Page 14 of Bake You Mine (Port Fortune #1)

nine

Aubrey’s days at Petit Chou started before opening, usually by six.

That was several hours later than her baker, Leroy, and intern, Annabelle.

They started on the various bread and pastry doughs a little after midnight.

She loved turning up at her shop, finding it cozy and warm, the aroma of baked bread heavy in the air.

On a typical weekday, she’d work for a couple of hours before going to drop Daphne off at school, then she’d get back to the shop mid-way into the second rush.

They had one rush when they opened at six thirty, with the early birds and commuters.

A second occurred around nine thirty, after the school drop off, and when older regulars turned up.

On the weekends, the pace was more leisurely. They opened at seven thirty, and Aubrey tended to work the breakfast shift. She’d get home around eleven to spend time with her kid or do back-end work, returning to the shop only if needed.

With the first challenge on the horizon and her daughter up early and determined to spend her Saturday at Petit Chou, Aubrey’s routine was thrown, which she hated .

“Are you sure you want to come to the shop with me? Wouldn’t you rather go to Olivia’s?”

Olivia was Daphne’s best friend, although her kid made friends easily and would probably consider most of her class her BFFs.

“Mom, I told you Olivia has to go to her cousin’s bat mitzvah in Maryland. Don’t you like it when I help?”

Aubrey swirled her coffee around the cup. “Oh yeah. Sorry.” When her daughter glared at her, she added, “Of course, I love it when you help out, little bug.”

“Are you all right there, sweetheart?” Aubrey’s father came behind her and filled her nearly empty coffee cup.

She was the direct opposite of okay. And to add insult to injury, her brain was busy replaying slow-mo images of Liam as if he starred in a scene in Baywatch or something. Jeez, she was dating herself with that reference.

Oh, damn it all, now she had a vision of Liam in a banana hammock. An eggplant hammock would be more appropriate.

Oh, shit. She had to stop this. He’d be at the shop in less than an hour.

“Aubrey?” Her father squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m okay. I was up late working out the menu for the first challenge. And thinking about how to torture Liam this morning by making him try the sweetest things in the shop.”

Not that she would. All that would do is push his palate before he was ready.

“Liam is Brody’s uncle. They’re both totally good-looking,” Daphne said.

Her father grunted. “Who are you to rate men’s appearances? I have pants older than you.”

Daphne groaned. “Grandpapa, stop. I’m a young woman. I notice things.”

Daphne was forthright and extroverted, like her father.

When Aubrey had met Chris, he’d marched straight up to her and asked her out.

He didn’t bat an eye when he found out her father was a Marine Officer.

Chris had been a lowly private. Seeing as Brody was a thirteen-year-old boy, Daphne likely terrified him.

Aubrey was glad that her daughter hadn’t inherited her anxious, introverted ways, but it was exhausting to have a child who never said no to an invitation.

Aubrey looked at the clock on the wall and downed the rest of her coffee. “No dating until you’re thirty-five.” That earned another groan from Daphne.

“Shouldn’t we be going already? I want to help with the morning rush.”

“We could go for a road trip if you’d rather,” Aubrey’s father offered.

Daphne slammed her hand on the table. “I’m helping Mom at Petit Chou.” She shoved the rest of her croissant into her mouth and left the room. Aubrey met her father’s gaze, and they both laughed.

“She’s nothing like how I was at her age.” She’d probably been a million times worse. By the time Aubrey was Daphne’s age, she was a military brat who had developed quite the ’tude, along with the ability to keep people at a distance.

“Yeah, right.” He collected her empty coffee cup and left the room, chuckling.

She half expected Liam to no-show. After all, she was making him get up earlier than usual and forcing him to eat sweets, something he detested. Yet he stood at Petit Chou’s back door at 5:55, which was impressive for a man who’d likely had a far more interesting Friday night than her.

After her dinner at Elevation, she’d fallen asleep on the couch next to her dad while they watched Ken Burns’s The War for the thousandth time.

More delicious than anything in her display case, Liam turned up with his longish dark hair fully bed-headed. Then there were the jeans, artfully torn, and the tight T-shirt advertising some band she’d never heard of.

She should have been interested in men with a flush 401(k) who wore Crocs and cargo shorts, not this guy, younger than her, who looked like he should be playing rhythm guitar in an indie band.

He casually rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “Reporting for torture, Ms. Dennison.”

Aubrey snapped into focus. She was in a battle with Liam for the same prize. Did Napoleon make friends with the British at Waterloo? No. He also didn’t fare well in that battle, so maybe that wasn’t the best example.

