Chapter 4 Lessons in Pastry
Lessons in Pastry
Rowen
Water streamed down my body in waves as I dragged my fingers through my hair, scraping my nails over my scalp. Goddess, I was so frustrated. All I could picture was Sadie’s wet lashes as she cried. It wasn’t really my fault. She’d lied about her bakery experience.
Groaning, I slammed my palm against the shower wall.
Why was I so fixated on her? She was trouble, for sure, from the way she pressed her tongue against her fangs when she smiled or the way she fluttered her lashes.
I couldn’t stop replaying the way she bent over to sweep up the mess she’d made.
In that dress, she was nearly irresistible.
I was such a piece of shit. She was my employee.
Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against my arm, letting the water rain over my back.
I needed to get this little vampire out of my system—without touching her.
A groan rumbled out of my throat, more feral growl than any noise I’d made before.
Shoving off the wall, I grabbed the handle and twisted the water to cold, letting the suddenly icy stream pour over my face.
My next breath was a hiss, but at least the heat coursing through my blood cooled.
Four hours of sleep had done nothing for my agitation. After locking up the bakery, I paced my apartment and debated calling Amelie to chew her out, but that wouldn’t do any good, and I didn’t want her stressed out at her new job.
In the end, I’d faceplanted on the sofa and slept for a few hours with a meditation video playing on my phone. When my alarm went off, I jerked awake so hard I fell onto the rug. It wasn’t my best moment.
My opossum familiar, Ralph, had squealed at me, his silver fur puffed up to make him look bigger. It took extra fruit in his breakfast for him to forgive me for scaring him.
Now, I needed to run the bakery all day, and then face Sadie for the night shift for day two of her training.
I imagined her curled up in her apartment, probably with a ruffled comforter tucked around her.
I bet she had one of those dressing tables with the oversized light bulbs all around the mirror, like a vintage movie star.
She dressed like she was from the 1950s, and I loved it. It probably meant she was from that era, making her about eighty years old. But that fact meant nothing after I’d grabbed her ass and hauled her lush body against mine. She was so far out of my league, it wasn’t even funny.
Fuck! I should be worrying about the bakery and the upcoming Pumpkin Festival!
Instead, I was replaying the way she moaned as I ground against her heat, as her venom coursed through my blood. Maybe I needed some sort of cleansing spell to clear my mind. That was outside of my expertise, but I could call Amelie’s coven. Sighing, I added it to my mental to-do list.
An hour later, I opened up the bakery and began boxing up orders for the customers I knew would be coming by during the day.
Every time the bell chimed, my stupid heart leaped, hoping it was Sadie.
It was light outside, hex it all! She was a vampire; she wouldn’t be anywhere outside until after sunset.
Maybe I should install UV filters on the windows of the bakery in case she ever gets caught here after sunrise—and probably my apartment upstairs too, just to be safe.
In between customers, I rolled out cinnamon buns and nestled them onto the baking sheets to rise so we could bake them later when Sadie was here. Once that task was done, I started writing out my plan for teaching Sadie to be a baker. If we were doing this, we would do it correctly.
My heart was racing by the time purple streaked across the sky. One hour to go.
Closing up the bakery, I slipped upstairs and made myself a little dinner.
My stomach was churning, so I only ate half of it, and tossed the rest in the fridge.
Did Sadie still like to eat human food? Many vampires lost interest and the need to eat food as they aged, but I had no idea at what age that happened.
She’d certainly liked the frosting last night.
Picturing her tongue curling around her fingers as she cleaned the frosting off had me getting hard.
She’d better not do that again or I’d be hiding behind the counter all night.
Fifteen minutes to go.
I paced the bakery, debating about getting some of our baking started. I needed to teach her the basics, and also prepare all of tomorrow’s pastries.
Finally, the bell chimed as Sadie arrived. The urge to bound into the front room like a fucking golden retriever hit me, but I stiffened, refusing to move until the impulse passed. With a calm exhale and a polite smile, I went to greet my new trainee baker.
I was cool, collected, professional.
Fuck.
She was wearing a red button-down blouse, the kind that formed a heart over her cleavage, perfectly framing the swells of her perfect, small tits.
Shit. I was so screwed.
Don’t get hard. Think about burnt cinnamon buns. Moldy pumpkins. Feral black cats. Anything but those soft, luscious breasts.
