Chapter 5
Yawning,I shuffled into the bakery at an ungodly hour. While I hated getting up so early, I liked seeing Bishop every day.
Who knew Mr. Pensive could be such a morning person motivator?
In the kitchen, I started folding the dough for croissants. My fingers felt coated in adhesive, and my delicate folds resembled puckered origami gone awry. Perhaps I should’ve added more flour.
“Kenzi, how’s it going over there?” Lucia adjusted her floral apron while eyeing me like a hawk. With years of baking experience, she could probably spot an amateur from a mile away.
“Fantastic.” I flashed a grin that was more of a grimace.
Lucia shook her head. I knew I couldn’t keep up this facade for too long, especially with her scrutinizing my every move.
I lifted the tray of pastries. “Time to put these in the oven.” I tried to sound breezy, as if I had done this a million times before.
But it was only a matter of time before my secret would become glaringly obvious. And then what? My job, my paycheck, and my connection to Bishop, all gone in a puff of powdered sugar.
“Kenzi.” Lucia’s sharp tone cut through the air like a cake knife. “I tried searching for you online, but all I could find was your expertise in graphic design. Nothing on past baking positions.”
My grip on the tray faltered. It tipped sideways in a slow-motion descent, sending pastries flying as if catapulted into zero-gravity. They soared in the air, casting floury shadows before splattering in a disarray of doughy carnage on the counter and floor.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Oops.”
“You call this an oops?” Her cheeks reddened, and I swear I saw steam billowing from her ears. “You are destroying our kitchen with your clumsiness!” Her harsh words were like a hard pinch, but Lucia’s frustration was warranted.
I crouched to scoop up remnants of dough stuck to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
Lucia shook her head. “I don’t know what Bishop was thinking when he hired you.” She pointed at the doorway. “You’re banned from the kitchen. Go help customers at the front counter.”
“Sure thing.” Relieved to be out of the firing line, I brushed off my clothes and left the room.
Cash registers were much easier to handle than bakery kitchens, and I had plenty of retail experience from the part-time jobs that I’d had while in college.
I greeted the first customer with a big grin plastered on my face. “Hi! How can I help you?”
The woman appeared taken aback by my eagerness, but ordered a dozen assorted cookies. I quickly rang up the order and wished her a great day.
When the morning rush subsided, the sun’s rays highlighted the drab tablecloths, dull beige walls, and lack of customers. I wiped down the counters and ensured that each pastry looked appetizing within the countertop display case, then refilled the coffee grounds and napkin dispensers.
Ten o’clock that morning, Bishop walked in—and goodness, was he a welcome sight. The classic black shirt he wore accentuated his broad shoulders, and those dark denim jeans showed off long legs. It was always a challenge not to ogle him.
Bishop stopped in front of me. “Lucia got you working the counter?” He watched me with an intensity that set my skin aflame, and I hoped it didn’t look like I’d just stuck my face in one of the ovens.
“Yeah.” I tried my best to sound casual and not like someone whose heart rate had hit marathon levels. “She thinks I need the full experience. Perhaps next week, I’ll brave the espresso machine.”
“You can return to the kitchen now that it’s slowed down.”
“Do I have to?” I mumbled. “Lucia is not a Kenzi fan.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. It was a rare concession, as if a momentary lapse in the fortress he’d built around himself.
In the kitchen, I started whisking and creating a flavored icing for the cookies. Bishop worked on his signature cupcake recipe with the precision of a true artist.
“My shift’s over. See you both tomorrow,” Lucia said, wiping her hands on her apron before making her way toward the exit.
The atmosphere shifted the moment we were alone, making my hands tremble. Bishop was the epitome of restraint, never once looking up from his work.
“Kenzi, how’s that icing coming along?”
“Almost perfect, just needs a bit more sunshine.” I added another dash of lemon zest to the mix.
Bishop snorted. “Just make sure all that sunshine doesn’t overpower the ingredients.”
