Chapter Three
She was absolutely certifiable. Why had she agreed to work with Darius Badeaux of all people? She must be losing her mind.
She had hoped to scare him off with the excessive hours. The contest had a large cash prize. She needed that money to replace her oven. Until it failed, she’d kept both her main oven and her backup oven working; it improved her efficiency in the wee hours as she prepped for morning rush. Now she had to depend entirely on her backup oven.
Would Darius want to share the prize? If they won this, she’d owe him half. She ran some mental math. Half the prize would pay for most of the oven. Was that enough? Could she fit the rest on her credit card? She sighed. She did not want to borrow money from her parents, and already knew she didn’t qualify for a bank loan.
Half was better than none and if, as she suspected, his baking skills had improved since high school, they probably stood a better chance of winning than if she was with Julianna. Julianna was an incredible friend, but baking was not her gift. She did, however, excel at customer service.
Balancing being a good person against losing fifty percent of the prize wasn’t easy. But he had asked, and she accepted. It was what it was, even if less than ideal.
“I’ll need half an hour or so to relocate the project from the front of the shop to the kitchen.” And to strengthen herself up against his attractive charm. Deep inside, she never had gotten over her crush, not even after he crushed her heart.
Outside her tiny office was an enormous industrial bakery kitchen with massive worktables and all the equipment they’d need. Over the past few days, they’d taken over three of the customer tables out front to work on. It reduced her already limited seating space but allowed both her and Julianna to work without losing focus on her main concern, the customer’s needs.
Her regulars liked coming by and seeing what they were testing and to check on the project. Yesterday, three of her competitors had come by and purchased bakery items, but she suspected they’d heard her project was in plain sight. No sense giving them the upper hand by tipping them off to her grand plan. She’d been planning to relocate to the kitchen when the shop closed today. She was just moving up her timetable.
“Why don’t I help you move? I’ve got the day free. I don’t need to be at the restaurant until later to prep for dinner service.”
A timer chimed in the kitchen. “Oh, that’ll be the pies. If you guys let me out, I’ll check them and we can get started moving things.”
The pies, a new apple cranberry recipe with a sugar brushed crust, were perfectly cooked. She slid them onto cooling racks below the two sizes of tarts she’d baked earlier. It was tricky to get the timing right for the various sizes. Getting the apples soft, but not mushy, while nestled inside a perfectly browned crust wasn’t easy. But, with enough trial and error, she’d figured out the timing. She’d learned at her grandmother’s side that keeping her oven load consistent was the key to duplicating successes with future batches.
“Those smell incredible.” Darius inched closer. “I don’t suppose…”
“Am I going to have to feed you too?” She laughed. She couldn’t help herself; he was so adorably eager. She used to look forward to his daily visits for a snack after school. Of course, she’d hid in the back and watched him from a distance. He probably hadn’t even known she was there.
“How about a compromise? You provide desserts, and I’ll have my kitchen bring over lunches.”
“I can live with that. I haven’t had Greek for years. What do you want to sample? Apple, cranberry apple, mince, or pecan? If you want pumpkin, you’ll have to buy the entire pie.” Pumpkin tarts were super tricky to get perfect. Delicate and finicky, they weren’t worth the time, at least not while she was focused on the contest. The balance between the contest and having to hire extra staff wasn’t easy. She’d elected to skip the staff, drop a few items, and work longer hours. It was only for a month, she’d manage.
“Mince sounds good,” he said after studying all four cooling racks. “Although those cheese biscuits look exquisite.”
“Flattery will get you everything,” she quipped.
“Good to know.”
“Would you like traditional mince, like Gramma used to make, with actual meat in it? Or the modern, dried fruit version? Both are sweet, but Gram’s version is a bit heartier and not as sweet.”
“I don’t remember your grandmother having two types of mince,” he said, pivoting to look at her, his chocolate eyes glowing happily. “Lately, all I’ve been able to find is the fruit version, she didn’t have that, did she?”
For a second, Poppy was lost in Darius’s eyes. The deep color, the happiness. He had tiny laugh lines around the corners, unusual for a man barely into his thirties. She shook her head slightly, in answer to his question, and to drive away the attraction pulling her toward him.
“No, just the meat version. She dropped it several years ago. People became accustomed to the jarred mince that you find in the grocery store and her pies fell out of favor. I prefer the meaty version, so I brought it back. It’s selling well. They both are.”
“Can I have one of each, please? Just the tiny sample size? I see you’ve made samples, pies, and tarts.”
“The samples are a good way to let people test products. We feature one or two items every day,” she said defensively. Years ago, she’d pitched the idea of samples to her grandmother who had refused. Coming from an era where money was tighter, she’d been happy to help out a stranger, but resisted the idea of giving away product. The contradiction had always confused Poppy.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you. I think it’s brilliant. Get people to try new things. I’m doing that too. I’ve got a sampler plate that features six of our new dishes. People are loving it. Not that we’re busy yet. I’ll change it out as I modify the menu. I think static menus are a thing of the past. I’ll change mine as soon as an item goes stale. Keep things moving. I love to create new dishes.”
“Me too. Hence the saskatoon apple pie. I’ve got an entire notebook of ideas to try. I can’t wait until this contest is over so I can get started on them.” She grabbed a dessert plate from the counter and placed two mini-tarts on it. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
He took the plate in one hand and a tart in the other. He bit into it and closed his eyes with a groan. “Oh my, this is incredible,” he mumbled around the bite. “Just as good, no, better, than I remembered. You’ve changed the recipe somehow.”
Happiness skittered up her spine. Nobody else, not even Julianna had noticed the subtle alteration she’d made. Impressive that he recalled the tarts well enough to recognize a change. Darius Badeaux, former bad boy, had become a food connoisseur. She was going to like testing her recipes on him.
Whoa! Wait. Don’t go there, she warned herself. Their association was temporary. Three and a half weeks until the competition. Time to perfect a design. No more, no less. She wasn’t going to have time to practice new recipes until after the holidays. Besides, theirs was a limited time partnership. She wasn’t getting close to him and risking her heart again. They were business acquaintances, nothing more.
