Chapter 5
GINGER
Did he say multiple orgasms? I’d settle for a single mediocre one at this point.
“You’re so…” I search for the right word.
“Talented?” he offers without hesitation.
“No, I was thinking full of yourself.”
“You could be full of—”
“Don’t finish that sentence!” I cut him off, hands flying up. I don’t need him adding visuals to the attraction I’m already working overtime to ignore. I turn back to the counter and start sifting the dry ingredients together like my life depends on it.
“The smell of those spices reminds me of fall,” Jordan says as he sidles up beside me.
“They do. Thanksgiving is the last hurrah for the pumpkin spice season. Everyone will be looking for Christmas flavors now.”
“Like the gingerbread coffee you made me?”
“Yep. That’s always a big hit.”
“I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to make me a cup right now,” he says, flashing me that lazy grin.
“Did I miss a ‘please’ in there somewhere?”
He grins wider. “Will you please make me a cup of the most delicious gingerbread coffee in the state of Maine?”
I brush an imaginary speck from my shoulder. “I prefer to think it’s the best in all of New England.”
“I’m sure it is.” He steps closer, not touching me but enough to feel the heat of him.
“The shop was closed today, so I don’t have any brewed,” I tell him, turning toward the Keurig tucked against the back counter.
“But I have a solution.” I grab two cups, pump in a generous swirl of gingerbread syrup, and pop in a pod for each.
The scent of sugar and spice fills the room as the coffee brews.
I stir both, add cream to mine, then snap lids on and hand him one.
“Thank you.” He wraps both hands around the cup. “This is going to hit the spot.”
“And keep us up all night.”
He nods. “That too.”
“It’s time to finish these pumpkin bars and get them in the oven.” I slowly pour the dry ingredients into the bowl with the wet mix.
“Want me to stir it together?”
“Nope. I’ve got a mixer for that.” I click the beaters into place and turn it on. It buzzes to life, and I move it around the bowl. A minute later, it’s ready and I’m scraping the thick batter from the metal attachments.
“Is that the mixer you normally use?” he asks, eyeing it skeptically.
“No. That’s my backup. My main one is powerful enough to mix cement all day long. This one’s for small batches like this.” I toss him a bag of vanilla chips. He catches it with one hand and sets his cup on the counter. “Now you can stir those in.”
He pops a few in his mouth before the rest land in the bowl. “Think of me as quality control.”
“Or lack of control,” I tease.
When he’s finished stirring in the chips, I spread the batter into the parchment lined pan, then slide it into the oven. He leans against the counter while I set a timer.
“We’ve got thirty-five minutes to wait,” I say, wiping my hands on a dish towel.
“That was easier than I expected,” he admits.
I tilt my head. “You thought it’d be hard?”
“Your muffins taste like they’re challenging to make.”
I smile, surprised by the compliment. “Baking’s more about patience and precision than magic. You measure, combine, and don’t get distracted.”
Plucking my cup from the counter, I raise it to my lips and take a sip of the spicy brew. “We can go sit down while we wait.”
We move to the front of the shop, to the same little table we sat at the other night. It feels different now, cozier and quieter. With today being a holiday, the street outside is empty.
“Check out how awesome the shelves look now,” I say, nodding toward them.
His gaze scans from one end of the wall to the other, touching on each item displayed. “Damn. I’m actually impressed with how great they look with all the stuff on them. Your merchandise came out really nice. I’ll have to buy some.”
“You already earned whatever you want by hanging those shelves.”
He grins. “You paid me in muffins and the edibles in the oven.”
“You still need to pick out a sweatshirt. You’d be a walking billboard for all the women in town.”
“If you want me to wear one, I will.”
“That would be great.” I stand, moving over to the shelves. “What size?”
“Extra large.”
My mind blanks for a second. I bet you are. I stare at the sweatshirts, hiding my flaming cheeks. “Which color?”
“Something dark.”
I pull down a navy-blue one and hold it up. “How about this?”
“Perfect. I’ll wear it with pride.”
Folding the soft garment, I set it on the table between us and then sit back down. “Can you believe Christmas is only a month away?”
“Not at all. It feels like it was summer last week.”
“Fall’s my favorite, but it flies by.”
“That’s because once Halloween’s over, it’s basically the countdown to the inevitable snowpocalypse.”
“I can’t believe we haven’t gotten snow yet.”
He raps his knuckles against the table. “Don’t jinx it.”
“I’m hoping for a mild winter. I’ve had enough of clearing my car at three in the morning.”
He winces. “You get up that early every day?”
“Mhmm. Everything needs to be made fresh before we open at six.”
“What time do you go to bed?”
“I try to be asleep by nine, but it doesn’t always happen. I have staff who take over on weekends so I can catch up.”
“I’d be nodding off by noon.”
I point to my cup. “Caffeine. I drink copious amounts.”
“Even still, I don’t know how you manage.”
I shrug. “I’m used to it. Every bakery I’ve worked in keeps similar hours.”
He leans back in the chair, watching me like he’s seeing me in a new light. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”
My mouth opens, but I don’t get a chance to respond before the oven timer goes off. It’s loud, and at this moment, particularly offensive.