I waved my whisk like a magic wand, splattering the counter. “Trust me, I’ll keep the forecast deliciously balanced.”
We worked in silence for several minutes. The wall clock ticked, and the oven grumbled. Bishop’s focus remained on the batter he was mixing with strong, steady strokes.
“By afternoon, it’s so quiet in here. Do you really need another employee?”
He cleared his throat. “I do. Jordan’s starting college soon and he’ll only be able to work the weekends, but you’re right about business being slow.”
“Is it because of that other bakery opening in town?”
“You could say that,” he said, his forehead creasing. “Competition is becoming fierce.”
I bit my lower lip. “I may not be a baking prodigy yet, but I’ve got amazing design skills that might help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bishop said. “Anything I can help you with?”
“There is something I’m struggling with,” I confessed, glancing nervously at my concoction. “I can’t seem to get the consistency right for this hazelnut icing.”
“Ah, let me take a look.” Bishop moved beside me, his sandalwood cologne tickling my senses.
Our arms grazed, and the contact sent electric shocks of awareness shooting through my veins, awakening every nerve. I took a step back, my blood pumping hot.
“Try adding a bit more powdered sugar and whisk it until it thickens,” he suggested.
I did as he instructed, feeling a small sense of accomplishment when the frosting started to resemble the desired texture. “It sounds as if you’ve done this before,” I teased.
He shrugged a shoulder, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Once or twice, you might say.”
We continued working, and there was this ever-present mindfulness of each other’s space; never quite touching, yet close enough to feel the heat radiating between us.
“I don’t know much about you besides your devotion to baking. Are you friendly with your folks?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m close with my parents, and I was especially close to my grandparents before they passed away. No siblings, though.”
“I can’t imagine not having my sister around…did I mention, she’s a gifted violinist?” I swallowed hard. “But she stopped playing for over a year after our parents died. It was just the two of us after the car accident. It was rough, especially since we didn’t have any other relatives in the area. I became her guardian and tried my best to take care of her, to be there for her, but nothing could fill the hole from Mom and Dad’s deaths.” I sniffled. “I’m just glad she’s playing again.”
He stared at me, brow furrowed. “Oh, Kenzi. I’m so sorry.”
My chest constricted at the memory. It had been a few years since they had passed away, yet somehow still felt like yesterday—a hurtful place I did my best not to revisit often. It was one of the reasons why I didn’t own a car.
I wrung my hands on my apron. “Sorry. Am I oversharing?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Sometimes it gets lonely being an only child and being single…you know, not having someone special in my life.” He stared at the counter, and a nerve ticked in his jaw. “I’ve never been married, so the bakery keeps me busy and content.” He let out a sigh. “Maybe someday I’ll meet the right woman and start a family of my own. But for now, this place is my baby.”
He was single. A flutter of relief swirled in my chest and my heart did an unexpected little skip.
“I’m actually surprised that you’re single. I assumed someone would’ve swooped you up by now with your amazing baking talents.”
His eyes held a faint glimmer. “Perhaps I’m waiting for someone who appreciates my devastating magnetism,” he teased.
I tapped my chin with a finger. “Hmm, magnetism, you say? I guess I’ll have to keep a closer eye out for it.”
The subtlest twitch of his lips was Bishop’s version of a laugh. “I’ll have you know that I’m quite irresistible.”
“Well, I suppose it is a big responsibility being the town’s most eligible bachelor. I hope you’re taking it seriously.”
“That goes without saying, it’s a burden really, but someone has to carry it.” His voice sounded husky and deep, causing my insides to melt like molten chocolate.
I giggled. I liked that he wasn’t so serious all the time. He’d become a living testament to the idea that still waters run deep—and oh, how I longed to dive into those depths.
We returned to baking, and each accidental brush of our hands triggered a quiver skittering across my skin, my breath catching in my throat. I busied myself, determined not to be distracted by his heady scent of spice and soap, or the flex of muscles beneath his shirt.
“Does everyone in your family bake?”
