies?” I asked.
“The Marvel ones,” he said. “It was a thing my dad and I started when I was in high school, and now, there are just so many that it’s fun to see which new ones we can add year after year. We make homemade popcorn and a ton of other fried foods throughout the day and just…rot on the couch.”
“That sounds a lot like what my family does,” I said with a laugh. “Except my sisters and I watch as many episodes of whatever teen drama as we can manage.”
“How do you decide?”
“We rotate. This year,” I said, rubbing my hands together excitedly, “I get to pick.”
“And?”
“We’ll be spending our day binging The O.C. ”
Ezra laughed. “So how about the day after, then? Do you have plans for New Year’s Day?”
I shook my head. “I’m all yours.”