Page 11 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

NOELLE

“Is there a reason you’re hanging out with me instead of doing the job I know you don’t have time to be procrastinating?

” my brother asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against a metal storage shelf filled with blind boxes.

They’ve become some of The Enchanted Workshop’s biggest sellers since Felix and Abigail started doing live packaging videos and opening the occasional blind box on camera. They have quite the following.

“I’m not procrastinating. I’m just… avoiding work.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to respond.

We get along a lot better now that we don’t work together, but he’s right to be confused about my presence.

I don’t get time off during the day—I’m lucky if I get five minutes to grab lunch—and, if I did, I would probably spend it catching up on sleep or screaming into a pillow instead of hanging around my brother. And I wouldn’t choose to spend it here.

I grew up in this store; it means everything to me and my family. But now, it serves as a reminder that, while I was running The Enchanted Workshop, I was managing. I was happy. I was dreaming. I was excited.

And now… Yeah.

“It’s my first day working with Shay,” I admit, toying with the string of the apron I forgot to take off before coming here. “I’m supposed to meet her in the basement kitchen”—I check my phone—“twenty minutes ago.”

“It’s not like you to be late,” he points out, and I sigh, because he’s right. I’ve always maintained that if you’re not twenty minutes early, you’re late.

“Right. But I don’t want to do it, so…”

“Why’d you agree if you didn’t want to do it so badly?”

“It didn’t feel like I had a choice,” I grumble. “I love this town, but do you ever feel an intense pressure to be your best self for everyone else here, since they’ve done so much for our family?”

Felix tilts his head, squinting, like he’s mulling it over. “If I did, I wouldn’t have spent so many years fucking around not doing my job. But you’re not me, Noelle, and that’s a good thing. The concept of responsibility is still pretty new to me.”

God, what it must be like to be a man.

“You know, I’m sorry for putting so much extra pressure on you for so long when you were running this place,” Felix adds, tapping the toe of his boot on the floor.

Why the hell he’s wearing cowboy boots is beyond me.

We were born in Texas, but cowboy boots aren’t really our family’s vibe.

“I’m guessing spending so long having the weight of everything on your shoulders alone has only added to the pressure. I’m trying to do better.”

“I know you are. We can all see that. You are doing better.”

“Right, but I guess what I’m saying is, this is your turn to enjoy yourself. And if you’re not, you should find a way to,” he finishes with a shrug.

It’s not like Felix to take accountability, but I suppose that’s part of trying to do better.

Still, I didn’t expect a heart-to-heart when I chose here to procrastinate.

Felix and I have an understanding that we don’t call each other on our shit.

Rora? Blunt as all hell. She’s who I go to when I need someone to tell me to get my shit together.

But Felix doesn’t comment on me being miserable living my dream, and I don’t comment on the way his gaze always lingers a second longer than it should on his best friend’s little sister. It benefits neither of us in the long run, but both of us in the moment.

I clear my throat and look away from him. “True. Anyway, I should go.” I’m not in the mood to open up to him—or anyone—so I suppose that’s one way to get me to stop procrastinating.

If he says anything as I flee the toy store’s storage room, I don’t hear him.

I wave goodbye to Abigail on my way out, taking a sharp right down the alley that runs between The Enchanted Workshop and The Enchanted Bakery.

The basement door is open, and I can hear music blaring as I skip down the steps, preparing myself for an afternoon in the kitchen with Shay.

But nothing could have prepared me for any of this.

The first thing I notice is the mess. It’s not dirty, but my god, it’s cluttered. There are bowls, utensils, cooling racks, and decorations all over Shay’s island and the countertops. I’m surprised she hasn’t crept over to my island. The sink is empty, but there are dishes stacked beside it.

The second thing I notice is… her. She didn’t strike me as a music fan, but Shay is dancing around, singing along to Fleetwood Mac as she sprinkles edible glitter over a giant macaron.

Her hair is clipped back, but I can picture it swinging around like golden rays of sun.

Something about her swaying her hips to “Dreams” is captivating.

I can’t look away—which is just as well, because if I have to look at the mess again, I might pass out.

I wait for her to put the glitter down to clear my throat, and thank god I did, because she jumps out of her skin, her hand flying to her chest.

“Fuck. You scared the shit out of me,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.

“Sorry,” I answer, taking a step into the kitchen.

Shay turns the music down, and I have no choice but to take in the mess before me.

“What’s all this?” I ask, gesturing vaguely to the room.

“All…” Shay trails off, looking at the island before her.

