Page 178 of A Taste of Vanilla

Warren studies it.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“I think it needs less cream than you have here.”

I lean over and tap the sketch. “It’s supposed to feel like a little too much, though. It’s joyful. Soft and nostalgic. Banana and vanilla.”

“And it can be. It just needs a tiny bit less banana cream to balance it all out. It’s a complicated pastry that shows that you’re serious about craft while also being playful.”

He considers this, and the fight leaves his face. “Okay,” he says finally.

I’m about to do a victory dance when he adds, “Can we reduce the cream by twenty percent?”

“No.”

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

He pauses.

“Was that another compromise?” I smile.

“It’s math.”

“I just enjoy winning.”

He looks at me then. Really looks, and the tension snaps back so sharply that I almost feel it run through me like fire. His eyes are dark and steady, and he looks tired of control. Something that says every single one of our touches is running through his head. My hands in his hair.

“You should be careful,” he says calmly.

The side of the table digs into my hip harder. “About math?”

“No.”

I lift my chin. “Maybe I don’t really like careful.”

For one reckless second, I think he may make a move.

But then the tension breaks, and he looks down at the notebook instead. “Seven percent,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Cream reduction.”

I blink again, and laugh.

“Fine,” I say. “Seven percent.”

We spend the next few hours testing the pastry. I name it seven times, and Warren rejects four of the names immediately.