I hold up my creation. “Perfect frosting to cake ratio and it means I don’t get a face full of buttercream when I bite into it.” Which I do, taking down half the cake in one chomp. “Fuck me, this is amazing,” I mumble around my mouthful of red velvet deliciousness.
Emma grins, sifting flour into a large bowl. “Thank you. And thank you for what you said, about Ethan.”
I swallow the remainder of my cupcake. “I meant it, you know. I know I don’t exactly have the best reputation around here, but if there’s one thing I’m never going to do, it’s go after someone else’s man.”
She cracks an egg with one hand, effortlessly adding it to her batter. “He’s not really my man, and you could certainly do a lot worse.”
I watch as she mixes all the ingredients together. “I’m sure I could. But it’s still not happening.” I rinse my hands in the sink. “Now, what would you like me to work on next? Assuming you haven’t already decided to fire me.”
She pushes a muffin tin my way. “You haven’t done anything that would warrant a firing.”
I flash her a sweet smile. “The day is young, Emma dear.”
“You’re not nearly as scary as you want everyone to think you are, you know.” She hands me a stick of butter. “Now grease those pans so we can get these muffins in the oven before the next rush.”
“Yes, boss.” I give her a mock salute, and we share a laugh. And it feels good.
—
I don’t bother opening thegate in front of my house when I’ve finally made it home after my shift at the bakery. I push right through Ben’s gate instead, but I don’t find him waiting on the porch. I think about leaving, but I kind of want to tell him about my day. About how, even though I got off to a rocky start, it didn’t turn out too terribly.
So I knock on the door. I almost leave when he doesn’t immediately answer, but then the door swings open and I find I can’t breathe.
Ben stands in the doorway, dressed in jeans that hug his hips and a tight T-shirt. A pair of thick gloves hide his hands and a pair of plastic work goggles sit on top of his head, pushing his hair out of his face and highlighting his perfect cheekbones and square jaw. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Sorry for stopping by unannounced. Clearly you’re in the middle of something.” I gesture to the goggles. “I can come back later.”
“Come on in, I was just doing some work in the garage.”
“Garage?” I do a mental scan of my own identical home, knowing there’s no garage attached.
Ben leads me through his house, which, though the layout is the same as mine, couldn’t be more different. There’s lots of dark woods and navy blues and bottle greens. It’s like our homes are stereotypical his and hers versions of the same place.
He pushes open a door at the back, gesturing for me to step into a brightly lit space.
“Holy shit.” I don’t know what I expected to find on the other side, but it wasn’t this.
The space is filled with wood furniture in various stages of completion. A large oak dining table takes up one corner, and chairs are scattered throughout, some with missing legs, some looking like they need a coat of paint.
“Did you make all of this?” I run a finger along the smooth edge of a bookcase. “How did you get all of this done in only a couple of days?”
Ben takes off his gloves, opens a small fridge, and pulls out two beers. “It’s really strange. Yesterday when I got home from the doctor’s office, I was just thinking about how much I was missing my woodworking.” He pops the top on one bottle and hands it to me. “This door appeared almost as if out of nowhere and when I came inside, all of my old projects were here waiting for me.”
“Well, I guess we know who Heart Springs’s favorite child is.” It sure as fuck isn’t me, not that that’s any big surprise. He gestures to a chair with four legs, and I sit. “How do you find time to do all of this while working as a surgeon?”
He drags over another chair, sitting across from me. “Hobbies are important. And, some days, I find I really need a way to decompress.”
I can only imagine. The amount of guilt I feel when I mess up a deal—even if it does happen rarely—can be overwhelming. When Ben has a bad day at the office, children’s lives are on the line.
I trace the intricately carved pattern on the arm of the chair. “You do beautiful work.”
Ben’s cheeks flush, and he tries to hide it with a sip ofbeer. “Thanks. I imagine that’s a high compliment coming from you.”
I let my hands rest on the arms of the chair, feeling an appreciation for the curves of the wood, as if knowing Ben’s hands shaped the chair suddenly make it more comforting. “It is.”
Ben smirks, but it’s teasing, and if I’m being honest, kind of cute. “I take it you don’t have many hobbies.”
I twist my beer bottle in my hands. “I don’t have time for hobbies.”
