Epilogue #2
Summer smoothed down her errant curls, and sauntered over. “I owe you a drink,” she said, greeting him by the bar with what she hoped was a dazzling smile. “You saved the day with your quick reflexes.”
But the man didn’t smile back. “I’m good,” he said shortly, holding up a glass, filled with amber liquid on the rocks. “What can I get you?”
It wasn’t ‘I want you, I need you, let me ravish you now,’ but Summer could work with that.
She hopped up on a stool. “I’ll take a Scotch, please and thank you.”
The man plucked a bottle of Jack Daniels down, and slid it down the bar towards her.
“Thanks,” she said, catching it. “But I meant real scotch. This is technically whiskey. Delicious with peaches, or spicing up a banana bread,” Summer continued, scanning the bar behind him. “But I was thinking more . . . Glenlivet. Single malt. On the rocks.”
He looked surprised. “That’s what I’m drinking.”
“A man of good taste.” She beamed. “I’m Summer.”
He paused before replying, like he was weighing his response. “Grayson,” he finally said.
A man of few words, clearly, but maybe he didn’t need many, with his shirt sleeves rolled up like that, revealing tanned forearms, dusted with dark gold.
Summer felt her stomach skip over again, that fizz of attraction she hadn’t felt in… Well, she couldn’t even remember the last time, which meant it was way too long.
“I didn’t know anything about scotch until I wound up working in a Scottish pub, in the middle of Paris of all places,” she confided, as he poured her a fresh glass. “Now, that’s a nation with opinions about their booze.”
“Don’t get between a Scotsman and his drink,” Grayson agreed. “They’ve been known to take offense.”
“You’re telling me.” She agreed. “I once made the mistake of ordering a Jack and Coke. I thought they were going to lock me up for re-education. You know, strapping me down and making me do blind taste tests until I knew my Laphroaig from my Glenfiddich.”
Grayson laughed, and Summer realized why he had a permanent scowl on his face: it was safer for everyone concerned. Because when this man smiled?
He could cause a traffic hazard.
“So, Paris?” he asked, looking curious.
“I was at pastry school there,” she explained. “Between the butter and the whiskey, I needed a full detox when I got home.”
“Ah yes, the cake.” Grayson nodded. “Did you get it where it needed to be?”
“Safe and sound. In fact…” Summer spied a waiter passing by with a tray of slices. She lifted one, and set it down in front of Grayson with a fork. “Here, try it.”
He gave a shrug. “Thanks, but I’m not really a cake guy.”
“Not a cake guy?” Summer echoed in disbelief. “I take back what I said about your good taste. But I’ll forgive you, since you haven’t had mine yet.” She pushed the plate closer to him, wafting the scent of vanilla and peaches, moist and delicious.
“You seem awfully confident.” That devastating smile quirked Grayson’s lips again, and Summer had to try and remember what they were talking about. “You think you’re that good?”
“Yes.” She smiled. She might not have her career, or her love life, or much else figured out, but baking?
That she knew.
Ever since she was a kid, and had discovered that a simple box of dry mix and a tub of frosting could produce the wonder of a freshly baked cake, Summer had been madly, wildly, recklessly in love with baking.
The plate was her canvas, her mixing spoon was her conductor’s baton—Summer would happily mix metaphors all day long for the chance to pursue her passion.
Not that she got much of a chance at the moment.
Chef Andre was famed for his intricate fine dining, full of freeze-dried this and barrel-smoked that. But this cake?
This cake was pure Summer, in every way.
“Go on.” She nudged the fork closer. “I dare you. You’ll see, it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”
Grayson lifted an eyebrow, smirking, and Summer realized too late just how flirty that sounded. “You know what I mean,” she said, blushing, and he chuckled.
“Alright then…”
He picked up the fork, and took a mouthful. Summer watched him, riveted, searching for any hint as he slowly savored the flavor.
“Well?” she asked eagerly. “You love it, right?”
But before he could reply, they were interrupted by an impatient voice farther down the bar. “Hey. You.” It was a middle-aged man in an expensive suit. He snapped his fingers imperiously at Grayson. “Can I get some service around here? I need three martinis and a beer.”
Grayson gave him a cool look. “No.”
“Excuse me?” The man gaped, and Summer was just as surprised.
“You heard me.” Grayson turned away from him, leaving the man to bluster powerlessly.
“This is ridiculous. I’m speaking to your manager!”
“Go right ahead,” Grayson shrugged, before the other man finally stalked away.
