Chapter 18
As we strolledto the farmer’s market, I peeked at Bishop, admiring the way his shirt hugged his sculpted muscles, he held his head high, and his full, sensual lips were almost smiling. The sun-dappled avenues were lined with quaint shops, businesses, and lush trees. A squirrel skittered past us, followed by a bird trilling from an overhead branch. Wind swept through the street, carrying the fragrant scent of wildflowers. My hair flew around my face, causing me to frown as I attempted to tame the wild strands.
“I should start wearing a hat on windy days.”
Bishop glanced at me. “Don’t. You have beautiful hair.”
My heart practically exploded into mush. “Is that a compliment, Mr. Caine?” Placing a hand flat on my chest, I feigned shock. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Neither did I.” His expression softened. “But then again, I didn’t expect to enjoy the company of a woman who pairs her floral dresses with high-top sneakers.”
Smiling, I shrugged. “Don’t diss my keen fashion sense.”
In a storefront window, I caught sight of us—me in my dress, black tights, and kicks, with chestnut curls setting off my bright green eyes. Beside me, Bishop exuded an effortless coolness in his black V-neck shirt, dark-wash jeans, and sneakers. His hair, spiked with gel, and the scruff on his face lent him a roguish charm.
As we approached the market, the afternoon air was alive with the vibrant energy of commerce. Vendors called out to entice shoppers, beckoning them to explore their array of fruits and vegetables, fresh-cut flowers, and delectable homemade foods and artisanal crafts.
“I’ve always loved coming here.”
“Me too,” Bishop said.
We made our way through the market, stopping occasionally to admire the various goods displayed by the merchants. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves standing before a stall piled high with ripe oranges.
“Exactly what I need for an orange almond cake,” Bishop said, then to the man standing in the stall, “How you doing, Felix?”
“Good, Mr. Caine.” Felix smiled. “Back again for my finest fruits?”
Bishop nodded. “Ten for five dollars?”
“Yep. And I’ll even throw in a couple of extra for your lovely companion here.” Felix winked in my direction.
“How can we pass up bonus fruit?” I batted my eyelashes at Bishop.
“You’re right,” he replied. “I’ll take it.”
Bishop paid, gathered our bounty, and we left the stall.
“Why, Bishop, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to wine and dine me with all this fruit,” I teased.
My boss nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “But of course. Only the finest oranges for you, my fair lady.”
I really loved this less-serious side of him. Who knew he had such a cute sense of humor under all those layers of seriousness? Certainly not me.
Bishop and I wandered through the market, eventually finding ourselves near a beautiful flower stall tucked away in a quieter corner. The sweet fragrance of roses, lilies, and lavender floated on the breeze.
“Your dedication to the bakery borders on legendary, but even the great Bishop Caine must have other pastimes?”
“Ah, well...” He cleared his throat. “I enjoy watching classic movies. And occasionally, I like to do paintball with a buddy of mine.”
“So, you do have a fun side! I’m so dragging you to karaoke night one of these days.”
“We’ll see.” He moved to the next stall and regarded the produce. “Why can’t I say no to you?”
“Ahhh, I knew you were just a big softie under all that grump and flour.” Leaning in, I bumped his shoulder. “They say karaoke reveals the soul. Are you afraid I’ll discover you’re actually a secret pop divo?”
“Hmmm.” Bishop shook his head. “Oh, I have hidden depths few people see.” The teasing lilt in his voice sent my pulse skittering.
I met his gaze. “I’d be happy to schedule an in-depth study session. When are you free?”
Bishop lifted a brow. “For you? My schedule just opened up.”
I laughed, grasping a perfectly ripe peach and handing it to him. “Well, in that case, don’t forget to pick up some snacks for our study date.”
As Bishop took the fruit from my hand, his fingers grazed mine. His gaze, intense and smoldering, made my knees threaten to buckle under the weight of his stare. Suddenly, the bustling farmer’s market around us seemed to fade into the background, leaving us in our own little world, charged with an undeniable chemistry.
Trying to shake off the sudden self-consciousness, I flashed him a brittle smile. “If we stay any longer, people might start to think we’re plotting to take over the town with organic produce.”
Bishop nodded, his voice laced with amusement. “Well, if we are, we’ll have the healthiest army the world has ever seen.”
I laughed again, feeling a warm rush of affection for him.
We started shopping again, passing vendors and looking over their wares. We stopped beside a booth with wooden crates filled with ripe fruits of all shapes and sizes, with apples, kiwis, papayas, grapes, and mangoes.
“Do you have a favorite classic movie?”
Bishop juggled the netted bag of oranges between his hands. “You ever seen Casablanca? It’s a timeless masterpiece—all that passion, sacrifice, and the complexities of relationships.”
I smirked. “Who’d have thought? Mr. Stoic-Baker is a softie for those old-timey love stories. I’ll have to watch it sometime.”
“We could see it together one night.”
“Only if you promise to sing one song at karaoke.”
He groaned. “My singing makes dogs howl.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
My boss grabbed an apple from the cart next to us and twirled it in his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But prepare yourself for some very upset canines.”
I shook my head. “Good thing I’ve always had a thing for strays.”
The more I got to know him, the deeper my feelings for him grew. I knew it was crossing a line, given he was my boss and didn’t have time for romance. But it might be too late to second-guess those feels now, and I enjoyed our flirty banter.
Besides, when had playing it safe ever been my style?
Bishop put the apple down and moved in front of a stand overflowing with assorted breads.
“In the immortal words of Jane Austen, ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man with good bread must be in need of butter.’”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the quote goes. Though you get points for creativity.”
I grinned, lifting a brow. “I’m all about those modern interpretations.”
