Page 92 of Delicious (Delicious #1)
Chapter Three
Riley
I couldn’t get Jace out of my head for the rest of the day, a million questions racing around my head as I made more bread, finished some things for the lunch rush, and made my way home. He was still there as I made myself food and threw a load of washing in the machine, and his smile floated in my mind as I showered and crawled into bed to watch the new series of Chef’s Table on Netflix.
I wondered if he’d preferred the croissant or the pain au chocolat.
What had he thought about the bread? He hadn’t come back for any focaccia but maybe he would tomorrow.
I wanted him to try the buttered oat too, which was a soft brown bread rolled in roasted oats. It had a slightly sweet, nutty flavour and was great with cheese and soup. Perfect for this weather, especially since a winter storm was meant to roll in over the next few days.
If it did, I doubted he’d be out and about in the early hours but hopefully he’d come in once we opened. Because I really wanted to see him again.
Even if it was only to say hello.
Jackie had teased me about coming out to serve him, because I rarely left the kitchen unless I had to, but when I’d seen the familiar red scarf dashing past the window, I’d had to see if it was him.
And it had been.
I’d tried to tell everyone it didn’t mean anything, but none of them believed me. Mostly because I hadn’t told any of them about seeing Jace through the bakery window and the way he’d bought a piece of paper to write to me. I didn’t know if they’d think it was cute or creepy, so I’d decided to keep it to myself. But now they all thought I’d seen a cute guy rushing past the window and been struck with the desperate urge to say hi, like I’d been struck with Cupid’s arrow.
It was something I’d never live down, but I wasn’t sure if I cared.
When I’d eventually fallen asleep, it had been to the sound of rain starting to drum on the window and thoughts of a smiling man with dark eyes and an overgrown mullet.
They were the only thoughts that nudged me out of bed in the morning when I woke to rain lashing against the window and a howling wind as a storm raged outside. I groaned and flopped back into bed, seriously tempted to burrow under the covers and stay there because nothing sounded worse than leaving the house at twenty to fucking three in this weather.
But I had bread to bake and croissants to shape. At least it was Saturday, so after this I’d get a couple of days off. I still tended to keep to my same hours though, because trying to change my sleep schedule for two days a week just absolutely fucked with my body. So even if I had a lie-in, I was still usually awake by four and went to bed by seven at the latest. I was used to it though, and I’d adjusted my life around my unconventional hours—going shopping at eight in the morning when it was quiet, and any plans I made with friends or family were for breakfast or lunch, because I was normally asleep by the time they wanted to go out in the evening.
Dating was a different question, but finding early morning or afternoon hook-ups had never been a problem.
Heaving myself out of bed, I dressed and wolfed down a bowl of knockoff cinnamon chip cereal while watching the rain out of the window. Luckily there was a small carpark near Toasty I could use for free, so I wouldn’t have to get too wet.
And I managed to stay fairly dry until I’d virtually walked in the door… when I stepped in a puddle by the back door that was much deeper than I’d realised. Water sloshed over my trainers and soaked into my socks, drenching the bottom of my jeans and giving me nightmare flashbacks to being a teenager in the noughties with my ragged, wide-legged jeans that always got soaked.
“Oh for fucks sake,” I muttered to myself, trying to shake my feet off as I stepped inside, but somehow that just made it worse. Everything felt squelchy and disgusting, and I was now stuck like this for a couple of hours. The only thing I could do was take my trainers and socks off and grab the emergency pair of catering Crocs that I kept under the desk. I fucking hated wearing them, but I didn’t have much choice.
It soured my mood, so I put on my favourite metal playlist and began to stomp around the kitchen.
I was still feeling grumpy when Charley came in—my mood not helped by her laughing at me—and the only thing getting me through the morning was the hope that Jace might be back.
When I saw the flash of red out of the corner of my eye, it felt like a sudden break in the clouds. I turned and saw him standing outside the kitchen window, wrapped up under a large, red umbrella. He waved and then moved towards the bakery door, and I immediately went to wash my hands so I could duck behind the counter.
“Hey,” I said, ignoring Jackie’s teasing smile from beside me. “Back again.”
“Absolutely,” he said with a smile as he looked at the stack of croissants. “They were too good to only have once.”
“Which did you prefer?”
“Not sure. More testing is required I think.”
“Want another of each then?”
“Yes please,” he said, looking over at the bread and letting out a wistful sigh as I grabbed some tongs, my eyes scanning the counter for the most perfect croissant I could see. “I still have some of the bread from yesterday but… I keep thinking about the focaccia. And you have some today.”
“You should get some,” I said. “Mostly because it’ll be your last chance before next Tuesday when we open again. And if you’ve still got some sourdough, you can always freeze it. Either in one piece or pre-sliced.”
“There you go, twisting my arm again,” he said, a mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes. “I’ll definitely take a focaccia then please.”
I grinned and grabbed one to slid into a separate paper bag, the warm bread wafting a heavenly trail of rosemary and garlic through the air. “Here you go.”
