8. Brie
“What’re we making today?” I asked Ezra when we returned to the winery two days later. The time away from him had felt like years instead of hours, and I wasn’t ready to examine why too closely.
“I was thinking pizza,” Ezra said. “And you could show me your favorite bakery treat.”
I snorted. “No offense, Ez,” I started. “I know you’re talented and everything, but we really don’t have time for me to teach you how to make baklava.”
“We’ve got all day,” he said lowly, words full of promise.
I fought off a blush, though willing my body not to give in to its natural response to this man was no easy task. “Let’s just start with something simple, like danishes.”
“I love danishes,” he assured me.
“And I love pizza,” I promised. “But one day, you will feed me your meatballs.”
Ezra stilled, and I realized a beat later the undertones of the words that had just left my mouth. I hadn’t meant them that way, but they certainly had sexual connotations. The way Ezra’s entire body froze told me that was exactly how he took them.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my hands coming up to hide my flaming cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Or…maybe I did. But it was far too early in our acquaintance to be letting my inner vixen run the show.
Ezra cleared his throat and returned his attention to the pizza dough in front of him. “No, I know,” he said. “You just…continue to surprise me.”
I tilted my head questioningly, and he continued. “Your family portrayed you as this innocent, helpless little girl,” he said with a wince. “I wasn’t expecting someone so…”
“So what?” I prompted when he trailed off.
“Well, you’re certainly not a little girl,” he said, his gaze darting to me quickly before returning to his task. “And you’re not as quiet as I expected you to be.”
I scoffed. “My sisters only think I’m quiet because I can never get a word in around them. Ella is the quiet one, not me.”
One side of Ezra’s mouth kicked up. “Noted.”
“What else?”
His eyes met mine, and in a rush, he asked, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
Ezra’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Quietly, he said, “You don’t look twenty-two.”
“I–I don’t?” I stammered, unsure how else to respond.
Ezra only shook his head, eyes trained on the ladle of sauce he spread over the pizza dough.
Knowing it was unwise to press the issue, I let the conversation drop and moved around to the other side of the kitchen. The silence in the room was deafening, and I hated the awkwardness. Ezra and I hardly knew each other, so how had we found ourselves in this situation so quickly?
Across the room, Ezra cleared his throat and looked up at me. “So what kind of danishes are you going to make?”
“Cheese and apple,” I said, smiling, grateful for the change in subject.
Food was safe territory. Food would force me to keep my hands—and errant thoughts—to myself.
This recipe was one I’d recently added to my repertoire. I hadn’t yet given it a try, but I had found an apple danish recipe in my grandmother’s old cookbook. My personal favorite was cheese, so I wanted to see if I could marry the two.
“You mean like…two different kinds? Or cheese and apple in one?” Ezra asked, sidling closer.
“Cheese and apple in one,” I clarified as I moved around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and lining them up on the counter. I could feel Ezra’s eyes on me as I moved.
“You really know your way around this place, don’t you?”
I glanced at him briefly over my shoulder then moved to the fridge. “I’ve been cooking here since I was a kid,” I said as I opened the doors and reached inside for butter and milk. “I’m sure you’ve learned by now that neither of my parents can cook.”
Ezra choked on a laugh. “I let your dad attempt to cook me eggs during that first week I was here. I can assure you, I won’t make that mistake again.”
I chuckled along with him, easily able to imagine my dad turning something as simple as scrambled eggs into charred lumps better suited for use as grill charcoal. “We’ve all accepted that their talents lie elsewhere. But as I got older and grew more interested in making a career out of food, they came to realize that simply supervising me in the kitchen to make sure I didn’t burn the house down wasn’t enough. So, I started spending a lot of time here with Roscoe, your predecessor.”
“Heard great things about the man’s food,” Ezra said solemnly. “Not so much about how he parted ways with the family.”
“He was Dad’s best friend in a lot of ways,” I said, now moving toward the cupboards to pull out bowls and mixing utensils. I even hauled the stand mixer over to the island and plugged it in. On the other side, Ezra had dropped into a chair while the pizza baked, elbow resting on the counter, chin propped on a palm, listening intently to me. “Bringing Roscoe in was the first big hire Dad made after he took over the company, and I know him wanting to leave really messed with him. But I learned so much from that man, and however he left things, I’ll forever be grateful he helped me hone my craft and recognize my calling at such a young age.”
Ezra raised a brow, that sensual mouth hitching up on one side. “Your calling, huh? I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
With a sly grin, I said, “I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”
A full-on grin bloomed across his face, and I returned it before diving into my task.
While I worked, we talked about everything and nothing. How he was settling into Apple Blossom Bay, if he liked working for my parents. How my internship was going and if I felt like I was learning a lot. He told me surface-level stories about his dad and son, and I shared random, inconsequential things, like my favorite color and what songs I had on repeat.
We were scratching the surface, exploring whatever this weird hum of energy between us was, clearly both deciding if it was something worth digging deeper into.
I could admit—I was absolutely smitten. I could’ve spent days in that kitchen with him, listening to him talk about the most random things or watching him prepare our meal.
