20. Poppy
Poppy
“ I have a delivery for you, ma’am.”
A man in a navy uniform stands in the doorway with a box the size of me on a dolly. I blink back at him, surveying the delivery. I’d love to order a number of things, but my bank account disagrees. “I didn’t order anything.”
He crosses the lobby and hands me an invoice with Seaside Bakehouse listed as the recipient. I scan it quickly to find all my information accurate. Whatever this is, it was intended for me. “It doesn’t say who paid for this.”
“I don’t get that information. They just tell me where to take it.” He points to the back kitchen and asks, “In there?”
“Wait, what is it?” I scan the invoice again, this time looking at the item line. “A mixer?”
“If that’s what it says, ma’am. There’s a haul away order too. I’m guessing this goes where the old one is?”
I stay in my place behind the display counter until he pushes the dolly through to the back.
Then, close on his heels I follow into the kitchen.
I’m unsure about who would send me this, maybe the show if I mentioned it not working.
But I really don’t think I’ve said a thing around Tara.
In fact, I’ve gone out of my way to downplay my financial concerns.
“This right here?” he points to my old mixer.
“Yes, that would be what is switched out but… what if this is a mistake? If it wasn’t meant for me, will you have to take the new one back?”
“Can’t return it after delivery. It’s all yours. And I’m not sure who would get that much information wrong.”
This delivery man is teetering on becoming therapeutic for my worries. He’s right, of course. And I need to leave it at that. I stand awkwardly in the doorway when a family enters through the front, giving me a chance to excuse myself and help the customers.
By the time I send them on their way with a box of s’mores brownie cupcakes, he’s got my old mixer on his dolly and is coming back around front. “Enjoy,” he offers on his way out. I wait until he’s past my front windows and then rush back into the kitchen to see my new appliance.
It’s sitting there shining like a perfectly polished work of art in the center of the room.
This isn’t just a new version of my last one.
It’s a top of the line planetary mixer, the best on the market for my needs.
The amount of money it costs, nearing ten thousand dollars, makes this all the more mysterious.
The girls know about my struggles, but even if they all pitched in together it wouldn’t be reasonable for them to select this one.
I walk in a circle around the new appliance, studying its pristine finish. This makes no sense, but I’m out of time to figure it out. I need to get ready to shoot the next episode of Small Town Table. Everyone will be here in just half an hour, and I am far from prepared.
“It looks like our ice cream is now frozen.” I peer up from the ice cream maker towards the oven. “And with seconds to spare.”
“You have good timing,” Hayden comments as the buzzer sounds.
He pulls the oven door open and carefully withdraws the cobbler.
Sliding the baking dish in front of me on the prep table, he takes a step closer until our bodies are brushing against one another.
This is how it’s been the whole episode, little to no space between us as we work.
And I’m finding it more enjoyable than the first episode.
“So, what would your grandmother do to finish this off?” he asks me. That isn’t on the script. I hesitate, looking from him over to Tara. If she notices that he’s deviating, she doesn’t seem to mind. “This is your grandmother’s recipe, right?” he prompts again.
“It is, she taught me to make it with fresh peaches from our home orchard,” I reply, flashing Hayden a grateful smile. “Which these are.”
“And it was this recipe that got your grandfather to propose on the spot, rumor has it.”
I laugh, scooping the freshly made ice cream atop the cobbler. Hayden is leaning onto the prep table beside me, his lips inches from my hair. For some reason, talking about love right now is causing a stir within me. I gulp before responding.
“It was love at first bite.”
“I know the feeling,” he murmurs, trailing his hand down my back. A shiver snakes along my spine behind the touch. I wanted to talk about my grandmother, but this is becoming absurdly confusing for me. I need to get back on track.
“So, what you’ll do last is drizzle the maple butter over the cobbler.” I look up as Hayden dumps a puddle onto his side of the dish. “I said drizzle . What are you doing over there?”
“I don’t think you’re using enough of this stuff, it’s so good.”
“I’m not using enough?”
He smirks as he reaches out and dollops extra atop the side of the cobbler I’m dishing ice cream onto. “Try it now.”
“You don’t want it to pool,” I protest.
Hayden turns to me, taking hold of the scooper in my hand and passing me a fork instead. Pulling his hand back, he sends a glob of vanilla ice cream flinging through the air and landing on my cheek.
