Chapter Sixteen
Viola’s shoulders were strained from the heavy bags she carried into the chateau. Aside from the fresh produce that would arrive two days before the wedding, these bags contained the last of the non-perishable supplies she required for the reception preparations.
While Viola was stoked about all her plans panning out, she couldn’t shake off her anxiety. She was counting on the logical part of her brain to take over, to concentrate on the job she needed to get done and to push past the part of her brain that was making her stomach churn and the muscles in her neck ache.
I can do this. All this hard work is going to pay off.
If this catering job proved successful, she could really make a name for herself. Her culinary dreams were within reach. She just had to press on a little longer.
As she walked through the building, a sweet, delightful scent drifted past her. Viola followed the smell to the kitchen, wondering what delicious smell emanated from the space she’d claimed in the chateau. Once she entered through the doors, she halted, surprised at what she saw. The last person she’d expected to find was Jonas standing at the counter, cutting into a pie tin.
He glanced at her over his shoulder as the kitchen’s double doors swung shut. “Oh, hi.”
Viola snapped out of her astonishment and placed one of the bags on the counter before she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She blinked quickly as if that would help her process what she was seeing. The sleeves of his pristine white button-up shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His expensive suit jacket draped over the back of a chair, and he wore Viola’s pink apron over his front. There was a smear of flour on his cheek, and apple peels littered the workspace.
“Hi.” Viola furrowed her brow. “What are you doing here?”
He smirked. “It is my building.”
“No, I mean here in the kitchen.” She held up a hand. “Yes, I know. It’s your kitchen. What’s this?”
Jonas set down the knife and wiped his hands on the apron. “I made pie.”
Viola put the other shopping tote on a stepstool by the refrigerator. “I didn’t know that was something you did.”
“I’m willing to bet there’s a lot about me you don’t know. My fondness for making pies is just one.”
“ Fondness? ” She couldn’t bite back her smile. “Okay.”
“It’s something I do from time to time, especially when I’m feeling bogged down from work. It’s sort of like a meditation process, rolling out the dough and decorating the crust. Helps me relax.”
“ Relax? ” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t know you were capable of such a thing.”
The smallest of smiles appeared on his face. “It’s been known to happen on occasion.”
“And pie-making fixes that?”
“I can permit my mind to be at peace for a while, deter me from becoming a total jerk who blows up at people.”
Viola regarded him.
“I know you probably don’t believe me, but I don’t enjoy that tyrannical side that slips out when I’m stressed.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry for being so rude to you.”
She lifted a brow. “Which time?”
He let out a small laugh. “I deserve that, I suppose. How about this: I apologize for any time I’ve raised my voice or said anything disrespectful to you. I don’t want to be that guy.”
Viola uncrossed her arms, gazing into Jonas’s eyes. He seemed sincere.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
He nodded.
Viola gestured at the pie. “Well, it smells delicious.”
“You should taste it to verify your suspicions.” He picked up a fork, shoveled a hunk of pie, and held it between them.
“Taste it? You, uh, don’t have plans for it?”
“I planned to eat it, but I’d rather not do it alone. Come on. It’s cooled down enough. And I promise it’s not poisoned.”
“Well, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But now that you mention it …” She smirked before leaning forward.
At the last second, he retracted the fork. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
He studied her face. “Close your eyes.”
She felt a flutter in her stomach. “Why?”
“It intensifies the experience when you focus on fewer senses.”
Why was her heartbeat accelerating? His gaze was enough to stop her heart.
He took a step closer, holding the fork near her mouth. In a soft whisper, he repeated, “Trust me. Close your eyes.”
Viola’s body quivered. She was very aware of her own breathing as she gazed back at Jonas. His eyes seemed to darken as he stared at her mouth. Their proximity sent a flutter to her stomach. She took a deep breath before lowering her lids and parting her lips. The scents of apple and cinnamon wafted up to tickle her nose.
It couldn’t be more than a second, but somehow, the wait seemed infinite. As the warm pastry briefly brushed against her upper lip, she had to stop herself from letting out a moan.
