Chapter 2
The momentI walked into Doughy Desires, my senses were bombarded with the sweet aroma of baked goods. Vintage chandeliers gave off a muted glow, casting shadows on the faded furnishings, and the glaring absence of customers emphasized the quiet atmosphere.
Geez, talk about a bleak place for a first date.
As I scanned the room, I spotted a man sitting alone at a table near the window. He looked up from his coffee and our gazes met. Ah, this must be my blind date. My best friend clearly knew my type: tall, dark, and brooding. His chiseled jawline, brown eyes, facial stubble, and dark-brown hair cropped on the sides and left spiky on top screamed bad boy in all the right ways.
A flutter of attraction struck my chest as I approached him, hoping this date would be more interesting and fun than job hunting.
I wore my most flirtatious smile. “Hi, I’m Kenzi Middleton.”
He took a sip of his coffee and moved aside a clipboard on the table. “You’re late.”
I blinked. “Only by five minutes. I thought being fashionably late was the trend nowadays. Or did I miss a memo?”
“Promptness is a virtue.” His tone sounded gruff, yet undeniably sexy. He gestured for me to join him at the table. “I’m Bishop Caine, the owner of this bakery.”
Well, hello, Mr. Grumpy Baker!
Even with the cute flour dusted apron he wore, his brusque manner and knitted brows almost made me want to turn around and return to my job search.
Then Chantel’s networking advice echoed in my ears. Staying might be the bridge to an unexpected opportunity. Since I was facing eviction, shmoozing with a businessman in town could lead to a graphic design job or a lead. Besides, I’d made it this far, and a pastry couldn’t hurt.
I took a seat and smirked. “Got it, punctuality noted for future reference.”
His brow furrowed even more—if that was possible. He grabbed the clipboard and a pen off the table. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Middleton.”
“Graphic designer turned dog whisperer,” I joked.
Bishop stopped scribbling on his clipboard and looked at me. “Did you say dog whisperer?”
His stare made my breath catch. And what was with the clipboard, anyway? This must be what it felt like to audition for a spot on The Bachelor. I leaned over, trying to sneak a peek at his dating checklist, but he held it against his chest.
I sat back. “I have a knack for understanding their barks and whines. It’s like they’re speaking to me. It’s a gift, really.”
Bishop put his clipboard face-down on the table. “And how did you acquire such a valuable skill?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
I shrugged. “Oh, you know, just years of practice and lots of Scooby-Doo reruns.”
“Of course.” He ran his tongue along his lip, which caused my insides to heat. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”
I wiped my suddenly clammy palms on my dress beneath the table, willing my hormones to settle down. I had to stay focused on the conversation, so I wouldn’t do something foolish, like tracing the stubble on his jaw with my fingertips.
I swallowed. “Definitely ruling a small island populated entirely by dogs. We’ll have our own flag and everything.”
“An ambitious goal.” The corner of Bishop’s mouth twitched—the closest thing I’d seen to a smile.
I glanced at the faded wall paint, scuffed tables, and a pastry display case that resembled my grandma’s dusty china cabinet. The outdated feel had a certain charm, but mostly, it appeared sad and neglected, almost like a rom-com, where the bakery was the moody leading man—handsome but in dire need of a makeover.
I sat up straighter. “How long have you owned the bakery?”
He straightened the napkin dispenser. “Several years.”
“Any hobbies or interests?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s relevant.”
“Of course it is!” I gave him a nudge on the arm. “We’re getting to know each other to see if we’re a good fit.”
“Since you put it that way, I suppose you’re right.” He lifted one arm and rubbed the back of his neck. “I enjoy hiking, among other things.”
I eyed his broad shoulders, imagining him shirtless in the great outdoors. “What inspired you to become a baker?”
“My grandparents,” he said, his voice softening. “They taught me how to bake when I was young. It stuck with me, and I attended a culinary school after college.”
I grabbed a sugar packet from the holder, crinkling it between my fingers. He made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure why.
He leaned forward. “What about you? Why do you like baking?”
I set the packet down, considering how to answer his weird question. I hadn’t really thought about it before—not in a way that was meaningful enough to explain to someone else. Did I even have an answer? And why was this peculiar encounter the best date I’d had in years?