He absently traced his fingers along the rim of a bowl. “Pretty much. Not my dad, though, he prefers to barbecue, but my mom and grandparents were all bakers.”
“It must be nice to have family in town.” I kept stirring the now-perfect frosting. “It’s just me and my younger sister, Bree, and of course there’s Mochi, our dog.” I glanced up from the bowl and smiled. “Ever think of adding a bakery mascot to the team? Mochi’s quite the charmer. Could double our customer base.”
Bishop grasped a clean rag to wipe down an already spotless section of the countertop. “Is she good with customers, or does she just eat the profits?”
I dusted my hands with flour, my apron already looking like a snowstorm hit it. “Both. She’s a multitasker.”
He paused, pretending to mull it over. “I don’t believe a mascot is what we need at the moment. For now, how about you focus on the baking.”
Twirling a strand of hair around my finger, I grinned. “I’m fully focused.”
He dropped the towel on the counter. “Oh? Because, unlike some people, I take my craft seriously.”
“Ah, the burden of being a brooding bakery owner. It’s a truth universally acknowledged,” I teased, deliberately mangling the famous Austen line. I flicked a bit of flour in his direction. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re being all stoic.”
Bishop blinked, a hint of pink touching his cheeks. “I, ah, we should really get back to work,” he muttered.
The unflappable Bishop Caine, actually flustered?
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. No more distractions. But I still think we need an adorable mascot dog. Who could resist her puppy eyes and wagging tail? Imagine the Instagram potential.”
He groaned. “You and your ideas.”
We returned to work and the room fell into a slightly awkward silence. I found myself studying Bishop as he worked, taking in the furrow of his brow and the way his large hands deftly iced the cupcakes. He intrigued me, this stoic man who clearly had depths I had yet to uncover.
“So, um, if you were a cupcake, what flavor would you be?” I blurted, eager to see if I could draw him out of his shell just a bit more.
“Why does it matter?”
“Come on,” I said with a shake of my whisk. “Humor me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Dark chocolate with a hint of espresso, topped with a rich ganache.”
I pressed my hand to my heart, feigning a swoon. “Ah, mysterious, bold, and irresistibly decadent.”
“And you?”
I bit my lip, pretending to ponder. “Lemon with raspberry filling and cream cheese frosting. Sweet, tangy, and just a little tart.”
Bishop studied me for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re adorable,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy.
I froze and set down the whisk. Had I heard him right?
“Am I?” I whispered, my body feeling flushed.
Was it hot in here or just the oven?
He nodded, then slowly moved closer. The air thickened as Bishop closed the distance between us. His gaze was smoldering and intense, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed, leaving me breathless and craving more. He paused inches away, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His stare flicked from my eyes to my lips, and I could feel the heat radiating from him as he leaned in, my own breath becoming shallow.
He reached out to brush a few strands of hair from my forehead, his fingers grazing my skin.
Suddenly, I was lost, enveloped in the intoxicating haze of desire and longing. All my senses were heightened, each nerve ending alive with the anticipation of the forbidden. And as Bishop closed the gap between us, I knew there was no turning back…
Then Bishop stiffened, a veil of guardedness dropping over his features. His eyes dimmed from a molten glow to a cold, distant glaze, like a switch had been flipped. The charged moment dissipated as quickly as it had come, disappointment and confusion swirling within me.
Had I only imagined the attraction between us? Or was Bishop as affected as I was, but unwilling to act upon it?
His shoulders tensed and he stepped back. “We shouldn’t…I mean…we need to keep things professional…friendly, but professional.”
My stomach dropped like a lead weight. “Yeah, of course.” I hoped my expression didn’t reveal the sting of rejection piercing my heart.
“Excuse me. I have invoices to file.” He retreated to his office adjacent to the kitchen.
As the door clicked shut, I frowned, already missing his presence. And though he had distanced himself, our brief exchange was enough to leave me utterly captivated by the enigma that was Bishop Caine.