Chapter 7
Digging the key out from under the stiff frozen mat, Ryan smiled.
He should talk to her about this. Who else but Sarah would hide a key in such an obvious place?
He opened the back door. Reaching inside, he snapped on the lights and the back room of the bakery came to life.
Coming here in the early morning was a great way to start the day. The room was dark, silent and peaceful.
Ryan sniffed the air, still warm from yesterday’s baking.
In addition to sugar and yeasty dough, a faint whiff of Sarah’s soap lingered.
Smiling, he slipped off his coat. Even though he’d blasted the heat in his truck, he needed to warm up.
Pushing through the swinging door, he entered the shop front.
The feel of his boot adjustment was still new, and he enjoyed every step.
He snapped on the light. “Whoa.” Sarah must have been busy.
He hadn’t glanced at the front when he came for his second shift.
Christmas had exploded in the store with a blizzard of green and red.
He blinked. On the main counter stood a red and gold Santa, settled into drifts of white fabric snow tucked with gold and red ornaments.
Elves peeked from the shelves. In the center of each glass-topped table sat a small bowl of ornaments.
Adhesive snowflakes dotted the plate glass window, as if there wasn’t enough snow outside.
The scent of pine tickled his nostrils. And he didn’t miss the mistletoe hanging from the light fixture.
Mistletoe and kissing. He couldn’t even go there.
While the coffee perked, he studied the darkened street outside.
Street lamps dropped pools of light on the snow.
When he was growing up with Jamie, they loved the snow and cold.
Despite their parents’ warnings and threats, they’d take their sleds down to the ice floes banking the shoreline.
Climbing to the top, they’d careen down the slick slopes, screaming with crazy fear.
Of course someone told their folks. The Pickard boys were at it again and were grounded for a month. Now Ryan wondered at the risks they’d taken back then. Grabbing his mug, he walked to the back.
For the next two hours he worked, punching the dough down, setting it to rise again.
There was something satisfying about baking.
Sure he loved the work on Harleys but it didn’t bring the immediate satisfaction that The Full Cup did.
He could understand now why his brother had fallen so easily into this role after Jamie married Sarah.
After the bread rose, he slid the sheets into the oven, his hand still tender from the burns. He became a mindless fool around Sarah. One look from her greenish blue eyes and he was toast.
By the time Sarah arrived, the racks were full of rye bread, sour dough, white and a multigrain twist he was trying out. He wondered how customers would like the prettier bread. Or maybe it was just another one of his stupid ideas.
Glancing around, Sarah’s eyes brightened and he fed on that light. “Ryan, I love to come in the morning and see this. You just don’t know.”
Ryan felt proud. Walking over, he took her coat.
“Such a gentleman,” Sarah murmured, slipping her red scarf into the sleeve. “Thank you.”
A bit disappointed that she still hadn’t noticed anything different, he went to check on the cheese crowns. “Maybe today I won’t burn these. Were there many complaints?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
Ryan suspected that she wouldn’t tell him even if people had missed the cheese crowns. “Today we’re doing molasses cookies. You know ––gingerbread men, Santas, Christmas trees and ornaments. That kind of thing.”
“I noticed how you prettied up the place,” Ryan said. She’d even put a bowl of holly on her desk.
“It’s Christmas, doggone it.” Sarah pushed up the sleeves of her red plaid shirt.
He swallowed a laugh. “You sound as if it’s a chore.”
Her lips twisted. “Isn’t it? Sometimes you just have to put your life on remote.”
“Sarah.” But what could he say? He understood where she was this season.
With a sniff, she turned away. “Sorry, I’m feeling grouchy. The boys will have a good Christmas if it kills me.”
“I’ll help in any way I can.”
“You’re very sweet to us, Ryan.” Her light touch on his arm ignited him. Then she turned. Bustling over to the one of oversize mixers, she banged a bowl into place and got to work.
Looking over the recipe, he could still feel the tingle of her touch. “Are you doubling or tripling in this recipe?”
“Tripling.” Her grin was back and his shoulders eased. Her pain was hard to bear when he couldn’t do anything about it.
“We need some music.” She snapped on the radio and Bing Crosby was singing “White Christmas.” “We’ll have a white Christmas all right,” she said.
“I like the snow.” Looking out the back of the high windows, Ryan watched the snow shimmer under the alley light. “It reminds me, well, of stuff.”
“Past Christmases?” A faint smile tilted her lips.
