Page 99 of A Taste of Vanilla

I pause. “I know he bakes.”

Her eyes go wide. “He said he baked?”

I look at Warren. “You did.”

He looks back at me. “I did.”

Marley makes a tiny strangled sound. “You two talked about baking?”

I point to him. “He did.”

Oliver mutters, “Erotically.”

I gasp.

He lifts one hand. “I was there for dough submission.”

Warren looks at him. “I said dough requires patience.”

“Exactly,” Oliver says. “Filthy.”

Marley presses her hands to her face. “I need coffee.”

I automatically move toward the espresso machine. “Okay.Coffee. Coffee fixes everything.” I pause. “Probably not this. But some.”

Warren stays near the doorway, still holding his paper bag.

Marley notices it. “What’s in the bag?”

He looks down as if he forgot about it. “Breakfast.”

“You brought breakfast?” Her expression twists.

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

I can tell the second she sort of forgives him.

He holds the bag out to her and she stares at it with an expression that feels like a mix of accepting a peace offering and getting thrown a personal insult.

“What kind?”

His shoulders slump just a little. “Ham and cheese croissant from the place near my hotel. And a blueberry scone.”

Her mouth trembles. Not with tears, but at what I can only assume to be rage at being emotionally manipulated by a pastry.

“I hate when you do nice things when I’m angry,” she mutters as she takes it.

I finish making her coconut latte and set it in front of her.

I brave a look at Warren. “Coffee?” I ask hesitantly.

His gaze shifts to me.

Marley points sharply. “No.”