Chapter 7
From the front counter,I assisted four of the bakery’s regular customers with their pastry orders. Once they departed, I scanned the vacant shop. Each day we had fewer visitors. While I cleaned the tables, Lucia and Bishop busied themselves in the kitchen, attending to a phone order for a retirement party delivery.
I sighed. After our afternoon spent at the bookshop, I liked Bishop even more, which made the guilt of my lie weigh heavily on me, like a bag of flour hanging from my neck.
Did I risk telling him the truth? Or did I cling to this job like that stubborn bit of dough on the mixer?
Sure, honesty may be the best policy, but if I confessed...where would that leave my sister and pup?
A battle between integrity and self-preservation raged within me. And survival won out. This job provided security unless, of course, I got caught.
Bishop, wearing his trademark apron, bustled out of the kitchen and refilled the coffeemaker with fresh grounds. “Have the others told you about the upcoming bake-off?”
“Jordan mentioned it.”
Bishop frowned, his forehead creased. “I’m worried that if we lose the competition, we might as well rebrand my bakery to Doughy Disasters.”
“Charming name. I’ll design the logo,” I teased, but then, noticing his somber expression, my smile faded. “Just kidding. No pressure, then.”
He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers. “Winning the bake-off could improve business.”
I studied his chiseled face, stern brows, and a jawline that could cut glass or possibly chocolate cake. Under the apron, Bishop wore a snug-fitting, dark-blue shirt that accentuated his toned physique, the fabric molding to his muscular frame, and causing my heart to do a funny little jig. My gaze drifted over the lean lines of his jeans, appreciating how they embraced his sturdy thighs. On his feet were pristine white sneakers, seemingly too immaculate for the hazards of the kitchen.
He touched my hand. A ripple of desire zipped through me from where his fingers brushed mine, my skin tingling at the friction.
“Kenzi? Still with me?”
Caught in my shameless ogling, my cheeks were undoubtedly a shade resembling ripe tomatoes.
“We need to remind people why we used to be the undefeated champions in Serenity Falls. I’ll enter my signature cupcakes into the competition,” he said, austere pride in his voice.
“But don’t you enter them into the bake-off every year? What if we went beyond cupcakes and showcased something more daring? Like...tarts or trifles?” Or pet treats?
“I like to stick to the traditional menu,” he said firmly. “I want to win that baking competition and beat my cousin Maxwell. He owns Sweet Sensations, the only other bakery in town.”
“He’s a relative? And you both own bakeries? That’s weird…”
“I know.” Bishop dragged fingers through his hair. “We grew up together, and Maxwell never showed any interest in baking until I inherited the family business.”
I leaned against the counter next to the gurgling coffee pot. “Have you and your cousin always been rivals?”
Bishop’s posture stiffened. “Yeah, we’ve always been competitive.” My boss grabbed a rag and started wiping down the spotless counter—his stare distant and far away, as though lost in thought. “Maxwell doesn’t understand that it takes more than fancy presentations to succeed in this business. Sure, I could take risks by experimenting with different recipes, but in the end it all comes down to flavor quality. It’s why I’m committed to upholding long-established baking techniques.”
I smiled. “It couldn’t hurt to be more open-minded.”
He blew out a huffed breath. “I like tradition, Kenzi.” His features formed a determined sternness that somehow managed to be utterly endearing.
We became quiet for a few minutes, only the hum of the dishwasher and the tick of the wall clock permeated the room.
“It’s your bakery and you know best, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Thanks. I knew I could count on you.” Bishop’s eyes glimmered with sincerity.
My gaze was drawn to his mouth, noticing how his lips shaped each word so perfectly. The tiny quirks in his expression, the slight uptick of his lips and the crinkle near his eyes were hopelessly adorable.
“And it’s certainly a bonus to have an employee as charming as you to handle the difficult customers,” Bishop replied, his tone warm.
I flashed a grin. “Well, I do happen to have a PhD in Charm.”
“Do you, now?” His voice held a gentle teasing.
As I smiled at my boss, what started as a spark of attraction was now turning into a steadily growing ember of friendship between us.
