Page 12 of Bake You Mine (Port Fortune #1)

eight

After The Pinnacle ran the story, talk in town shifted to the competition. Aubrey worried that her heart eyes were evident to the world. No one had mentioned anything, so maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else.

Aubrey had done all she could about the reviews, so it was time to put her full attention where it mattered.

Unfortunately, that meant talking to Liam. Or texting. Having his contact information in her phone was a head trip, especially after their conversation at the cocktail party. She’d played it over and over in her mind, trying to assess the meaning.

Tired of driving herself to distraction, she’d assigned his contact the poop emoji to remind herself that while her crush on him grew, it had no place in the competition.

Texting was more manageable than being around him. She’d sensed him looking at her differently, as if she no longer existed outside his orbit.

That may have been wishful thinking. Or he was using those flirtatious charms on her without even realizing it. That had to be it.

She had to work out some of that frustration, and she was tired of being in the house, though it was empty for once.

Daphne was at Chris’s, and Aubrey’s father was at a board meeting for the local homeless veterans charity.

She couldn’t think in the creaky old house, so she hoped the vacant space would inspire her.

As she turned out of the driveway, her phone chimed with the text tone she’d assigned for Liam. He had to have a unique tone; otherwise, her heart would leap into her throat whenever her phone alerted. She exhaled a sharp breath before reaching for it.

Last course: a regional cheese plate with homemade pimento crackers and our famous fried pickles. Could you make a puff pastry to accompany it?

On the drive, she pondered Liam’s suggestion. More often than not, her thoughts turned to a slow-mo reel of him flicking his hair out of his eyes.

After she pulled into the alley lot behind Petit Chou, she fired back a text.

Sounds good. I’m brainstorming now. I’m going to make the bread, but I haven’t decided what. I need to get with my baker. Should we print up menus delineating who’s done what?

Despite being in the middle of dinner service, Liam responded immediately.

That’s a great idea. Let me know what you come up with.

She locked the car with one hand and tucked her sketchbook under her arm. Without thinking, her feet took her the long way around Sweet Briar.

It was the kind of night where summer lingered, but autumn slowly seeped in.

Music and conversation drifted onto the sidewalk.

There were several places to grab a bite on Sweet Briar.

Happy Endings, a sports bar and grill, drew a crowd for late-season baseball.

Calabria, an old-fashioned Italian restaurant in business since her father’s childhood days in Port Fortune, attracted an older clientele.

Elevation’s crowd was younger, thanks to the decor and, judging by the women in attendance, hot chef. The line wasn’t so bad for Friday night; it was only about ten deep.

The oversized garage doors were thrown open, giving a perfect view in. Liam lived up to his hot chef persona. He floated around the tables like a movie star at a premiere, with charisma that knocked people stupid.

She shoved her head down and considered a pastry to pair with the cheese plate. A rustic cherry hand pie? Or a cheese Danish? No, the latter wouldn’t work, as she already served something similar at Petit Chou.

“Aubs!” Liam’s little sister, Sasha, ran out from the hostess stand onto the sidewalk in three-inch heels. She bent slightly at the waist and wrapped an arm around Aubrey’s shoulder. “What are you doing here past your bedtime?”

“I bet she’s working on the menu for the first challenge.” Liam appeared, making her heart beat out a staccato.

Where was the ringtone for real life?

She turned to find him wearing an expression that bordered between a smirk and a smile. “I was, actually.” She moved her sketchbook from one arm to the other.

“Ah, pastry chefs, sketching as if they were fashion designers or architects. ”

“Maybe because we’re a little of both?” She glared at him. “Don’t you have a dinner service you should be running?”

The conversation around them lulled, making her entirely aware they had become the evening’s entertainment.

“Greeting diners is part of the job,” Liam said.

“Sure it is, hot chef,” Aubrey murmured.

Liam cleared his throat. “No more troll comments or reviews?”

“Nope, and I’ve posted a couple of times today. I think we got the message across.”

“Good.” He stepped closer to Aubrey, and she forced herself not to back away, even if the brush of his arm against hers had her pulse stuttering. “You know, it’s occurred to me I don’t think you’ve ever eaten my food. We should remedy that before the first challenge.”

“That means you’ll have to eat mine.” She winced at the double entendre.

That earned her a subtle eye roll, although Aubrey was grateful since it meant he missed her unintentional innuendo. “I don’t do sweets.”