“Pumpkin bars,” I say, shooting to my feet like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. Hurrying to the kitchen, I grab oven mitts and remove the pan from the oven.
“Damn, they smell fantastic,” Jordan calls out as he enters the room.
I peer at the amber-hued dessert. “Let’s hope they taste good.”
“Can I try a piece?” he asks, looking as eager as a little boy.
“We should let them cool off before I cut them.”
“Please?” he pleads with big eyes.
I cut a small piece from the corner and hand it to him. He doesn’t even blow on it before he shoves it in his mouth. Suddenly, I’m nervous. I want him to be impressed with how they turned out. I hold my breath as he chews.
He lets out a groan. “Oh my God. I could eat that whole pan.”
My lips spread until I’m beaming at him. “Really?”
“Yes. These are going to sell out in a matter of minutes.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m gonna need you to make more.”
“You know how to make them now.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t do it without you. They won’t come out as good.”
“You just want to use me for my spices.”
“Guilty. However, I can ensure you gain street cred with our business name. How about Ginger Bakes?”
“I like the layered meaning, but I don’t bake in that sense.”
He shrugs. “No one else knows that.”
“I think we can do better,” I say.
He scratches his chin. “Baked with Ginger?”
I groan. “That’s so bad.”
“It’s so literal, it’s perfect.”
I give him a look over my coffee cup. “Your creativity is truly inspirational.”
He shrugs. “Mediocrity has its moments.”
“Hmm. That part I’ll give you.” I move to the other side of the kitchen. “I should wrap those bars up for you.”
“You kicking me out, G?”
I raise an eyebrow. “If I was, you’d know.”
“I think I might like to see that bossy side of you,” he comments, removing his apron and setting it on the counter.
Relieved to put a bit of distance between myself and his overwhelming presence, I exhale with a long sigh.
Gripping the parchment paper, which overhangs each side of the pan, I lift the slab of pumpkin bars free, then set them on the counter.
Typically, I let them cool much longer, but tonight I’m working with limited time.
I grab a straight edged knife and begin cutting them.
I wipe the steel clean between each pass, taking my time, making sure the pieces are all the same size.
I use a thin spatula to lift each one into a box.
I tuck parchment paper between the layers and then seal the lid closed with one of my shop’s logo stickers.
When I turn, I see he’s stepped back into the shop area and is taking a closer look at the merchandise on the shelves.
“These are for you.” I hold the box out to him.
He takes it, smiling. “You’re the best.”
“I’m happy to help out anytime.”
“Don’t tempt me. You’ll never get rid of me.”
Would that be so bad?
“You’re always welcome. But you already know that.”
He nods. “I do. I’m trying to figure out why I haven’t taken advantage of that until now.” He glances around the shop and then his gaze settles on me. “It’s nice being here with you.”
I pause, my heartbeat skipping as it only does around him. “I like having you here,” I say, softer than I mean to.
His warm eyes lock with mine. “You make this place feel like more than a coffee shop.”
I look around at all the things I see every day, and yet right now, with him standing here, it does feel like more.
“Thank you. That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“That’s just sad, G,” he teases.
“Don’t make me regret those words coming from you.”
“I’ll try not to. When it comes to me, I think it’s best if you keep your expectations low. Then you won’t be disappointed.” His laugh is self-deprecating, and I don’t like his habit of insulting himself.
I give a half shrug. “Too late. My expectations are limitless.”
“Bummer for you.” He shifts the box to his other hand, then pulls his keys from his pocket. “I’m gonna get out of here so you can make your bedtime.”
“I keep the same sleep schedule as a ninety year old,” I say, laughing. I grab the folded sweatshirt from the table and drape it over his shoulder. “Don’t forget this. You’re my free advertisement.”
He smiles. “And happy to be so. Are you sure you don’t need me to do anything before I go?”
“Yep. All that’s left is to wipe down the counter and wash the pan. I’ll be out of here in five minutes flat.” I follow him to the door.
He hesitates, and instead of turning the knob, he spins to face me. “Thank you for all your help tonight. I really appreciate it. I appreciate you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I hope the bars are a big hit.”
“Oh, trust me, they will be. I’ll be in touch to book our next baking sesh.”
I narrow my eyes. “You have an innate talent for making things sound sketchy.”
“Hey, that sounds like a ‘you’ problem. I can’t help how you interpret my innocent words.”
I roll my eyes. “Riiight.”
He chuckles and places his hand on my upper arm, giving a gentle squeeze. “I hope you sleep well and have sweet dreams.”
“Thanks. I hope so too.”
He turns and opens the door. “See you later, G.”
“Good night.”
I pull the door closed, shutting out the chilly night air. My gaze stays on Jordan’s tall, muscular frame until he reaches his truck and then I return to the kitchen to clean up. Now that he’s gone, it’s eerily quiet, and I already miss his company.
Uh-oh. I need to be careful, or before I know it, I’ll be falling for Jordan. Really falling for him. As if the longtime crush I’ve had on him isn’t bad enough.
Maybe my feelings seem intensified because we’ve spent two nights in each other’s company this week. If that’s the reason, the problem should correct itself since I won’t see him again anytime soon. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it were that easy.