17. Ezra
I hadn’t been able to answer fast enough when Brie’s name popped up on my phone screen. I knew she’d been back in town, but we were keeping our distance, so I hadn’t sought her out. In fact, our only communication since she’d moved home was a text from me the day she arrived, asking if she made it safely. Her response had been polite but distant.
I did. Thanks for checking, and thanks for all your help these last few months.
Like I said…polite, but lacking all the intimacy we’d found together.
Fuck, I’d found myself in a real mess, hadn’t I?
Either way, when she asked me to come down to the bakery to taste test her menu, I jumped at the chance. I didn’t want to miss out on a single opportunity to spend time with her.
“Okay, buddy,” I said to Hansen as I walked him up to the front door of his friend’s house, where he was going for a playdate since my dad was at work. “I’ll be back to pick you up in a few hours. You have fun with Gerard!”
Gerard’s mom, a pale blonde woman who was so soft-spoken, I barely heard her most of the time, opened the door and grinned widely at my son .
“Is that Hansen Wendt I see?”
“Yes, Miss Penny!”
“Well, come on in then.” She stepped to the side and ushered Hansen in. He was off and running to greet Gerard the moment he crossed the threshold, his old man entirely forgotten.
“Thanks for taking him on such short notice,” I told Penny.
She waved me off. “No problem at all. How long do you think you’ll be?”
“Only a few hours, I’m sure.” It couldn’t possibly take more than that to sample a few menu items, could it?
Penny nodded in agreement. “Great. We’ll see you then.”
I offered her a grateful smile and said, “Thanks again” as I turned to leave.
As instructed, when I reached the bakery, I parked at the back of the building and entered through the door off the kitchen. The second I laid eyes on Brie, my whole world narrowed to that point. Nothing outside of those walls mattered. There was only her.
My honey.
“Hey stranger.”
She looked up with a gasp, her hand flying to her chest. “My god, Ez. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I should’ve knocked or something.”
“No, it’s okay.” She waved me off then stilled to look at me—really look at me. Her emerald gaze swept my body, setting my skin on fire.
“What’re you doing?”
“Looking at you,” she said with a shrug .
“Why?”
She met my eyes again, the green blazing even in the dim lights of her kitchen. “Making sure you’re real.”
I fisted my hands at my sides, doing everything I could to remain rooted in place, to not go to her, sweep her into my arms, and kiss her soundly. Every fiber of my being craved her—but that wasn’t who we were to each other. We had to remain friends, which meant I needed to keep, at the very least, the massive island between us.
I wanted her so badly, in every single way she’d have me, but platonically was the only way I’d get to keep her, and I wasn’t about to fuck that up.
Was it rude to blatantly ignore her comment? Probably, but she had to know she was toeing a fine line. I was a red-blooded male with a finite amount of restraint, and the bulk of it had gone out the window the second I laid eyes on her. She couldn’t fault me for skirting around my desire and diving right into the reason she asked me here.
“So what am I sampling today?”
Brie blinked slowly, like an owl, before she seemed to come back to herself. With a quick shake of her head, she tore her gaze from me and moved to one side of the island, gesturing to the five trays she had spread across its surface.
“I’ve decided on five categories: scones, muffins, croissants, danishes, and turnovers. Each category has three offerings. I didn’t want to go too crazy to start, especially since I know I’m going to be busy the second I open thanks to the season. I went with recipes that are easy to prepare the night before and bake fresh first thing in the morning. We’ll also be offering standard coffee drinks. Black, decaf, chai, and a small selection of hot or cold herbal teas.”
She pushed a piece of paper toward me, a rudimentary menu she’d scribbled on and doodled all over. “I still need to get these printed, but I just haven’t had time.”
“Will you have some sort of menu board up behind the counter?”
Nodding, she said, “You want to go check it out?”
I perked up at that, desperate to escape the confines of this kitchen. Over the months, she’d shared progress photos with me, which had been sent to her secondhand from her dad or contractor. I could admit—I’d been skeptical at first. It needed more work than I probably would’ve wanted to put into it, but when I stepped out onto the main floor, I quickly discovered her father had spared no expense.
The space was utterly transformed; nothing of the dark, dirty business that had been here before remained.
One wall was papered in a mural of white, pastel pink, yellow, and orange flowers, lined with booths wrapped in dark green faux-leather. Tables filled the rest of the room, the seats of the chairs matching the booths. The floors were what appeared to be light laminate planks, but upon closer inspection, I found they were actually tile that looked like wood. The entire front wall was nothing but windows, letting in a ton of natural light and facing out onto Main Street. The counter was to the left, topped with white faux-marble and faced with what looked like pieces of reclaimed wood.
It was funky, fresh, a little girlie, and a whole lot of stunning.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said .
“You think so?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Absolutely,” I assured her. “It’s going to be a hit. People will come inside because it looks cute and eye-catching, but they’ll stay because your food is incredible.”