At last, the danishes were done, and when I set them up on a rack to cool, Ezra presented me with a massive pizza, the cheese still bubbling, the crust a crispy brown. He slid it onto a pizza stone and immediately cut it. The stringy cheese clinging to the blade had my mouth watering.
“The trick to making a good pizza,” Ezra started as he pulled up a stool next to me and lifted a piece off the plate, “is both in the crust and the sauce. Toppings are the same no matter what you put them on, but if your dough is too soft, the pizza will fall apart. And if you add too much sauce, it’ll overshadow all the toppings. I’ll let you in on a secret, though.” He leaned closer to me, his breath tickling the side of my face. “I like to put shredded cheese in my crust too.”
“Like stuffed crust?”
Ezra made a face like I’d said something blasphemous. “Absolutely not. Stuffed crust is for hacks.”
“What about deep dish?” I asked. Having spent the last five months in Chicago, I had my opinions, but I was curious where Ezra stood.
“What did I just tell you about sauce?”
I giggled. “I think it’s disgusting too.”
“I’d never yuck anyone else’s yum, but I don’t understand the obsession. Give me New York style any day.”
“Now that,” I said, lifting my own slice at the crust and folding it in half, “is how you make a pizza. ”
“I knew I liked you.”
“I just don’t understand how you made it so thin but soft enough to fold without cracking.” Lifting it up, I studied the underside, where the golden-brown dough had indeed curved but showed no signs of coming apart.
He nudged me with an elbow before holding his pizza out for a cheers. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll teach you all sorts of things.”
I quickly averted my eyes as my cheeks heated, willing the lust coursing through me to stand down. Certainly, he hadn’t meant those words the way I’d taken them.
Right?
After blowing on it, I lifted the slice to my lips and took a bite. He’d kept the toppings simple, with pepperoni I’d watched him chop himself, diced bella mushrooms, and black olives. He’d also told me that putting down a thin layer of cheese, adding the toppings, then sprinkling more cheese over top was the only way to make a pizza.
“It prevents the toppings from sliding off while still giving you a generous amount of cheese,” he’d said.
Ezra watched me closely as I chewed, his eyes darting around my face while he waited for my reaction. I couldn’t help the small moan that slipped free from my throat.
“Good?” Ezra whispered, his voice husky.
My eyes popped open. “Amazing,” I breathed. “What the hell do you put in your sauce?”
Ezra’s lips tipped up in a satisfied smile. “I’ll never tell.”
I narrowed my gaze on him, brows drawing low. “What’s it going to take for you to change your mind?”
Ezra leaned closer until he was a breath away. “What’re you willing to give me?”
I pulled back enough to tap my chin, feigning contemplation. “A thousand dollars.”
He whistled low then tipped his head back and laughed. When he faced me again, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Is that all I’m worth to you, honey?”
Honey . God, that was so much better than Baker Brie , especially when it flowed from his lips like its namesake.
“I’m not sure what you’re worth to me yet.”
“How badly do you want to find out?”
His eyes widened slightly after that statement slipped free, like he hadn’t meant to speak it aloud. His hand rose to my face, fingertips brushing against my cheek as he tucked an errant lock of hair that escaped my braid behind my ear.
Unable to stop myself, I leaned into that touch, closing my eyes and savoring the feeling of his hand on my skin.
What was happening here?
I hadn’t realized I’d spoken the words out loud until Ezra replied, “I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out.”
I slowly lifted my eyelids, wanting to stay lost in the moment for as long as possible. Then, I brought my own hand up to cup his face.
“My dad warned you to stay away from us.”
It wasn’t a question, and Ezra didn’t treat it as such.
“He did.”
“You know this is a bad idea.”
He shook his head, his rough stubble scratching my palm. “Not from where I’m sitting.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble. ”
“When was the last time you did something reckless, Brie?” His voice had lowered and deepened, and every word caressed my skin promisingly.
“Never.”
“Because you’re a good girl.”
Ezra studied me for long moments while he waited for my response, and his chocolate gaze dug deep beneath my skin, seeming to cut right to my core. Locking on the girl who’d grown up in the shadow of four stunning and talented older sisters, who wanted nothing more than to chart her own path. Who simply wanted… more .
Giving in to this inexplicable attraction I felt for Ezra—which he obviously reciprocated—was a recipe for disaster, like burning the soufflé minutes before the dessert course at a fancy dinner party and not having a backup plan.
But damn, did I want to get burned.
“You’re right,” I said slowly, angling on my stool and shifting further into his space. “I’ve always been a good girl. But just once…just this time, maybe I want to be bad.” I trailed a finger over his chest, along the column of buttons holding his shirt closed. “What do you say, Chef? You wanna be bad with me?”
“Are you asking if you can have my first kiss of the new year?”
I nodded and leaned even closer, lifting my face until I was centimeters away from his lips, until we were sharing breath.
The scant inches between us felt like kindling waiting for a flint to spark it into an inferno.
God, I wanted to feel that fire.
“Take it,” he whispered.
So I pressed my mouth to his.