Page 6 of Bread by the Grim (Ghostlight Falls #4)

Phil

G rim takes the stairs two at a time, rushing out of the room like it’s on fire after promising to meet me back in the kitchen in ten minutes.

Bernice had told me he was an introvert set in his ways, so I’m sure Doux and I have totally thrown a wrench into whatever he had planned for the day. I set up a litter box, a food bowl, and a water bowl for my little asshole and head upstairs.

“Bye, Doux,” I call out as I walk up the steps, but Doux has already claimed the center of the bed for his first nap of the day and is curled up like a giant furry shrimp.

I slowly push open the door at the top of the steps only to find myself in a very empty kitchen.

Grim’s nowhere to be seen, but several bowls are already out covered with dish towels, and the industrial-sized mixer is on but not running.

I wander up to the front and grab a paper menu to see what he offers on a daily basis, hoping to get an idea of what he’ll be making today.

“Sorry, that won’t be much help,” Grim’s deep voice says, as he appears at my side.

I turn to meet his eyes, and he takes a step back.

“Oh?”

He takes smaller, what I’m sure he thinks are less obvious, steps back from me until he’s parallel to the kitchen doors. “Yeah, I had to make so many changes with Bernice gone.”

“It seems like a lot to put on just one employee.”

He sighs. “I’m realizing that now.”

“And there’s no way for you to get up early and take over her duties?”

He looks away. “I have…it’s a…a medical condition...” he mumbles.

Immediately, I feel guilty for being so nosey. “Oh, sorry. Not trying to pry.”

He shakes his head and motions for me to follow him to the back. “Bernice used to do all the donuts and pastries and then would sell them to the breakfast crowd while I got the bread ready for the lunch crowd.”

“So what do you do now?”

“Open a little later. Offer a lot less.”

I follow him back into the kitchen, where he immediately heads to the bowls he left out on the counter.

Inside, there're dozens and dozens of smaller balls of dough to make mini-sub rolls for the lunch crowd. He points out the different varieties. In addition to the “normal” sourdough, plain white bread, and plain wheat, he has a house special, a bread infused with Italian herbs and garlic, and a jalapeno-cheese bread. They’ll sit and rise for a little longer before being placed on baking sheets and put in the oven.

Then he pulls out a binder he’s made for the new hire full of his recipes—each one carefully placed in a page protector.

“You and Bernice would make all of this every day?” I ask, marveling at the book as I flip through it.

“No, not everything, but I wanted the person who took over for her to have everything available in case anything came up.”

The binder is tabbed. It has sections for donuts, pastries, bread, pies, and cakes.

“Oh, you sell cakes, too? Do you sell the fancy ones for special occasions?”

He huffs a laugh. “I can’t even draw a stick figure. Trust me, no one wants to see a cake I decorate, but Bernice would do it every once in a while.”

“It was kinda my thing back in school. I had a little side hustle back home selling birthday and wedding cakes. Would it be something you’d be okay with me pursuing here?”

His eyes meet mine for the briefest of moments before he looks away. “Sure. I’d love to see what you come up with.” He clears his throat and turns away quickly, putting distance between us. “I’ve got to start mixing up the tuna salad and the chicken salad.”

“Do you need me to slice deli meat or vegetables for lunch?” I ask, digging around in drawers until I find the hairnets in the drawer off to his left-hand side.

I don’t mean to invade his personal space—it’s obvious it makes him uncomfortable—but the kitchen is only so big.

I have no idea how he and Bernice worked together.

Even if she was out front while he was back here, there had to be times where they shared this space.

Maybe he’d just gotten used to her. I wish I’d asked.

Of course, I can’t just grab a hairnet like a normal person.

My hand has to get caught in the box, and I’m there fighting to get it out when Grim gently takes my wrist in one hand and the box in the other and frees my hand.

I’m just inches from him as our eyes meet again.

I’m sure he’s thinking he just agreed to take on the world’s biggest idiot.

His eyes hold mine just a little too long. What is he thinking?

They’re so incredibly dark. I feel like he has me pinned to this spot.

I can’t or won’t move. But honestly, I would love to be pinned by him—against the wall, over the island—good goddess, what is wrong with me?

I must be ovulating if the sight of a shirtless man is all it takes for me to be ready to climb him.

He sucks in a breath that he doesn’t release.

“Yes, please. Tomatoes are in the cooler,” he gets out.

To be honest, I’ve forgotten what the question was.

“Tomatoes?” I repeat.

“For lunch. The mandolin is underneath the island. Wear the kevlar gloves.”

“Tomatoes, got it,” I repeat and wander off to the cooler, determined more than ever to keep my head in the game.