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“Then maybe we should fix that.”
With a small smile, Brie inclined her head, and I followed her back into the kitchen. She gestured to a stool she’d hidden under the counter, and I sat as she put the first plate in front of me.
This close, her scent stuffed itself up my nose—butter, sugar, and honey. It wasn’t a traditional floral or spicy scent you’d usually find in women’s perfumes because it wasn’t something you could bottle. No, that blend was all Brie.
“First, we have a selection of scones.” Reaching out, she pointed to each in turn as she named them. “Cranberry orange, triple chocolate, and ham and cheese.”
“Ham and cheese?” I asked with a quirked brow.
“I wanted to offer something savory, and when I came across that recipe in my grandma’s old cookbook, I couldn’t resist trying it.”
She damn near glowed when she spoke about her grandma and that collection of recipes, so that was the one I went for first.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I moaned as the first bite hit my tongue. Wide-eyed, I turned to her. “Are you joking with this?”
Brie’s brow furrowed, her cheeks turning dark pink. “It’s just a ham and cheese scone, Ezra.”
“Well, it’s the best damn ham and cheese scone I’ve ever tasted.”
“You mean that?” she asked skeptically .
“I would never lie to you.”
And I meant that . I didn’t have a reason to lie to her. This girl—she knew my secrets, the darkest parts of me, and none of it phased her.
And this scone…
When I thought of scones, I thought of heaviness, of dense carbs that overshadowed the flavor of whatever other ingredients the baker used.
Brie’s was none of those things.
It was airy but substantial. The sharp cheddar with honey ham created the most delicious explosion of savory and sweet on my tongue, and the inclusion of chives rounded out the flavor profile nicely. It was something I could imagine being served in some high-end New York City bakery.
Instead, this gorgeous, talented, small-town woman had created it all on her own with the help of her late grandmother’s cookbook—and that right there made all the difference.
As corny as it sounded, all the best food was made with love, and this scone was no exception.
“You’re never getting rid of me now,” I said around a mouthful. “I’m coming to visit every day just for one of these.”
A broad grin spread across her lips, and she met my eyes head on, allowing me to witness the flush creeping up her neck and over her face, showing me how deeply my comment pleased her.
“I never wanted to get rid of you anyway,” she said.
Time slowed in that moment, like a movie scene where the whole world around the main characters ceased to exist. World War III could’ve been happening outside, and I wouldn’t have noticed. It was the kind of moment the old me would’ve taken advantage of—that version of me who hadn’t had his heart ripped out by the woman who vowed to love him, who hadn’t spent the last year and a half raising his son alone.
The man who hadn’t already been pushed away by this woman.
All sense returned with that reminder, and I blinked, swallowing hard and awkwardly clearing my throat. I set the remainder of the scone to the side and said, “What’s next?”
Brie gave her head a little shake and turned her back on me, heading to the opposite counter, where the rest of her confections were laid out. She carried the tray back and set it in front of me.
Slowly, I worked through each one, offering my honest opinions. Unsurprisingly, I had nothing but rave reviews to give. This woman knew her way around a pastry, and I knew without a doubt that the bakery would be a resounding success when she finally opened the doors.
Brie was all business after the almost moment, though, and kept things between us strictly professional. I knew it was for the best, but it didn’t ease the vise squeezing my chest.
I was at war with myself, wanting to stay close but also needing to get away so I could breathe a lungful of air that wasn’t laced with the scents of butter and sugar—that wasn’t laced with her .
When I’d consumed every last morsel of her menu, I moved to the sink and washed my hands while Brie tidied the kitchen behind me. I turned to face her again, but neither of us moved. We just…looked at each other.
I let my eyes rake over her face, along the weave of the dark braid she had perpetually draped over her shoulder. Down the sage-colored apron, the sleeves of her white shirt that ended at her biceps and along the slender lengths of her arms. Down her legs to the tips of her toes, stuffed in sensible tennis shoes.
Slowly, I dragged my gaze back up. Brie’s chest rose and fell more rapidly than before, and she wrung her hands in front of her, clearly anxious.
That made two of us. I was walking a fine line between the desire to run for the hills or run into her arms.
“Well, thank you for coming down,” Brie said at last, ending our staring contest by averting her gaze. “I really appreciate your help.”
“You’re amazing,” I breathed. “You didn’t need it.”
She looked at me again, eyes wide with something I couldn’t name. It wasn’t surprise , exactly. It was something deeper—something like…longing?
“Maybe I didn’t need it,” she said. “But I’ll always want it.”
I heard what she wasn’t saying.
I’ll always want you.
I sucked in a breath; to say what, I didn’t know, but it seemed my body made up my mind for me, the switch between fight or flight finally flipped in a single direction.
When I exhaled, the only words that left me were, “Fuck it,” before I closed the distance between us and crashed my mouth down on hers.