“Um, well, I haven’t done much lately, but I have a flair for creativity. I majored in graphic design in college. But honestly, I’m still figuring things out.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He pushed aside his coffee cup and shifted in his seat, his knee bumping mine.
We’d only touched for a second, yet I inhaled sharply, a flutter stirring low in my core.
He lifted his clipboard. “What’re your future goals, Miss Middleton?”
“Someday I’d like to specialize in pet treats and call them Pawsitively Delicious.”
Bishop lifted his pen and doodled on the clipboard. “Interesting.”
Clinking dishes from the kitchen area echoed through the quiet room. The sun filtering through the windows caught the chiseled planes of his face and the stubble gracing his cheeks and jaw, making him look even more stern.
“Do you live in Serenity Falls?”
He nodded. “I was born here, and after culinary school, I took over the family bakery.”
Resting an elbow on the table, I propped my head up with my hand and sighed dramatically. “Ah, a man who can bake. Be still, my heart.”
He held my gaze as his fingers slowly traced the rim of his coffee cup. “Is that all it takes?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate right through me.
“Good-looks and baked goods go a long way, Mr. Caine.” I leaned in closer, giving him my most coquettish grin. “But trust me, I’m not that easy to win over.”
He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Not sure I needed to know that.”
“Anyway,” I said with a wave of my hand. “How is it we’ve never met before?”
“I didn’t grow up in town. I went to boarding school, but we’re getting off track,” Bishop said dryly. “How much experience do you have baking?”
“Does binge-watching baking shows count as experience?” I laughed. “Wow, you really like baking, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, I find the precision of baking...therapeutic. I like baking because it’s an art that demands precision and patience—qualities I find grounding.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me, how well can you handle yeast?”
Grinning, I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “Once, I had a deep conversation with a packet of yeast about rising up against the oppressive flour regime. And I’m happy to report that they’re currently living their best lives in a sourdough commune.”
Bishop stared at me, his mouth open, then slowly shook his head. He scribbled on his clipboard. “I must admit, you have quite the unique outlook on baking, and I like your sense of whimsy.”
“Whimsy is my middle name. Well, actually it’s Diane, but you get the idea.” I tilted my head. “Are you usually this serious?”
“Always.”
Whenever he spoke, I found myself inclining closer, drawn to his every word, and forced myself to sit back. “And what do you look for in a partner?”
“Dedication, punctuality, and a skilled hand with pastries. You?”
“A sense of fun, charm, and perhaps…a smidgen of broodiness.” I grinned, and was already hoping for a second date despite his gruffness. ”Well, I can certainly whisk up some dedicated punctuality and whip my pastry skills into shape if that”s a deal breaker.”
He leaned back, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table. We sat in silence for several minutes, the quiet of the empty bakery enveloping us, punctuated only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant grumblings of a dishwasher.
“Your approach is refreshing and it”s rare to find someone who sees beyond the flour and sugar to the art beneath. It’s about passion, isn”t it? That”s what I look for in my team.” He locked eyes with me, a seriousness in his gaze that matched the gravity of his words. “You’ve got the kind of perspective that can transform the mundane into something meaningful. You have interesting qualities for a bakery assistant.”
I blinked in confusion. “Wait. What? “
Bishop folded his arms “Most people would’ve come in here bragging about the pastries they’ve baked. But you? You’re different. Look, I’m not only after baking proficiency—we need great customer service, too. My bakery has been slow the last few months, if you haven’t noticed, and I have a feeling that someone with your outgoing personality might just be the lifeblood we need to attract more customers...” He paused, glancing at his clipboard. “Interested?”
Huh?What was happening?
“So, just to confirm you’re not…and this isn’t…” A blind date?
“I’m offering you a job. I want you to work for me, Miss Middleton.”
My mouth went slack. I replayed the conversation in my head. He wasn’t flirting; he was hiring. This was a job interview, not a date. The realization struck me like plot twist, leaving me as bewildered as Elizabeth Bennet upon discovering Mr. Darcy’s true character.
Bishop drummed the fingers of one hand on the table. “What do you think?”
What did I think? That I was almost destitute, I had no design jobs lined up, and I’d dreamed of perfecting my late grandma’s recipes. Maybe Doughy Desires was the ideal place to give them a whirl.
“That I’m your new baker.”