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I turned off the oven and pulled the oven door open, coughing and turning my face away when a cloud of smoke burst forth. I used a mitt to grab the tray and pull it out, tossing it on the counter to my right in a blaze.
“Stand aside,” Gage said, and I did right before he used the fire extinguisher to put out the flaming cakes.
We both stood there, breathing heavily and waving our hands around to disperse the remaining smoke as we looked upon the charred remnants of the ruined batch of cakes I’d forgotten about. I put my face in my hands and groaned.
“Hey, all’s well that ends well,” Gage said from beside me. “You can make another batch.”
I let my arms fall to my side. “I hate baking,” I mumbled. Thank goodness I’d—or rather, Gage had—caught this in time so I didn’t need to call the fire department for assistance. Again.
Gage set the fire extinguisher down, crossing his arms as he studied me. “Listen, I realize they’re your namesake,” he shot me a wink and I couldn’t help the quirk of my lip, “but have you considered…doing away with the cakes entirely?”
“For an establishment called Cakes and Ale? That’s unacceptable,” I insisted. “Wait.” My mouth fell open in offense and I turned his way, crossing my own arms, “Did you try my cakes and find them…disappointing, Ivy League?”
Gage laughed, his eyes dancing, and that stupid flutter took up under my rib cage again. “There’s nothing disappointing about your cakes, Cakes.” He squinted one eye at me as if suddenly deep in thought. “But, you know,” he waved to the still-smoldering pile of black ash on the counter, “this choice might be overly literal. Perhaps it needs to be expanded.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Have you considered crab cakes rather than dessert cakes?”
“Crab cakes?”
“Right. You could do all kinds. Parmesan crab cakes. Chipotle, lemon zest. You could also use different types of crab…king crab, blue crab. Perhaps consider salmon cakes too. There are a hundred different recipes and they can all be virtually the same except for a little twist which would change the taste pairing of earth and sea. It’d be easy for the kitchen. Or you could differentiate with types of aioli—”
“‘Taste pairing of earth and sea’? That’s pretty poetic, Ivy League.”
He smiled. “Maybe appropriate for a tavern that pays homage to Shakespeare?” He set his hip on the counter. “A menu sets a whole mood. Food is a necessity, but it’s also a great pleasure. People bond around it, deals are brokered over it, it provides comfort, and can be medicine for both the body and the spirit.”
I stared at him for a moment. “Whoa. What are you, some sort of top chef?”
He laughed but looked mildly embarrassed like he hadn’t meant to get quite so enthusiastic about the topic of appetizers. I’d liked watching his eyes fill with the spark that had been in them while he spoke though, as he came alive in some way, I couldn’t exactly put my finger on since I’d just met the man. “Sorry. No. But I’ve always loved to cook, since I was young. I work with spreadsheets most of the day, but I’ve taught myself a thing or two in the kitchen. The real point here is that everyone loves crab cakes and they go with liquor a hell of a lot better than…carrot cake.”
I laughed despite myself. “That was red velvet I gave you.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth did a small twisting thing. “That was not red velvet.”
“It was!”
He appeared deeply pained. “It had raisins in it.”
“It makes them special.”
“It definitely does do that.”
I snorted. “Watch it, Ivy League.”
He grinned. “How about I show you a quick recipe. I bet they’ll sell better, and you’ll be off the baking hook.”
I sized him up. “Is this your way of making up for that dive bar comment? We don’t need your pity recipe here.”
“It wouldn’t be a pity recipe. And I didn’t mean that dive bar comment the way it sounded.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I meant your establishment is a place where you can feel comfortable being yourself. The people in a bar like this are genuine and helpful and don’t put on airs. Believe me when I tell you I’ve had a bellyful of airs and walking into this place felt like taking a deep breath. That feeling only increased as I spent more time here.”
“Okay, that was a good answer,” I admitted. “Still, you must be tired. There’s a bed up the street waiting for you.”
He shrugged, his expression enigmatic. I wanted him to stay and teach me how to make crab cakes. I wanted to watch him laugh and get that surprised look on his face when I said something he obviously hadn’t expected. I knew I made bad decisions where men were concerned. I knew that I’d only ever be a one-night fling to a man like this. But he was only in town for the night. No expectations. No promises. “Yes, I do have a bed up the street,” he answered. “With three snoring drunk men in the room.” He smiled, but it quickly dropped. “I’d like to teach you how to make crab cakes if you’ll let me. No strings. Just a thank you for helping us out of a bind.”
“I could have made it easier. I sort of gave you the runaround, only without the sort of.”
“I know.”