I leaned in conspiratorially, my hand shielding the side of my mouth as if harboring a secret. “Graduated top of my class. I can turn any frown upside down.”
One of his eyebrows quirked upward. “That’s a mighty claim.”
I wagged a finger at him, putting on an exaggerated pout. “Ye of little faith. I have my ways, Bishop, and resistance is futile.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I suppose I could use more charm in my life. But I should warn you, my standards are very high.”
I grabbed a feather duster from behind the counter and pointed it at him. “Sir, you wound me! Do you doubt the capabilities of a certified Charmologist?”
“No. Not doubt...you’re definitely a charmer,” he murmured, his voice taking on a tender note that threaded around my heart.
The golden afternoon light slanted through the front windows, painting everything with a soft, warm glow.
We lingered in the bakery’s front seating area, and the tangy sweetness of lemon tarts filled the air. My feather duster sashayed across the counter as I hummed along to the radio, occasionally using the handle as a pretend microphone, my curls bouncing with each swipe.
“I’ve been wondering, what is it about Austen that you like so much?”
“Her characters are so…layered,” I said, searching for the right words. “She dives deep into social norms, then breaks them apart with her stories.”
Bishop nodded. “Interesting perspective. So, you enjoy complex characters who challenge conventions?”
“Absolutely. After all, those are often the most intriguing people in real life, too.” I glanced over at Bishop wiping down tables on the other side of the room. “I think Pride and Prejudice will always be Austen’s most beloved work.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I still maintain that Persuasion is Austen’s crowning achievement.” He paused to look at me. “Anne Elliot’s quiet strength and the theme of second chances? Come on, it’s timeless and my mom’s favorite heroine.”
I scoffed. “Pride and Prejudice, Bishop. It’s about first impressions and quick judgments. Plus, Elizabeth Bennet is a force to be reckoned with.”
“Ah, but you see, Persuasion offers a maturity in romance that Pride and Prejudice can’t match.”
I moved on to straighten the condiment bottles, making sure the labels all faced forward. “Anne and Wentworth’s love story does have some good stuff about enduring love, patience, and getting another shot at romance. But their pining is a slow burn compared to Lizzy and Darcy’s fiery conversations.”
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a hint of amusement finally breaking through his usually impassive demeanor. “Well, I do agree that Elizabeth and Darcy’s story is one of growth, misunderstanding, and eventual mutual respect. It’s not just a love story; it’s a social commentary.”
“I suppose you identify with the haughty and prideful Mr. Darcy.” I pranced away, moving on to dust the glass bakery case filled with perfectly iced cupcakes.
“Mmmm.” The edge of Bishop’s mouth twitched upwards for a split second before resuming its standard stern line. Progress. My boss walked over with his cleaning rag and spray. He stood on the opposite side of the case, raising an eyebrow at me. “Perhaps I do. And I suppose you fancy yourself the sassy Elizabeth Bennet?”
I smirked at him across the cookies and tarts separating us. “Touche.”
After finishing up our cleaning, I grabbed a lemon tart from the case and hopped up to sit on the counter. Bishop shot me a look, but didn’t say anything.
Bishop crossed his arms, leaning back against the opposite counter. “The first time I read Pride and Prejudice, I was kinda insulted by the way Mr. Darcy professed his love for Elizabeth by listing all her family’s faults and mediocre social standing.”
I took a big bite of the tart and the taste of lemon custard mixed with the buttery sweetness of the shortbread crust melted over my tongue. “That wasn’t a confession of love. Darcy was just struggling between his feelings and what society expected of him. That letter he wrote Lizzy later on, though, now that was him opening up and spilling his heart.”
“But Persuasion has a superior romantic hero in Captain Wentworth.”
Swallowing another bite, I dramatically placed my free hand over my chest. “Ah, but does Captain Wentworth deliver one of literature’s most romantic lines? ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ No, he does not.”
Bishop grunted. “Fine, you make a fair point.”
“I know.” I finished the last bite.
