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“What did you do?” he asked as he checked the oven temperature.
“Moved the flowers. The florist wasn’t happy.” Mara sipped her coffee. “But there were no serving disasters, and that was what mattered. It’s all about the clients. About making their day run smoothly.”
“Then Matilda would approve of you.” Gabe turned dough onto the worktable and began dividing it with a bench scraper, each piece landing in a neat row beneath his hand. “She is never shy when it comes to telling me when I’ve done something stupid.”
“Isn’t that part of what makes her such a good employee?” Mara set her coffee safely away from the flour and moved closer. “We all need someone who is not afraid to tell us if something isn’t right.”
“We do,” Gabe agreed. “And Matilda has worked here long enough that I trust her judgment, usually without argument.”
“Wise man.” She nodded toward the worktable. “How many are you making?”
“Enough for this afternoon, and I’ll prep some for tomorrow morning.” He picked up the first piece. “Karina wants two hundred for the fundraiser, so I’ll be doing nothing else the day of the bake. Call this a trial run of a bigger batch than I usually do.”
“You really sell two hundred at the bake sale?” Mara asked.
“The first year I said yes to fifty. Then Karina told me they sold out in the first hour. So every year I promise her more.” He set another one on the tray.
“No pressure then?”
“None at all.” He arched an eyebrow. “Other than I would never hear the end of it from Karina.”
“You two have a great relationship,” Mara said.
“You noticed,” Gabe replied as he worked the dough. “But honestly, if something went wrong and I couldn’t bake the bears, she wouldn’t give me a harder time than I would give myself for letting people down.”
“I understand completely. Professional pride.” Mara laughed. “Will you show me how you make them?”
Gabe gave her a sideways glance. “Trying to steal my secrets?”
“So there are secrets.”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I did not.” He shook his head and began shaping the first piece, rolling it under his palm and then working it with his thumbs. Mara watched his hands, which was a mistake. The way he kneaded the dough, firm, strong…
No, she was here to learn how to make cinnamon bears, not fantasize about his hands on her body.
“So that’s the secret,” she said as he pinched two small ears into place and set the bear on the tray.
“As I said, there are no secrets.” He flashed her a smile. “Just lots of practice.”
“Says the man who is naturally good with his hands.” She should not be thinking about his hands again. “You are a master of dough.”
“You’re welcome to share that insight with Karina next time you see her. Now, watch and then you try.” He picked up the next piece and slowed right down, turning his hands so she could follow what they were doing. “The ears go on separately, otherwise they spread, and you end up with something that looks like it’s been sat on. Everything else comes out of the one piece.”
“How long did it take you to figure that out?”
“Not long, but the first ones were terrible. My sister still brings it up.” He pushed a piece of dough toward her across the steel. “Your turn.”
Mara stared at it. “You trust me with your reputation?”
“Not remotely. I’m not selling yours.”
She laughed, slipped off her jacket, and went to wash her hands. When she came back, she rolled her sleeves above her elbows and stood beside him. “I should warn you, I haven’t done this in years.”
“You used to bake?” Gabe asked.