He picked a sourdough up, weighing it in his hand, assessing the crust and crumb. “You know what I see when I look at bread like this? I don’t just see yeast, flour, and wheat. I see generations, my family’s heritage.”
“That’s deep for a loaf of bread.”
We stood silently for a few seconds. Around us, people bartered and shopped. Snippets of conversation floated through the market’s din.
“You know that bakery on Main Street? What’s it called...Doughy Desires?” an older woman remarked to her companion. “I tried their chocolate croissants yesterday and let me tell you, those flaky pastry puffs tasted heavenly.”
“Hey, did you hear that?” I whispered to my boss. “Your croissants are getting some high praise.”
“Yeah, that’s great…” he mumbled.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
He blew out a breath. “I really appreciate all your help at the bakery and I’m grateful that business has turned around, but…” He placed the bread back on the pile. “The weight I’m carrying isn’t just concern over saving it, Kenzi. It’s the burden of expectations, a long lineage. The fear that one wrong step, one failed recipe, and I’ll tarnish what my family spent years building...” He sighed. “That’s a lot to bear alone.”
“I can imagine,” I replied softly.
“Failure to me means more than not succeeding.” Bishop’s head tilted, his lids heavy. “It’s letting down the people who are important to me, like my staff and my family. That’s what truly terrifies me.”
I looked away, a bit overwhelmed by his candidness. “Losing my parents so suddenly, it...it changed everything. Every single day, I try to fill the gap they left behind, especially for my sister. She’s the most important person in my life, and her happiness? It means everything.” I folded my arms over my chest, gripping each elbow. “And sometimes, that responsibility of making sure she’s okay? It feels like it’s suffocating me. Like I’m desperately trying to ensure their memory doesn’t...vanish.”
He leaned forward, his face serious, voice low. “I can understand that. I’ve always strived for perfection. It’s made me guarded, always wary of failing or being undervalued. It’s ruined every relationship I’ve ever had with a woman, and sure, I want a family of my own someday, but the timing never seems right. It’s hard to find someone who understands my dedication and hard work.”
“Life’s weird that way.” Lowering my arms, I studied him for a moment, then shook my head. “I’ve always had this vision of creating something of my own that would make my parents and grandma proud. A way to honor their memory, which is why the pet treats are so important to me.”
We were both quiet a moment, feeling the distance between us shrinking, replaced by a newfound understanding.
“Who knew a farmer’s market could be so enlightening?” Bishop tucked the bag of oranges under one arm. “We all have our burdens to bear, our dreams to chase. Even if sometimes they seem bigger than us.”
“Ah, a mutual desire for world domination through the power of baked goods.” I giggled. “While we’re on the subject, I want to include my pet recipe in the bake-off competition. Whaddya think?”
“The judge, Miranda Shaw, does have a dog.”
I smiled. “I’m not saying we should bribe her pooch with treats, but it might give us a competitive edge.”
“All right, let’s see how your creations fare at the bake-off.”
“Yay!” Bouncing on my toes, I wanted to hug him, then stopped myself. He didn’t seem like a hugger.
There was a slight twist to his lips. “I don’t think I can ever say no to you and stick to it.”
“You’re not alone. Most people can’t.” I picked up a peculiar-looking fruit, scrutinizing it with mild fascination. “Ever tried one of these? Is it one of those...whatchamacallits? I’m an expert, obviously.”
“It’s a passion fruit. Ironic, given our conversation.”
I rolled my eyes. “Trying to lure me into another intimate discussion with fruit metaphors, are we?”
“Who, me?” He feigned innocence. “I was merely commenting on the produce.”
“Of course, how silly of me. Passions aside, other than upholding the family legacy, what truly makes Bishop Caine tick?”
He raised an eyebrow, seemingly caught off guard, but then a thoughtful look crossed his face. “Honestly? I think it’s the quiet moments. The early mornings before the bakery opens, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. That stillness, serenity...it’s grounding. But it’s been a while since I felt it.”
I nodded slowly. “For me, it’s the idea of creating, whether it’s art or baking. Like leaving a piece of yourself behind that says, ‘I was here, and I mattered.’ You know what I mean?”
“For the record, you do matter.” He reached out, tilting my chin up until our eyes met, his thumb trailing lightly along my jaw. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
My heartbeat quickened at his touch. I leaned into his palm, letting the sincerity of the moment settle into my core. I never imagined he saw me as anything more than an employee and friend. Yet now, his voice was choked with emotion.
Wait a hot minute. Was Mr. Tall, Baked, and Broody really saying...he had feelings for me? Underneath that flour-dusted apron, did the beat of his heart yearn for more?
I smiled. “And there seems to be more to you than brooding and bread.”
He lowered his hand. “And there’s more to you than snark and misquoted Austen.”
As we continued to browse the stalls, Bishop caught sight of a flower vendor selling an array of vibrant roses. He examined the blooms before reaching out and selecting the most beautiful red rose from the bunch. He handed it to me, his fingertips brushing against mine, sending a wave of heat throughout my body. Though he was austere as ever, there was no denying the charming gesture.
“Thank you.” I brought the rose to my nose and inhaled its musky fragrance, sighing dreamily.
He paid for the flower. “I think we’ve got everything. Ready to head back?”
“Yeah. I had fun today.”
His mouth formed an almost smile. “Me too.”
Our gazes locked. A wave of heat rushed through me, and the faint trace of his cologne tantalized my senses. The air between us crackled with desire, transforming the atmosphere from friendly rapport to a potent, passionate friction. In that moment, all I knew was that I wanted him. I wanted him more than anything I had ever wanted before.
And although I knew it was dangerous to entertain such thoughts about my boss, I still held onto the hope that someday there was a chance for something sweeter than baked goods between us.