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“What are you doing next?”
“Probably make some donut dough,” I replied. “Why?”
He tapped his laptop. “Taking notes.”
“Will you include a scene where your heroine teaches the hero to ice a cupcake and he fails dismally?”
His lips tugged to one side. “Right before he kisses her for the first time.” He held my gaze for a moment as he said that.
My cheeks were uncomfortably warm.
I cleared my throat and bent down, fetching a mixing bowl from under the table.
I’d walked right into that one.
“Ah, she blushes. So you aren’t immune to romance.”
“I never said I was immune to romance,” I replied, hoping my voice didn’t break with how dry my throat felt. “I said I wasn’t looking for it.”
“What if it finds you?”
“Then it’s probably gotten lost. Or it’s attached to a bad boy who’ll break my heart.”
“You’re reading the same books as Saylor, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m a woman. That does happen in real life, you know.”
“A pessimist, then.”
“Of course I’m a pessimist. What’s the use in being an optimist?”
He fought back a chuckle. “A bright outlook on life?”
“Hardly. You’re just setting yourself up for disappointment.” I shook my head as I weighed out the flour. “No, I prefer to always expect the worst. That way, you’ll never be disappointed, but you’ll always be happily surprised.”
Mav looked down and typed.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing that down. Seems like the kind of thing a jaded baker not looking for love would say.”
“Har, har, har,” I muttered. “Why don’t you just name her Piper and be done with it?”
“Because in my book, when love finds her, she gives in. Unless you want life to imitate art, I probably shouldn’t.”
“Depends who finds me.” I tipped the flour in the bowl. “If it’s a billionaire with a puppy, I’d consider it.”
“Damn, that counts me out. I don’t have a puppy.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “You’re not a billionaire, either.”
“No.” He pointed at me. “But I am fucking hilarious, and that counts for something.”
“Funny doesn’t run a business.”
“Speak for yourself. Look at Ricky Gervais. The man is famous at this point for ripping celebrities.”
I tilted my head to the side. “But I am not funny, nor am I Ricky Gervais. I also don’t have access to Hollywood, so unless I want a regular slot at Bronco’s on karaoke night, it’s probably not for me.”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “How many donuts will that make?”
“Not enough, probably. There’s a half-marathon in the next town over in two days, so I’ll probably have to double all my baking. I might even have to rope Tori in to help me at the front of the store for a couple of days.”
“Really? It gets that busy?”
“Tourist season,” I said by simple way of explanation. “However much I think I’m going to sell, I usually need to double it. Which is why you find me here, making dough, when I should be going upstairs to my apartment to have a hot bath, order takeout, and watch TV until I fall asleep on the sofa.”
“Such a glamorous life you lead.”
“What will you do?” I raised my eyebrows. “Do you have a fancy gala or charity ball to attend tonight?”
He snorted. “No. No, thank you. I’ll probably go home, mutter endlessly about my noisy neighbors, try and fail to work, then fall asleep on my sofa with my laptop on my legs.”
“Damn. You live life in the rockstar lane, don’t you?”
“You know it.”
I grinned. “Well, I can help with that tomorrow. Give me a flavor, and when I have some leftover plain batter mixes, I’ll try and see if I can come up with a few tester bites for your book.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yeah, there’s always some left over, so I can try a few things. Plus I’m getting a delivery tonight so I’ll have more than enough to try. Make it a cake, though.”
“All right. Hmm.” He rubbed his jaw. “Strawberry.”
“Strawberry? Really? That’s the easiest of all the flavors!”
“Then you won’t have an issue making me a ton of stuff to try, will you?” He grinned. “I’ll go to the front of the bakery and leave you alone now. I’ll see you in the morning, Piper… with a whole bunch of stuff for me to eat.”
“Oh, go away!”
***
I added the last taster to the slate on my kitchen table and stood back to admire my handiwork. Felicity had saved my butt this morning and come in early to help me get everything done so I could whip up these twelve tasters for Maverick.
I’d never tell anyone, but I’d had the best freakin’ time. I’d even made extra batter, and if I wasn’t under a time constraint, I’d have kept going. It was only my most basic plain cupcake recipe and I’d obviously perfect it once he’d picked a flavor, but coming up with the combinations had been fun.