Jonas slipped the fork into her mouth, and she wrapped her lips around it, taking in the explosion of flavors erupting all over her tongue.
Brown sugar? Cardamom? Is that butterscotch?
Viola opened her eyes as she finished the bite and was met with piercing, green eyes. So many emotions ran through her: euphoria from the best pie she’d ever tasted, surprise that Jonas could bake something so delectable, and a sense of trepidation from the intense way he gazed at her.
“I’m no culinary school prodigy, but I’m inclined to say it’s pretty good.” He shrugged. “What do you think?”
She swallowed hard, hoping her voice wouldn’t fail her. “It’s delicious. I’m impressed.”
He didn’t smile in response. Instead, his focus went to her lips. When he shifted closer, she didn’t back away.
A buzz sounded. Viola blinked, and in the next second, Jonas reached into his back pocket and took out his phone.
Viola cleared her throat. “Something important?”
“Yeah.” He returned his phone. “Susan texted to remind me of a conference call I’ve got in half an hour.”
“Business calls.” She gestured at the pie. “Won’t that undo all the good the meditative baking was for?”
“Hopefully not. Besides, maybe this was all part of my master plan to invent the next best culinary creation.”
“Actually, one of the most famous culinary inventions of our time was an accident.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”
“The chocolate chip cookie. Its creation was an accident.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Ruth Graves Wakefield, who owned the Toll House Inn, wanted to make chocolate cookies, so she chopped up a chocolate bar into the cookie dough, expecting the chocolate to melt. Of course, when it didn’t, she said she’d done it on purpose.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s crazy that you know that.”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “I learned it in culinary school.”
“So this Ruth Graves …”
“Wakefield.”
“Right.” His brow arched. “She must have gotten considerably rich for inventing the most famous cookie on the planet. Even if it had been an accident.”
“Well, she gave Nestlé the recipe and was paid with a lifetime supply of chocolate. But, you know, rich means different things to different people.”
Viola grabbed the fork and took another bite of the pie. She turned to face him again when she felt his eyes on her.
“Yes, it does, I suppose,” he replied.
She bit her cheek. “You think I’m weird for bringing up random food facts, don’t you?”
“Actually, I find it endearing.”
Her cheeks grew hot, so she attempted to shift the focus. “You know that’s my apron?”
“I figured. I hope you don’t mind me borrowing it. These pants are from Italy.”
“I don’t mind. It looks quite good on you.” Did I really just say that? Does he think I’m flirting with him? Wait. Am I flirting with him?
Jonas ran a hand down the apron. “I always thought pink suited me.”
“Definitely.”
Viola’s gaze fixed on his charming smile. She’d jumped to conclusions, thinking he was just some rich, arrogant bully. He was kind of sweet. And he made a damn good pie.
Everyone deserves second chances, right? I’d like to see more of the real Jonas. But I can’t just ask him out. He might have a girlfriend. How can I suggest spending time with him—platonically?
It had to be something that he would consider a service, as he pointed out regarding the soup kitchen, otherwise he would turn it down.
She could feel her thoughts scrambling, making her somewhat dizzy. “So, listen,” she started, leaning back against the counter. “I know you’re all for helping out mankind—as demonstrated by your volunteering at the shelter—and I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me on another quest. In the spirit of Christmas, of course.”
Quest is good, right? It’s not a date.
“What kind of quest?” Jonas took a bite of pie and waited for her to explain.
“Silverwood Sky is selling day tickets and giving their proceeds to a kids’ charity. I thought, if you have time, we could take part.”
Her pulse thumped so hard she thought it would knock the kitchen walls down.
“Silverwood Sky? As in the ski resort?”
“Yeah. We could do a little skiing, take in a hot chocolate, maybe make a day of it. For charity, of course.”
Jonas set down his fork. “I’m not really a big skier.”
Her heart pounded in her ears as she was sure he would reject her proposition.
“Make a day of it, huh?” His eyes roamed over her face. “All right. I’m in.”