She rose to her entire height, five feet two inches. “Then I don’t do…whatever you do here.” She had to admit, the alluring aroma of steak and crispy potatoes had her stomach growling.

Sasha chortled as her eyes darted back and forth between them. “This is better than a tennis match.”

Liam held up his hands. “Okay, I relent. You eat mine; I’ll eat yours.” One dark eyebrow arched, making it clear that the innuendo was one hundred percent intentional this time. Or that could be her overactive imagination getting the better of her again.

Either way, she wished a portal to another dimension would open on the sidewalk.

“Deal?” He stuck out his pinky .

What the hell was she agreeing to? Her brain scrambled for an excuse to leave.

“I wouldn’t want to skip the line,” she said, pointing at the crowd, hoping for an escape.

“Oh, no, go ahead, sweetie. I think we all want to see how this plays out,” a woman called from halfway back the line. A burst of raucous laughter from the crowd followed.

Aubrey’s cheeks burned. The last thing she wanted was to touch him, especially with an audience. It was either this or running like a coward, which would make her appear weak in the competition. There was no going back now. She locked her pinky with his.

“Deal.”

“We’ve got a VIP at table ten.” Liam pushed into the crowded kitchen.

Damon glanced up from plating. “Who would that be?”

“Aubrey’s trying my food for the first time. I want her to see the best of what we offer.”

Damon rang the bell for pickup. “Is that the only reason?”

He didn’t much care for the implication in his best friend’s tone. Damon and his wife Lameka had been asking a lot of questions about Aubrey lately. Of course, they already knew her; she’d never kept them at the distance she’d reserved for Liam.

“Do me a favor, and choke on a dick.”

Damon chuckled. “Are you starting to see I’m right? She’s beautiful, smart, and funny. I don’t know, brother. I think she’s one of the few people who rise to meet you in terms of determination and talent.”

Liam let his friend’s words roll off him, grateful that Aubrey sat far enough away from the partially open kitchen that she couldn’t overhear. Because even though his dick and brain had formed a joint committee to convince him that he needed to be with Aubrey, Liam had a competition to consider.

He glanced around the packed dining room, a reminder to keep both heads firmly in the game. He needed to win.

Plus, he’d had enough problems with women, especially with Dani. He’d messaged her again, asking her to delete the reviews she’d left.

She’d replied with a .gif of Mariah Carey shaking her head with text that read, “I don’t know her.” Dani wanted him to beg, and he wouldn’t.

He swiped the plate for Aubrey’s first course: a chopped salad paired with Gary’s choice of wine for the first challenge, a Beaujolais of recent vintage.

She was hunched over the table as he approached, nibbling on his famous bar nuts (ha) and sketching something in her book. She appeared unguarded. He saw her as something other than his opponent—well, his opponent in possession of a superior posterior.

She looked up and pushed the bowl away. “Isn’t the restaurant a little full for you to be serving?”

He pulled the empty wineglass in front of her. “Not for my VIPs.”

After a brief description of the wine, he poured her a sample.

She snorted as she reached for the glass, bringing it under her nose to inhale the scent. “I’m a VIP? Since when?”

“Since always?” He tried for his best smile.

She sipped the wine. “Aw, your talent is wasted in a kitchen. You could make bank selling used cars. Or motorcycles.” She motioned for him to pour her a full glass.

“Hey, the offer for a ride still stands, you know.”

She held his gaze, her cheeks speckling pink. He turned the conversation toward the food and wine, telling her about the salad. Then he had to get back to the kitchen, mostly because they were slammed by a large group that had just arrived.

Besides, in the kitchen, he could spy on her more easily. She’d stopped sketching, her attention entirely on the salad. Sasha had swung by to keep her company while she ate, her long hair falling over Aubrey’s sketchbook as she thumbed through the pages.

Sasha had less than a year to go before receiving her nursing degree.

If she ever decided to drop out, she’d be a good pastry chef, especially with someone like Aubrey as her mentor.

Their mother would freak out if Sasha dropped out of nursing school.

His mom hadn’t talked to him for months after he’d packed up one night and left for New York to start living the life of his dreams. Part of her motivation for “finding a nice woman to settle down with” was to keep him tied to Port Fortune forever.

He knew she’d hold a similar grudge if he left again, or messed with Sasha’s carefully laid plans.