“Oh!” I exclaim, taking a step back. Hayden sets the scoop down and closes the distance between us once again. With a wicked grin, he grabs my waist with one hand, and lifts the other to slowly drag his thumb across my cheek, wiping the cold dessert away.
It’s intimate, and the sweet smell of our baking is mingling with his masculine scent that always has a hint of salty sea to it. My bakery’s motto drifts into my mind. Because salty and sweet were made for each other .
I’m utterly intoxicated, forgetting about the camera and crew watching the moment passing between us. The look in his eyes is sinfully seductive, and I want to indulge in him shamelessly.
Record high temperatures combined with me being trapped in the scorching bakery with Hayden is leading to delusional, heat stroke induced dirty thoughts about a man I have dedicated myself to hating.
“What were you saying about not wanting it to pool?” he jokes.
“You lose the way the flavors complement each other if you have too much of one thing,” I rasp.
“Noted,” he says with a wink, turning back to the camera. “I hope you all are learning as much as I am.”
We return to finishing the cobbler, digging in to try our first tastes. Trevor brings the camera near, focusing on the dessert before panning up as we take a bite.
“Delicious as ever, Poppy Seed,” Hayden moans. “But I’ve got to say, it could use more maple butter.”
My mouth falls open, and his deep laugh echoes through the air as Tara calls cut. The camera light blinks off and we’re out.
“I love this.” Tara motions between us. “You too are downright steamy. Excellent, just excellent. We will get going on editing and see you next week.”
The crew wraps up quickly and leaves together this time.
Trevor doesn’t seem to make any flirtatious comments to me or linger to talk.
Instead, I catch his eyes flit between Hayden and myself.
And I am more than okay with that. Because my body still remembers the feel of Hayden’s hand on my waist from a few minutes ago.
And my brain still remembers the smoldering look in his eyes.
I steal a glance at Hayden to find his focus on the mixer. Sensing me, he quickly turns away from it, like he’d just been caught doing something wrong.
“It came today,” I explain. “I have no clue how. Only like three people knew my old one was dead.”
“How long was it dead for?”
I don’t want to admit to him that I got it on its last leg. It’s too embarrassing considering he’s got more money than he’ll ever know what to do with. And speaking of his money… the idea sneaks into my mind on a whim. But it could never be true. He didn’t even know I needed a new mixer.
“That’s hard to say, some days it would randomly decide to work again.”
I turn my focus to cleaning up when he asks, “Do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“The new mixer, is it a good one?”
A laugh escapes me. “It’s the best one. I’m waiting for whoever sent it here to come and snatch it away to its real home. Why?”
Hayden shrugs, picking up a rag to help clean the prep table. “Just asking. Are you heading to the town meeting from here?”
“I am,” I reply skeptically. “Why?”
“Good, we can walk together.”
I place the cobbler in the cooler and slide my apron over my head. It’s still bothering me that he seemed to fixate on the mixer; there’s something more there.
“What else do we need to do as far as wrapping up here?”
Scanning the kitchen, it seems we’ve got everything done. “Nothing,” I admit.
“Want to go down to the beach for a bit? We have time before the meeting.” He sounds hopeful, as if my agreeing is truly important to him. But I’m just as stirred by his offer. There’s something wildly intimate about a walk on the beach, just the two of us.
“Sure,” I nod, avoiding his gaze.
Hayden remains close at my side as we start down the wharf. Same as when we were baking, he’s near enough to brush my arm now and then, but not to the point of embracing me.
“What do you have planned for our next episode?” he asks after a moment.
“I had a strawberry recipe planned for this week, but because of the mixer I couldn’t?—”
I skid to a stop, a memory clicking into place that my brain had been fighting to remind me of. The strawberries. “I told Wes the mixer broke.”
Hayden raises an eyebrow, turning so he’s standing in front of me. “Oh yeah?”
“He asked about the strawberries, and I told him. It was the morning he came in to get things for your meeting.”
“Your treats were a real hit, he made a good call.” He shoves his hands down into the pockets of his linen pants. And if I’m not mistaken, his brow is pinched with worry.
“He told you.”
I’m certain of this. And the streak of concern that passes across his face confirms it for me. It’s hard to pinpoint the moment when I started noticing the nuances of his expressions. But as I watch him, I realize that I know exactly who bought me that mixer.
“Hayden, did you buy the mixer?”