“Yeah, that. The general vibe of an asteroid hitting the kitchen?”

“Sorry,” she says, a guilty expression crossing her face. “I tend to work in a pretty chaotic way and then clean up at the end of the day. I find the cleaning relaxing. I’m guessing you don’t work like this?”

I set my bag gently by my island, leaning on the cool granite. “I don’t know how anyone works like this. How do you find anything?”

“I have a system,” she says quickly. Her elbow catches a bottle of what looks like almond extract, and it tumbles to the ground.

Thankfully, the cap is on, but I’m starting to understand how she spilled an entire bottle of food coloring.

“I’ll do a better job of keeping the mess to my island,” she says as she picks it up, and no part of me believes that’s possible.

But, in the interest of being as nice as possible on our first day working together, I don’t say that.

“Are you ready to get started on the movie stuff?” I ask instead, and she nods eagerly.

“Absolutely. Just give me two minutes to make some space.”

Two minutes? Now this I have to see.

I watch, somewhat awed, as Shay stacks dishes and bakes with expert precision.

I can tell she’s done this before by the speed at which her hands move, sorting things into categories: food dye, sprinkles, ingredients, produce.

I’ve got to hand it to her, because she has everything stacked neatly by the two-minute mark.

It’s not not impressive, but more impressive would be not making a mess at all, in my opinion.

She rounds her island so she’s standing on the other side of mine and drops a worn notebook on the countertop. For the first time, I notice the pencil tucked behind her ear.

It’s kind of hot. And I hate that I’m thinking about it.

“So, how has your day been?” Shay asks, and I’m so distracted by the pencil that it takes me a second to process the question. And when I do, the only word my mouth manages to form is: “Huh?”

Shay gives me a warm smile. “Have you had a good day? Busy?”

“Um, yeah. It’s been fine. Medium busy, I guess,” I answer, trying not to show how much I really don’t want to do this.

If someone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be small-talking with Shay, I’d have assumed hell was about to freeze over.

“How has your day been?” I ask because it’s the polite thing to do.

I don’t hear a word of Shay’s answer, though, because she pulls the pencil out from behind her ear and twirls it in her fingers. In fact, I don’t even notice she’s stopped talking until she clears her throat.

“So… yeah. That was my day.”

“Great,” I say, hoping it was great, or I’m going to seem like even more of an asshole than usual. “Let’s get started.”

Shay flips open her notebook, and I grab my tablet from my bag on the floor.

I’ve always been a digital planner—I love the ease of moving things around as I need to—and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed trying to plan out my schedule between The Enchanted Bakery and the movie work.

Seeing how little free time I have? Awful.

But seeing everything come together on my screen? An unbeatable feeling.

I have everything color-coded, estimated times for every task, and a supply list that auto-updates when I paste the recipes I’m working on to it, split into my business expenses and the expenses I need to invoice the network for.

Shay has a checklist with a diagram of the cross-section of some kind of layered cake sketched out right in the middle of the page.

“It’s a white chocolate and yuzu millefeuille,” she says, noticing my gaze. “I’ve been testing the recipe for a few weeks, but it’s missing something I haven’t been able to put my finger on until today.”

“What was it?”

“Wasabi. Just a little, but it ties it all together.” Her eyes light up when she talks about baking, and I miss that feeling.

I haven’t had time to develop a new recipe in months, let alone play around with things like yuzu and wasabi.

It’s a lot of chocolate, peppermint, and gingerbread around here.

“Sounds nice. A lot more interesting than…” I peer at the list of bakes we have to get to the network by mid-week. “Sugar cookies, pumpkin cupcakes, and pecan pie.”

Shay wrinkles her nose. “I hate pecan pie. Why would anyone choose pecan over apple or cherry?”

I also hate pecan pie, but I don’t want to bond over our shared dislike.

“Why don’t I get started on the sugar cookie dough, and you can get started on the pie dough? Then we can get them chilling while we work on the rest.”

“Sounds good. Are you a music person while you bake? Or a podcast person? You strike me as a podcast person.”

I swap my apron for a clean one from the back of the door, and frown over my shoulder. Shay is already pulling a clean mixing bowl toward her—where did she find so many bowls?—and weighing flour.

“I’m not a podcast person.”

She looks up at me, frowning. “What do you listen to while you work?”

My own racing thoughts reminding me of all the things I have to do doesn’t feel like the right answer, so I just shrug. “Music’s fine.”

Shay hits play on her playlist and sings along to every. Single. Song.

Tomorrow, I’m bringing headphones.