All the blood in my brain rushed south, and I fumbled for an apron, shoving it at her so she covered up those gorgeous tits.
My eyes stayed on the mostly-empty bakery case, counting the crumbs I still needed to wipe up until Sadie spoke.
“Hey, Rowen? Can you tie the back of this for me?”
Hecate’s taint.
Sadie had the apron tied at the waist, but the neck tie was undone. One small hand held her hair up in a messy bun as she turned her back to me.
My hand flexed, aching to reach for her. Swallowing, I forced myself to gently take the strings and tie them into a bow at the nape of her neck. As I drew back, the pads of my fingers grazed her silky skin.
Sadie shivered at my touch, and I had to close my eyes for a moment while I gathered my composure. When I opened them, she had turned, and she looked up at me through those thick lashes. How was I going to get through hours of this tonight—and the next day, and the next?
“So what are we doing tonight?” she asked sweetly.
My voice was hoarse, and clearing my throat didn’t help. “We start with the basics.”
“Alrighty,” she said, smiling.
I retrieved my laminated recipe cards with clumsy motions. Laying them out on the counter, I quickly sorted them. For the next ten minutes, I explained the basics of different types of pastries, from quick breads to yeast bread.
Sadie leaned on the counter, hands folded under her chin. She watched me with bright eyes and a soft smile on her full lips. Twice, I lost my train of thought mid sentence when a memory of her lips on mine flashed through my mind, but I persisted and kept going until my lesson was complete.
Together, we wrote out a plan of action for the next few hours. She had a good head for strategy, and I only made one correction to the schedule she suggested.
“Good, so tonight you are focusing on cookies,” I said, giving her a tight smile. “The rest we will do together, but I want you to handle everything from the measuring to the baking for the cookies.”
“No problem,” she said.
“Then you’d better get going,” I said, trying and failing to keep the amusement from my voice.
While she measured out the ingredients, I started the salted caramel apple filling we would need for the blondie bars later.
“Oh, that smells delicious,” Sadie said, going up on her tiptoes to peer into the stock pot full of sugar, butter, and apples.
She leaned into my personal space, and I fought the urge to breathe in deeply.
Her cherry scent still invaded my nose, shorting out my brain.
My hands went to her waist, and she tensed.
“Sorry,” I muttered, moving her away from me and then dropping my hands.
A beautiful pink flush warmed her cheeks. “Sorry for being nosy. I’ll go back to my cookies.” She clasped her hands at her waist and pivoted on her heels.
I realized I was biting my lip while watching her walk away. Bad idea! Flushing, I schooled my features, trying to pretend I wasn’t checking her out.
With time, I was sure my reactions toward her would cool. I would grow used to her scent and her carefree smiles, and we would be normal, companionable coworkers.
That was, if she learned to bake well enough.
If she quit, she wouldn’t be my coworker and I could ask her out.
No! I wouldn’t take this job from her. The image of her tear-stained face as she begged me to let her stay and train her flashed in my mind. I couldn’t bear hurting her.
While I worked, I kept one eye on Sadie. She fumbled through creaming the sugar and butter, but it was passable. But when she picked up a bottle of vanilla extract, my intuition prickled in warning. It was one of the few ingredients listed by volume and not weight.
Tongue pressed to her fang, the gorgeous vampire reached for a dry ingredient measuring cup.
“Hey, nope. That’s a liquid, so you use these measuring cups,” I said, reaching for the clear plastic vessels with diagonally marked measurements grading up the sides. “Those round ones are for stuff like flour and sugar.”
“Why are they different?” Those wide rose-colored eyes blinked at me, sharp and sweet with curiosity.
Grimacing, I shrugged, handing her the measuring cup. “For these dry-ingredient ones, you have to fill it up to the brim to be accurate, and if you do that with liquid, it would spill. They’re designed to be leveled off.”
Her lips formed an O, utterly distracting me from my explanation. “I suppose that makes sense.” With a cheeky smirk, she placed the measuring up on the counter and poured a thin stream of vanilla into it.
“Uh, that’s a cup and a half,” I said.
“No, it’s twelve.” She set the jug of vanilla extract down and turned to face me, her hands on her hips. My hands clenched into fists with the effort of not noticing her hourglass figure.
“What does the recipe say, Sadie?” I asked, keeping my tone soft and patient.
“Right here,” she said, waving the laminated card. “One-two. Wait—it’s one and a half, isn’t it? Shit! Why does this say twelve?”