She murmured, “Keep it together, dumbass,” under her breath before stepping toward him. “Ah, good thing, because I have a chocolate cake in the oven.”

He palmed his face. “Great, like getting up this early wasn’t torture enough.”

The kitchen doors burst open, and Daphne ran in. “Hey, I know your nephew.”

Liam regarded Daphne with a smile. “I have a few, but most of them are older than you. You must mean Brody.”

“Yes! We’re in the same class. I’m Daphne.” She extended a hand to him. He didn’t hesitate to give her hand a firm shake.

“Brody says you’re the smartest girl in the class.”

Daphne clutched her cheeks, and her eyes got big, like those of one of the characters in that anime she loved. “Really?”

“Hey, little bug, I thought you were helping me with the bread?” Leroy’s booming voice carried in from the kitchen. At six-eight, he should have been a bull in Petit Chou’s china shop, but he moved through any kitchen with grace.

“Okay, as long as you let me score the dough.”

Leroy nodded, and Daphne skipped off to the kitchen. “Bye, Liam!”

If only she had one percent of her daughter’s confidence regarding romantic prospects.

“Your kid is pretty great.”

Aubrey smiled. “She is.”

He inspected the small space. Every shelf was stuffed to bursting, with cake boxes, baking supplies, and other bins leaning together in a Jenga-like fashion, leaving little space for the industrial machines they used.

“I see you’re running out of room, too,” he said.

“Well, that’s why we’re competing, right? I mean that, and the ten thousand dollars don’t hurt either.”

The two stood awkwardly before she remembered why she’d summoned him. “Right. The torture. Come with me.” She motioned for him to follow her through the double doors and into the café.

“Have a seat. I’m lacking an electric chair, so any will do.” She gestured to one of the tables squeezed into the small space.

He snorted at her joke, which endeared him to her. It was one thing to appreciate his physical attributes. To throw in a winning personality along with it meant danger. She had to be the general of her own heart, goddammit.

“Hey, it doesn’t smell like airborne diabetes in here today, so I’m hopeful that you’re not actually about to torture me?” He flicked up the partition separating the front counter from the café and stepped toward the closest table.

“I’ll never tell.” She grinned. “Any allergies?”

He settled his large frame into one of the dainty wire chairs. “No, but I wasn’t kidding when I said I hate chocolate. ”

“This confirms my theory that aliens dropped you off as some sort of experiment.”

He laughed again. “A lot of people don’t like chocolate. You’re a patissier. You should know this.”

She stepped behind the counter, nearly colliding with her intern, Annabelle, as she brought in a tray of croissants, fresh from the oven. “I may have met one or two of you.” She turned to Annabelle. “Are the you-know-whats ready?”

Her intern nodded. “They’re cooling. I’ll bring one out in a minute.”

Once Annabelle slipped back through the bakery’s double doors, Aubrey pivoted toward Liam. “Let me guess, you don’t like coffee, either?”

“No, I live on the stuff. I’d love a black coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d half expected you to be into trendier coffee drinks.” Aubrey reached for a chipped coffee cup and set it under one of the large silver coffee carafes that contained their house brew.

“What can I say? I’m a simple man.”

While Aubrey finished pouring his coffee, black as his hair, Annabelle walked out with one of their battered metal trays. In the center sat a plate with a ricotta and pistachio Danish—a customer favorite and, luckily enough, Saturday’s special.

With the coffee cup in one hand and the tray in another, she walked around the counter toward Liam, who was scrolling through his phone.

“I was looking at your reviews. I’m glad the number’s bumped up a bit.”

“I’ve practically forgotten about them, anyway.” She hadn’t, but she didn’t want Liam to feel bad. It wasn’t his fault. More than anything, he’d gone above and beyond to make things right.

“Message received. What do you have there? ”

She set the tray in front of him. “One black coffee and a ricotta and pistachio Danish.”

He pushed his phone to the side. “Thank god you weren’t serious about the cake.”

“Oh, just you wait.” She backed away from the table.

He picked up the pastry and inspected it. First, he tilted it around, inspecting the layers of pastry, with the oozy ricotta and pistachio mixture peeking out of the top. Then he held it to his nose.

She wasn’t sure why she’d expected him to shove the Danish into his gob. He was a chef, after all.

“This seems like a trick. Like it’s savory, but I’m going to bite into it, and all my teeth will fall out of my mouth because it’s so sweet.”