Page 23 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Daisy snorted. “Damn right I am. Let’s see if we can get you up to speed.”

That being said, they started slow. While packaging the finished bombs, Daisy did her best to give Candace an overview of the process.

For Daisy, it was like explaining how to breathe.

She’d been making bagel bombs since she could reach the countertop with her step stool, helping her dad with small tasks until she could handle larger ones.

He always made her feel like the best helper, and every new technique she mastered was a celebration.

So, she tried to be patient with her own would-be helper…

even though she had to show the woman how to properly set a kitchen scale.

“What can I say?” Candace defended herself with a nonchalant shrug. “The campus cafe I worked at only served premade pastries.”

Daisy did not hide her eye roll.

Baking was an exact science, without room for error.

The bagel bomb recipe started with portioning out the cream cheese filling.

Each dollop needed to be exactly the right size, and the right weight, so that it would fit inside of the bagel bomb.

Too much, and it would burst during the boil step.

Additional elements—from bacon grease to Candace’s beloved peanut butter and jelly—brought the complication of extra moisture.

There were many points of failure. A complete novice for a helper added another.

Daisy had to prevent a pouting Candace from adding more to just about everything she portioned out. She was slow thanks to keeping up her mock-interview bit. And messy. And Daisy was concerned she was going to chop her fingers off thanks to her poor knife technique.

But, to her credit, she was trying.

Once Candace got the hang of how to prepare the fillings, Daisy was able to leave her to it while she started the dough.

Dry ingredients went into the stand mixer, followed by water.

At this point, she knew what she wanted by sight and feel; she would work the dough until she got it to the proper elasticity, then place it in a proving container to rest for about an hour.

It was while Daisy was kneading her last dough—manually—that she noticed Candace watching from behind her phone camera with a strange expression.

While tiring, working dough by hand was fun.

There was nothing like taking your frustrations out on a soon-to-be edible mound of putty.

Daisy needed her stand mixers to produce on the scale she did, but she still liked to mix the occasional batch by hand.

Just like when she used to make art, she liked the tactile feel of creation.

“What?” Daisy shot Candace a look, but did not stop her methodical moulding. “You wanna try?”

“Me? Won’t I mess it up?”

“It’s almost there,” Daisy assured her. Stepping back, she washed her hands and took Candace’s still-recording phone. “Just do it.”

With clear trepidation, Candace did as she was told. Daisy watched through the phone screen as the woman eased her delicate fingers into the dough. Too much ease. She looked like an awkward teenage boy going for their first tit.

“Am I doing it right?”

“No. Harder. C’mon, I know you can grope better than that.”

Candace sucked in a short breath. Her motions became even more fumbled.

With a sigh, Daisy stepped in.

“Here. Like this—”

Sidling up behind Candace, Daisy positioned herself so that she could guide the other woman’s motions. Her right hand enveloped Candace’s while her left raised the phone high to keep recording. She pressed in close to keep them both in frame.

As Daisy threaded her fingers with Candace’s, she noticed the woman’s nails were painted a blue-green color that would have matched her former outfit.

They were already chipped in places, but that somehow made the effect cuter.

It was the effort; Candace always put in a huge amount of effort to look nice, but she was not afraid to get her hands dirty either.

Daisy wondered if it was personal pride or if there was someone the woman wanted to impress.

At Daisy’s urging, she massaged the dough’s smooth surface. Their fingers disappeared into the pliable mound, then back out. They started out at a slow rhythm, but quickly picked up pace.

“That’s good,” Daisy praised. “Don’t be afraid to put some muscle into it.”

“It’s harder than it looks!”

Candace grunted with effort, but she matched Daisy’s intensity. Their bodies pushed and pulled in tandem while they settled into a sort of rocking motion. Daisy was not sure which of them giggled first, but once it started, they could not stop.

It was silly.

Fun.

Then, it felt like something else entirely.

Candace put her full self into the task. The motions were innocent, fueled by a desire to do well. Each successive, strengthened thrust ground Candace’s firm rear against Daisy’s hips. The sensitive spot she brushed was accidental, and yet—

Once .

Twice.

Daisy sucked in a sharp breath that romantics might have called a gasp.