“That’s ounces, darling.” A chuckle escaped me, but as my own words echoed back in my head, I realized my mistake. Bosses did not call their employees darling. Not unless I was suddenly a southern woman. “Sadie, that’s twelve ounces,” I tried again. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice my slip.
“Oh, ounces,” she muttered, holding the cup up to peer at it from the side before attempting to pour the extra vanilla back into the jug. I cringed, but gritted my teeth and let her. Only a little vanilla splashed across the counter, filling the space with the cozy scent as it slowly evaporated.
She poured too much back in, and had to add a little more back, but at least she got the correct measurement this time.
“Is it ready to add?” she asked, peering into the mixer.
“The sugar and butter are properly creamed when the butter goes pale and forms ribbons as the mixer moves through it.”
Sadie narrowed her eyes at me, dimples appearing in her cheeks as her lips pursed. “Okay, well I’m pretty sure that’s how it looks, Mr. Cookbook.”
My jaw clenched, trying to resist smiling. This was too close to flirting, and heat was already prickling under my skin and down my spine.
“Alright, so eggs and then the dry stuff?” she asked, her eyebrows rising hopefully.
My nod was stiff as I turned back to the stove. Behind me, she let her breath out in a hiss, clearly frustrated with me. I didn’t blame her. I was frustrated too.
The night crawled by, and Sadie continuously needed every step double-checked. Despite that, she was making progress. Even if it was messy progress.
At one point, she added too much flour into the mixer at once and managed to coat herself in flour again. I just rolled my eyes. It was just a light dusting, not enough to affect the recipe.
When she pulled the three trays of cookies out of the oven, her huge grin had my heart leaping. “Look, I did it!”
“Good job,” I said as evenly as I could manage. I wanted to pick her up and spin her around the kitchen, but I settled for a jerky nod and a lame thumbs up that I instantly wished I could take back.
Her soft laugh filled the bakery, filling my chest like sunshine. “Okay, what else is left to do?”
We spent the next couple of hours baking together. I took the lead, supervising as she measured out ingredients, and showing her what the different batters and doughs looked like at each step. Every time she brushed up against me, my heart hammered.
As we restocked the bakery cabinet and wiped down the kitchen, Sadie kept glancing at me.
“So, how did I do for my second day?” she asked sweetly.
“Fine, good.” I cleared my throat. “You did great. But these were the easiest basic things. We have some difficult stuff to tackle in the next few days.”
She was adorable as she pouted. “Alright, I’d better get a good night’s sleep—I mean, day’s sleep?” She laughed softly under her breath.
“You’re new to town, have you done any more exploring this week?” I asked, feeling dumb when I realized she’d spent her last couple of nights here with me.
“Not yet,” she said with a brilliant grin. Her gaze flickered over my body, perhaps remembering our first meeting. “So what do you like to do when you’re not working?”
“Oh, um, not much,” I stammered. “See friends, I guess.”
“That’s it? No hobbies?” she asked, cocking her head again in that cute way she did.
“I like music and movies,” I volunteered. “You?”
“Oh, me too,” she said. “I like musicals too.”
It was a flippant comment, but my chest squeezed, my ribs feeling like they’d stab me. She liked the same things as me. It didn’t matter, obviously. Everyone liked musicals, didn’t they?
“So, are we all good to go tonight?” she asked, her blonde curls swaying as she glanced to the door.
“Yeah, here, I’ll take your apron,” I said, holding my hand out.
My mouth went dry as she untied the laces and handed it over, revealing the blouse I’d forgotten about.
I should tell her that top isn’t work appropriate. But then I wouldn’t get to see her in it again. Fuck! What do I do?
“Rowen? I’m gonna head out, if that’s okay. It’s getting late and I need to get home before sunrise, obviously.”
She shrugged like it was a silly little limitation, but the reminder that sunlight hurt her sat like concrete in my stomach.
“Yeah, of course! See you tomorrow,” I managed to say, clenching her apron in my fist. I needed to get both of our aprons in the wash.
After Sadie was gone, I headed up to my apartment to get a few hours of sleep before the bakery opened. But before I fell asleep, I ordered UV blocking film for the bakery windows, and enough for my apartment too, just in case she ever had to stay over—for safety, of course. Better safe than sorry.
That night, I dreamed of Sadie baking, dancing around me with croissants and macarons, and she wouldn’t let me taste any of them.