Summer shook her head, impressed. “I can’t believe you just did that.
Every time someone complains at the restaurant, I wish I could tell them where to stick their snooty attitude.
But then again, I don’t want to get fired.
” She watched the angry customer make a beeline through the crowd and winced.
“He’s probably running straight to your manager to report you. ”
“Let him,” Grayson said with a smirk. “I don’t work here.”
Summer blinked in surprise. She’d assumed he was the bartender, too. “Seriously?” she asked. “But you got me a drink.”
“You said please and thank you.”
Summer laughed. She wondered what else he might do if she asked nicely.
Down, girl.
Grayson finished his drink, and set it down. “I should hit the road,” he said. “Before anyone else tries to fire me.”
“So soon?” she asked, disappointed.
“It’s been a long day,” he explained, sliding the leftover cake into a box. “And I’m guessing the happy couple wouldn’t like it if I lay down and took a nap in one of these rose beds.”
“It is a hotel,” she pointed out. “You could always get a room.”
It was a perfectly innocent suggestion, until the moment she met his gaze, and then the way he was looking at her was anything but innocent.
The two of them, alone, upstairs…
Summer flushed.
“I should get going, too,” she blurted. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Thank the happy couple,” he said dryly. “Open bar.”
“Oh. Right.” Summer scrambled to her feet – and found herself walking side-by-side with Grayson towards the exit. “I’m not following you,” she said quickly, when he gave her a sideways glance. “I’m parked out back.”
“Me too.”
“OK.”
They made their way inside and down the empty marble hallway – Summer aware of his long stride and broad frame beside her with every step.
“It’s a lovely hotel,” she said, grasping for something to say.
“I mean, I figured, since they went to so much trouble with my cake, but still. It’s nice.
They seem nice. Maybe she’ll break things off with the tennis pro. ”
Grayson stopped walking, and turned to her. “You care an awful lot about their future happiness,” he said, looking amused.
Summer blushed. “No, I just… Love should mean something, that’s all. Otherwise, what’s all of this for?”
She nodded around them at the extravagant floral arrangements, the tasteful confetti, and sound of a ten-piece jazz band echoing from the reception. But when she looked back at Grayson, he wasn’t looking at any of it.
His gaze lingered on her mouth.
Summer caught her breath, her heart pounding.
“You have something…” he said, his voice a low murmur as he reached closer, and gently swiped his thumb against her cheek. Summer shivered at his touch, as it came away with a peach smear.
“Frosting,” she managed to whisper.
Grayson’s lips curled in a smile. Then, as she stood there, he brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked.
Oh. My. God.
Summer felt a rush of heat spiral through her body, watching as Grayson licked his thumb clean. “You were right, by the way,” he said, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember about what. “Your cake,” he added, his voice warm as the whiskey. “It’s delicious.”
Summer could have sworn the word echoed right through her.
She swayed closer. It was madness, melting into a pool of lust over a complete stranger in a hotel hallway, but she couldn’t help it. Call it chemistry, or pheromones, or just the way he was looking at her, but Summer’s whole body was humming with desire.
And Grayson was staring at her like he knew exactly what she was feeling.
Like he felt it, too.
The distance between them seemed to close.
Grayson leaned in, and Summer’s eyes drifted shut, cloaking her in darkness.
She could almost feel the heat from his body.
Could almost taste his mouth, tantalizingly close…
His breath, whispering on her lips; his hand, cupping her cheek as his lips finally found hers—
Suddenly, there was a burst of laughter from down the hall. Summer’s eyes flew open to find a gaggle of drunken bridesmaids stumbling out of the lobby, clutching at each other. “Is this the way to the bathroom?” one of them asked.
Grayson stepped away from Summer. “On your left,” he said smoothly, like he hadn’t just been about to kiss her senseless.
“Thanks!”
The bridesmaids clattered away, and Summer turned eagerly back to Grayson, but it was clear, the moment had passed. The vivid hunger in his eyes had been replaced with a wry look.
“That’s my cue,” he said, tipping his hand at her in a salute. Then, before she could say a word, he sauntered away, leaving her panting there in the hallway with her heart racing and frosting on her shirt.
Alone.
Summer gave a wistful sigh. That was the story of her life, alright. Or, at least, the story of a professional pastry chef. She absently wiped off a smear of frosting and tasted it as she headed back to the van.
He was right. It was delicious.
But it would be even more delicious if she could find a way to see him again…
To be continued…