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I knew being partnered up with him was a bad idea. How am I supposed to win when I have a big, six-foot-something attractive beast of a man beside me all the time! Fallon is the mother of all distractions, but having him in my space might be a step too far.
My palms sweat as I nod to Fiona and head to the kitchen. The cameraman follows, hiking his camera onto his shoulder while Gus asks Fallon and me to position ourselves.
“We’d like to get a shot of you baking together,” he says, waving his hands for us to move closer together. “Just like you used to. You worked together, yeah?”
I shuffle toward Fallon, then shake my head. “We didn’t bake together. Fallon was usually standing over there with his back to me.” I point to the grill, where Kyle is flipping a few strips of bacon.
“Well, you’re baking together today,” Gus announces. He sweeps a hand in an arc. “Showbiz, Jen.”
“Should I check the space for creepy-crawlies before we begin?” Fallon asks near my ear.
I glare at him, which only makes his lips twitch.
Gus and the cameraman position themselves, then look at me expectantly.
I blink. “Well, what do you want us to make?”
“Anything, Jen! Literally anything. You can stir flour around in a bowl for all I care.” Gus waves me forward with an encouraging smile.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mumble, reaching under the stainless-steel countertop to grab a few mixing bowls. I point to the pantry area. “Get me some bananas. We’ll make banana bread.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Fallon says with a salute, and I know he’s only doing it to annoy me when he glances over his shoulder to check my reaction. When he sees me with my hands on my hips and thunder on my brow, he starts laughing.
“This is great,” Gus says. “Keep doing this.”
“You’re filming already?” I screech.
“Relax, Jen. You’re a professional, remember?”
“Am I?” I ask under my breath, then reach for the dry ingredients and start mixing. My shoulders immediately drop. Banana bread is really a one-person job, but Fallon mashes the bananas and gathers the wet ingredients. We have it mixed and in the oven in record time, and I only realize after a few minutes that Gus has been asking me questions about myself the whole time.
“So you quit your successful tech job to pursue your dream to be a pastry chef?” Gus tilts his head.
I close the oven door and brush my hands on my apron, suddenly self-conscious. “Um, yeah.”
“Jen is a rock star,” Fallon cuts in.
I frown. “My bedtime is eight-thirty.”
Fallon’s lips twitch as he glances down at me, as if I just made a hilarious joke. I don’t understand this man at all. My bedtime is literally eight-thirty.
He turns back to Gus while hooking an arm around my shoulders. He’s getting real comfortable tugging me close to his body, and I’m still telling myself I hate being manhandled by him. I glower at him while he speaks, even though my hand does rest on top of his very solid stomach.
Fallon gives me a squeeze. “She’s the best baker I’ve ever met. Working with her was a privilege, and I have no doubt we’ll go far in the competition.”
As soon as Gus wraps up the unending questions, I pull away from Fallon. “I’m not a cuddler.”
“Could have fooled me.” Fallon’s voice is low, his eyes twinkling as he looks down at me. I know he’s talking about this morning.
“I thought you were asleep,” I hiss from the corner of my mouth, moving to the sink to wash the few dishes we made.
“I was. Mostly.”
My cheeks heat, and I scour the bowls I used with more violence than necessary. Once everything’s done, with Kyle on duty to remove the bread from the oven, I follow Gus out to the front of the café.
And freeze.
Nearly every single resident of Heart’s Cove is crammed in the small space. Every chair is full. Every wall is lined with people. The chatter is a loud hum as we walk out, and it immediately cuts off when I walk into the space.