“That smells so good,” he said, inhaling deeply as I put his total into the tablet so he could pay. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I hope you do.”
“I’ll come back next week and let you know.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” I said, as he picked up the bag with his pastries in, sliding it into a shopping bag he pulled out of his pocket.
“See you on Tuesday,” he said with a final smile as he turned to leave.
I stood there and watched him go, deliberately ignoring Jackie. It was only as I walked back into the kitchen that I realised he’d made sure I known he’d arrived.
Because he wanted to see me.
Over the next few weeks, Jace became a regular visitor to Toasty, popping in most days we were open, usually for croissants or pain au chocolat, although he did branch out in trying the occasional Danish, cinnamon bun, or morning bun. Once or twice a week he’d get some bread too, happily taking my recommendations as he slowly worked through our regular selection, as well as the specials that we made whenever we fancied them, like a stilton, date and walnut sourdough or jalapeno and cheese bread.
Every time he appeared, I put down whatever I was doing and went out to see him, and the few times I didn’t see him arrive, Jackie stuck her head into the kitchen to tell me my friend was here. Apparently everyone at Toasty was now well aware of whatever was going on between me and Jace, to the point where Charley’s morning greeting had become “Did you ask him out yet?” followed by a loud boo when I said no.
I kept telling her that I barely knew anything about him, and that he could be married—although he didn’t wear a wedding ring—or have a partner. Sure, he’d mentioned in conversation once that it was just him at home, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dating someone. I didn’t even know if he was queer.
But as the weeks went on, and I found myself more and more bereft on the days he didn’t come in, I knew I had to take the chance and ask him.
If he said no, he said no. And while I’d probably end up losing one of my favourite customers if he did, I’d rather that than keep pretending I wasn’t attracted to him.
I finally plucked up the courage to ask him on a random Thursday towards the end of March, on one of those spring days where the sun was shining and everything suddenly seemed a lot greener. I’d been trying, and failing, to make another batch of dough for Friday’s milk chocolate and raspberry morning buns, but I kept making mistakes and, in the end, I’d been forced to throw the whole thing out after I’d accidentally dumped garlic powder into it.
“Your friend is here,” Jackie said, coming into the kitchen as I scraped the dough into the bin and put the mixing bowl in the wash. “What happened?”
“I put garlic into morning bun dough.” I sighed. “If it hadn’t been a sweet dough, I’d have been tempted to try it. Maybe do like a garlic and cheese one.” It was an idea off the top of my head, but one which definitely had potential. I’d have to experiment with it on a day when I wasn’t so wound up and frazzled, or it wouldn’t be anywhere close to edible.
“Do you want me to tell him you’re busy?” Jackie asked.
“No, I’ll be right there.” I quickly washed my hands and brushed off my apron, ignoring the looks from Charley, Kev, and Marilyn. Hopefully they’d all stay in the kitchen, but I could bet a tenner that they’d all be listening intently. Nosy fuckers.
I walked out behind the counter, noticing it was starting to get busy and making a mental note to ask Kev to come out and give Jackie a hand. Jace was looking at the selection of sweet treats we’d got, his eyes fixed on the white chocolate and rainbow sprinkle cookies that Marilyn had made.
“Looking for something sweet today?” I asked, and then almost cringed at how cheesy I sounded. But Jace laughed and I found myself holding my hands up in admittance. “I know, that was bad.”
“Not bad, just cheesy.” He grinned. “Luckily for you, I like cheese.”
“Then I have something you’ll love,” I said, immediately thinking of the cheese and pesto bread I’d not long taken out of the oven.
“Oh?”
“It’s bread, I promise.” I chuckled and, fuck, could I have been any more awkward? “I did, er, want to ask you something though. And it’s totally fine to say no, I won’t… er, shit.” I sighed and looked down at my hands, suddenly noticing the way flour had settled into my knuckles. “Would you ever want to maybe get coffee or something? Maybe breakfast?”
He stared at me for a long moment and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. Just when I thought I’d made a mistake, the brightest smile spread across his face, reminding me of the beautiful way bread rose in the oven, blossoming into something twice its size and absolutely delicious.
“I’d love to,” he said. “What are you doing on Sunday?”
“Not much,” I said with a smile of my own. “I’ll probably still be up by four.”
“Same. Do you have…” He patted his pockets and pulled out a pen. I knew what he wanted and regretted leaving my phone in the kitchen. I grabbed a nearby paper bag, because it was the only thing I had nearby he could write on. “Thanks.”
He wrote his number on the bag and put his name underneath, as if I’d forget it was his. “Here,” he said as he handed it over. “You can message me and we’ll figure out where to go.”
“It should totally be Bramble & Honey,” Charley’s voice yelled from the kitchen.
“Yes, thank you. If the gallery is quite finished,” I said, throwing a glare in their direction. I turned back to Jace as I folded the bag carefully and slid it into my apron pocket, my whole chest feeling like it had suddenly doubled in size. “So, what can I get you this morning?”