The scent of lilac curled around her awareness, sweet enough to lick.

She felt a deep, aching want in the pit of her core.

A desire to throw the phone across the room, thrust a hand down Candace’s shorts, and knead her like she was dough until she—

HELL NO .

Disgusted by her daydream, Daisy leaped back. Her heart pounded in horny protest but she ignored it.

Daisy set the dough in a proving container, saying, “It’s done.”

And so was she, until she could get her libido in check. An awkward beat passed. When Daisy could take it no more, she did the only thing that came to her mush-mind.

“I need a shower.”

“O-okay,” Candace stammered. She might have said more, but Daisy did not wait to hear it. The bathroom door slammed shut between them. She tore off her clothes, turned on the shower, and jumped in while it was still cold.

Daisy emerged sometime later with a much cooler head (and body).

She concluded that what she felt was a natural physical response. Candace was attractive. Sexy, even. It was pointless to pretend otherwise. However, just because she was attractive and Daisy happened to notice did not mean she was attracted to her.

There was a difference, damnit.

Daisy needed to get laid. The last time she had the bandwidth for anything beyond surface-level dalliances was… too long ago to remember. One-night stands suited her more, but even then, it had been a bit of a dry spell .

Quite literally.

What was her name? Francesca? Flora? She was a vacationer visiting with her brother and sister-in-law, in desperate need of some adult attention after helping corral her niblings all week.

Daisy had been more than happy to give it after listening to her complain during a bagel order.

The fact that her bed was empty the next morning (and every other morning) was fine.

She was completely fine and in control of her emotions.

Enough that the sight of Candace only filled her with annoyance.

It was not cute the way she draped her legs over the couch’s arm.

Or how she cuddled under Daisy’s favorite blanket, watching the now-resumed Simpson episode.

Her laugh at Lisa and Bart Simpson fighting over being on separate hockey teams was grating.

Daisy swiped the remote from its place on the coffee table and turned the TV off.

Startled, Candace swung her legs back to their proper place and sat up bolt-straight. She apologized, saying, “Sorry. It’s one of my favorite episodes, so I thought I’d watch while I waited.”

“Mine, too,” Daisy found herself grunting. Arms crossed, she and Candace stared at each other until the latter looked away.

“Growing up, I was alone a lot. I used to watch this show to feel a little less that way… like I had a big, dysfunctional family with siblings and parents who would do anything for me. You said it was your dad’s favorite, right?”

Daisy frowned. When had she mentioned that?

Reading her, Candace offered, “You told me that night at the bonfire.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daisy hazily recalled. She did not mean to keep talking but thought aloud.

“Before streaming was a thing, it was our nightly ritual to eat dinner while we watched, then start baking. His whole routine would be thrown off on days the network didn’t air on schedule.

I put it on when I bake now for background noise. ”

Otherwise, it was too quiet. When it was silent, and all that she could hear was the clatter of cooking and her own mumbling of baking calculations, she could hear something else . A thought, half-formed but fully mature, that demanded answering.

WHY?

Why was she still doing this? The struggle, the frustration… What was any of it for, other than keeping the dream of her parents alive?

Whenever it was too quiet, and she was alone with only herself for company, that thought nagged her. Daisy hated it and herself for letting it creep in.

So, up the TV volume went.

“I tried to straighten things,” Candace told her, breaking Daisy’s dour descent. “I’m not sure where everything goes, but I did my best.”

Daisy saw when she came out of the bathroom. The kitchen was cleaner than clean, like a tidy army had descended upon it. The items that could not be put away were arranged neatly. What had once been a mountain of food-crusted implements was now sparkling and stacked by cookware type.

If Daisy were being honest, it was a better job than she would have done herself. Honesty, though, was beyond her when it came to this woman.

“Okay.”

The flicker of disappointment that crossed Candace’s features was replaced by practiced business professionalism.

“You said you need to go ingredient shopping before the dough finishes proofing?”

As Daisy nodded, Candace rose in a smooth motion and went for the door.

“No time to waste, then.”

“You’re coming?” Daisy did not like the hint of excitement she heard in her voice. Flatter, she said, “I don’t need you to do that.”