7. Ginger
7
GINGER
I t’s been two weeks on the job, and things are coming together. I’ve visited the children’s hospital and decided on where I want to set things up. Every little piece is planned on paper, and half of what I need is ordered already.
A friend of my mom’s is helping me with the food. Gracie and I have been baking and prepping food to keep in her catering freezer. Caroline is a lifesaver, and she’s donating her time, too.
After talking to multiple local businesses, I’ve found that most of them were more than ready to donate supplies, funds, and time to the event. It’s one of my favorite things about growing up in Serenity Falls—the community comes together for its people.
My parents and family name are a bonus. People know the Thatcher name, so when I introduce myself, it opens a lot of doors that I could never open on my own.
I’ve been baking up a storm at home, testing out recipes, and bringing treats to work. It’s made me the most popular person on the job site. And the marriage proposals have become an everyday occurrence. Jackson and Sawyer are the only two who haven’t offered to marry me. Ashley’s are the only ones having any effect on me, though.
Flirting with him is too much fun since we can do it so openly. He’s not technically one of my bosses. He’s not connected to the company other than his investment in the current project.
My favorite man to flirt with, however, is Sawyer. He’s buttoned up so tightly that simply looking at him too long gets him all ruffled. Mostly, though, I like the way he looks at me when we interact.
Shaking the goosebumps away, I stop at Jackson's door. Most of our exchanges couldn’t be decisively seen as flirting, but the back and forth is just as invigorating. I seem to pull the combative nature out of him.
He smiles at me now, reclining in his office chair as he turns to me. “Ginger. I was just going to go to lunch. Want me to grab you anything?”
I lean against the doorframe and shake my head. “No. I brought something, but I had some inspiration for a new recipe. You don’t mind if I take over the kitchen, do you?”
Jackson’s eyes light up. “It’s all yours. As long as I get to try what you make.”
I laugh a little. “Of course.”
When his gaze dips along my backside, I have a sneaking suspicion that we’re talking about something else. Excusing myself to the kitchen, I open my lunch—a homemade burrito bowl—and take a few bites as I gather the ingredients for a chocolate roulade and a Swiss buttercream.
Sawyer comes in as I put the sponge into the oven to bake for ten minutes. He settles at the far end of the counter opposite where I’m working. His glass Tupperware reveals a home-cooked meal.
“Mmm. That smells good.” I smile wide at Sawyer, whose stormy gaze meets mine for a few long beats before it drops to my lunch.
“Yours looks good.”
“Thanks.” I take a bite, chewing and watching him as he eats.
He doesn’t usually eat here, so is he staying for me or for the treats baking in the oven?
We have a staring contest as we eat, both of us only looking away long enough to stab another forkful of food. His jaw is sharp and strong as he chews. His mouth purses just right.
If we weren’t at work, I’d round this counter and find my way into his lap, draw those big hands around my waist. I bet, as big as he is, that he’d handle me gently, squeeze my softness.
I swear his eyes darken as if he can read my thoughts. I bite my lip, and his gaze follows the movement before springing back up to my eyes.
He’s lucky—or maybe we both are—that the oven timer beeps. I pull the sponge out to let it cool.
I need to whip up the buttercream, so I set a new bowl on the island between us to separate the eggs. I need six egg whites. Sawyer watches, ever observant. The quiet ones usually are, too. Observant, focused, and attentive.
When I look around for a mixer, I frown. “You happen to know where a mixer is?”
Abandoning his food, he circles the counter into the kitchen and pulls what I need from a spot I never would have stored the thing. I shake my head but grin at him as he slides it next to me.
“Ever make a Swiss buttercream?”
Sawyer shakes his head. “Not much of a baker.”
“Mm. Want to help me anyway?” I blink up at him. He’s so close, just the right distance away to be able to press my chest against his. I ponder reaching out to touch his stomach, which has to be rock hard, damn it. The way his shirts cling to him is unseemly.
“Okay.”
“Know how to set up a double boiler?”
He’s moving before I finish the question. I find myself craving his body heat. Instead, I peek at him as he pulls the pan out and sets the water to simmer. I stir sugar into the egg whites and meet him at the stove.
It brings us nearly hip to hip except that he towers over me. I peer up at him as I whisk slowly. He stands so rigidly stillthat I have to elbow him and hip-check him a few times out of apure need to push him to relax.
The tension between us swells, and when I rub the mixture between my fingers, his brows furrow.
“Need to see if the sugar has dissolved. At home, I’d use an infrared thermometer.”
Sawyer nods, his energy prickling against my exposed collarbones.
“Did you want to feel?”
“Dirt under my fingernails. Wouldn’t taste good.”
I laugh, head falling back. For some reason, he tickles my sense of humor something fierce. My hand grips his forearm as I take the mix off the heat. “Glad you have some sense.”
He follows me, rather than returning to the stool and his lunch. I start whipping as he hovers.
Turning to him, I poke him in the center of his chest. “Time for the waiting game. This will take about fifteen minutes. It has to cool down.”
He looks at where my finger lingers between his pecs. That tension blooms again, and my hand flattens against the broad expanse of his muscles. We both take in a sharp breath. God, the way Sawyer is looking at me now drenches me in heat and longing.
I bite my lip, but as the moment stretches. Neither of us is brave enough to take advantage of the opportunity, so I let my hand drop.
Sawyer doesn’t move, and that gives me a small twinge of hope.
We watch the whites fluff up and become glossy. I wait until I can touch the bowl before I move to the next step.
“Time for the butter. The trick to a good Swiss buttercream is using high-quality butter. This one is my favorite.” I hold up the box before I slice some off and drop the pieces one by one into the mixing bowl. “Can you measure me out a teaspoon of vanilla? Then you can mix one of those espresso packets into this.”
His brows furrow, but he does as I say.
I drop half of thebutter into the bowl and start mixing it in.
Sawyer offers me the small green bowl, and I slowly take it from him, letting my touch linger on him again.
Once the frosting is done, I taste it with a small spoon. God, it’s my favorite kind of frosting. Buttery and not too sweet. Creamy and silky. “Mm.”
His intake of breath is sharp, and his nostrils flare as he watches me lick my lips.
I use another spoon to scoop out a taste and slink a little closer to Sawyer. My hand slides up his chest again, his heart thundering under my palm. I breach the collar of his t-shirt, and his skin is so fucking hot.
The spoonful of frosting hovers off to the side, waiting as we stare into each other. My nails are curling into his skin because of how much I want him.
Sawyer clenches his jaw, the muscle flexing as he grinds his molars together. The restraint in this man is unbelievable.
Finally, I swing the spoon between us and grin. “Did you want a taste?”