“Yeah. It’s not bad to remember, is it?” He sure hoped not.
She shook her head slowly. “Our past is an important part of us. And we’re making Christmas cookies. What could be better, right?”
“Right.” But it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for him. When the dough was made, the hard part started. The rolling pin Sarah was wielding? That sucker terrified him.
“Let’s get to work.” Grabbing a hunk of dough, Sarah sprinkled flour over the cutting board while Ryan’s stomach knotted. Then she handed him the rolling pin. “Here you go. I’ll frost the cheese crowns while you roll out the dough. Then choose your cookie cutters and have fun.”
Fun? The lump in his throat felt big as that mound of dough.
First he swatted it down. Then he started to roll.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he pressed the rolling pin across the dough.
It would probably be bad to perspire on cookie dough.
Sarah was humming along to the music but he wasn’t having a “holly jolly Christmas.” Not at all.
He’d seen roadwork crews rolling out asphalt.
Maybe that was the trick and he laid into it.
Meanwhile, he enjoyed watching Sarah frost the pastries. Her hands were so graceful, scooping up frosting and skimming the tops of the cheese crowns. How the heck did she do that?
“How’s that molasses dough coming, Ryan?” Sarah asked, a twinkle in her eye, like she knew he was having a heck of a time.
He looked down. The dough was flattened so thin, he could see the table.
“Oh, my.” Wiping the frosting from her hands, Sarah edged over, her lips twitching. “Um, I think we need a little more cookie than that, don’t you?”
“I guess.” Releasing the rolling pin, he ran his hands down his apron. They were throbbing from the pressure, not that he’d admit it.
“Let’s give this another go.” Gathering up the dough, Sarah worked some magic with her fingers. Suddenly he faced another mountainous mass. Ryan liked the lemon bars or brownies a lot better, where all you did was pour the batter into the pan.
“Don’t look so disappointed.” Reaching up, she pinched his chin gently between her fingers. “Everyone has to learn.”
She was so close that he could see the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Then she dropped her gaze and swallowed. “Guess we should get to work.”
“Right.” Gripping the rolling pin so hard that his hands hurt, he nodded. “Yep, Let's get on with it.” He attacked the mound of dough.
“Oh, Ryan,” she murmured. “Softer. You’re not trying to kill the cookie dough.”
“Okay, boss lady.” How could she be so patient with him? The one time his mother did try to make cookies the whole mess ended in the trash can and Mom took off for the bakery.
Now he was the bakery—or acting like it. He had to get this right so Sarah wasn’t embarrassed by his cookies.
“Here let me help.” Her arms went around him and Ryan froze. Suddenly they were rolling cookie dough together, her hands on his. He’d never felt anything so sexy in his life.
“Can you feel it?” she asked. “Just roll softly, softly.”
“Yep, I sure can,” he croaked out. He wouldn’t think about the warm breath on his neck. The vibration of her voice against his back. When the dough became a perfect circle, he figured it was a miracle.
But it wasn’t the cookie dough he wanted. No, he wanted to turn and take her in his arms. Kiss her sweet lips until they had to come up for air.
She was driving him crazy.
Jamie I told you I’d always watch out for Sarah. That’s all I’m trying to do.
But that was a lie. And he never could lie to his brother.
Sarah kept moving behind him, angling her head so she could see. “Just a little bit here and a little bit there.”
A lot could happen as a result of that little bit. When her body moved, every pore in his body leapt to life. Was he sweating bullets? Sure felt like it.
This could get embarrassing.
Then she released his hands and stepped back. Fresh air passed between them. “How’s that?” She blinked up at him in that innocent way she had.
“Fine. Just fine.” Irritation roughened his voice. He felt like diving into one of the snow banks. Maybe for her this was just another lesson.
She backed away. He took a breath.
“Well then.” Her eyes skittered from the ovens to the clock––anywhere but him. “Grease the baking sheet and choose your cookie cutters.’
“Sure. Right.”
“I’ll just get back...” Her arm hand waved and her mouth opened. But nothing came out. Maybe she wasn’t so calm after all.
“Back to work, boss lady.” There. That sounded authoritative. But he was putty––or cookie dough––in her hands.
So he started with the cookie cutters. Before she even finished her frosting work, he had three pans filled with gingerbread boys, reindeer and fat Santas.
Footsteps sounded on the back stairs just as he took the last pan from the oven. “Well don’t you two look busy.” Mrs. Wilkins stood there in a pretty pink sweater.