Bishop walked over, leaning in close, his face inches from mine as he reached around me to grab a napkin. Gently, he dabbed at the corner of my mouth, wiping away a smidge of powdered sugar left from the lemon tart. My heart stuttered and skipped several beats.
“But I still think Persuasion is better,” he whispered unevenly.
“Oh? And why is that?”
Bishop’s stare searched mine, his face so close I could see a ring of gold around his irises. “Anne Elliot’s got this amazing depth and maturity. Her reserved behavior makes her yearning for Captain Wentworth so much more touching than Lizzy’s lively banter with Darcy.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but personally, I find Lizzy’s witty exchanges with Darcy way more interesting than Anne’s silent longing.”
Bishop smiled slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What can I say? You can be very persuasive in your arguments.”
I slid off the counter. “Well, as Jane Austen might’ve said, ‘It is a universally acknowledged truth that a single argument in favor of Persuasion, in the presence of such passionate debate, must be in want of a counterargument for Pride and Prejudice.’”
When the door chimed, signaling the arrival of customers and effectively ending our Austenian debate, a twinge of disappointment swept over me. I realized our verbal showdown wasn’t just about the books; it was our unique way of bonding, proof of our evolving friendship.
Who knew Jane Austen could be such an effective matchmaker?
“If this were a Jane Austen novel, I’d say you’re quite the Mr. Darcy, but with better baking skills,” I said brightly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
Bishop nodded, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And you, Miss Middleton, navigate your wit and charm with the finesse of Elizabeth Bennet, though I dare say she never wielded a feather duster quite like you.”
“Ahhh, you’re too kind, Mr. Caine.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall, he said, “Excuse me, Kenzi. I need to make a call.” He walked into his office.
After helping the patrons, I reached for a tray of plump blueberry muffins left out to restock the display case. But in my haste, I set down the overflowing tray without looking and missed the counter by a mile. The tray tipped in slow motion, and I flailed wildly to catch the avalanche of muffins making a break for freedom.
After a brief juggling act, I managed to rescue one renegade muffin, clutching it to my chest. But the rest evaded capture, bouncing across the bakery floor with abandon, rolling under tables and chairs. I cringed at the runaway pastries.
Leave it to me to unleash complete confectionery bedlam, and I giggled amidst the muffin mutiny.
“Dash it all. It’s a Mansfield Park kind of day!” I said, referencing one of Austen’s less optimistic works.
Lucia walked into the dining area with a scowl. “Good heavens, what a mess!”
If anyone could make me feel worse about my muffin mishap, it was Lucia. From now on, I would be careful to avoid potential pastry avalanches.
Lucia approached the front counter. “It’s unacceptable how incompetent you are with basic tasks, Kenzi. How can someone supposedly trained make such amateur mistakes?”
My grip tightened on the muffin. “Now wait just a minute. I never claimed I was as skilled as you or Bishop,” I said, my voice trembling. “And I’m doing my very best.”
“Well, it isn’t enough. I’ve been at this bakery for over ten years and that boy depends on me.” She threw a motherly glance toward his office. “And I won’t have some incapable novice jeopardizing all his hard work.”
The muffin fell from my hand. “I would never do anything to hurt the bakery!”
Lucia smirked. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you inappropriately flirting with the boss,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “As if someone like you could ever measure up to Bishop’s high standards. He needs a sophisticated, experienced woman. Not a clumsy, wide-eyed novice.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. I hoped Bishop couldn’t overhear this absurd conversation. While it was true that I harbored deeper feelings for Bishop, Lucia had no right to belittle me this way.
My cheeks flushed hotly. “How dare you. My friendship with Bishop is strictly professional.” I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to steady my nerves.
Lucia went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Bishop is like a son to me, and he doesn’t need more friends. Or an employee assuming she can prance about and earn his affections.” She whirled around and stomped off.
Maybe she was right. Bishop would never see me as anything more than an employee, and had made it clear that he didn’t date the staff.
Taking a deep breath, I became determined to prove that I was at least capable of this job, even if winning Bishop’s heart was likely impossible for someone like me.
Then I wondered how long I could keep my secret hidden and what would happen when I finally confessed.