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She clicked on the link he sent her. There she was, leaning out of her truck to hand a little girl a cream puff. Her mouth was wide open, so she was clearly singing. “This is crazy.” The headline billed her as the Singing Baker, just as Brodie had promised.
“I’ll let you go but look at the comment section. People are lovin’ you.”
She scanned it. “I can’t believe what they’re saying.”
“Right?” Her brother sounded proud. “Kickin’ ass, as always. Love you. Talk to you later.”
After she disconnected, she read some more.
Swear to God, she sounds just like Lorelei Calloway! But those pastries—they’re the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.
She better not give up baking to become a singer. This woman knows how to cook.
I had a cannoli, and I’m telling you, that cream filling is like manna from the gods.
Forget the music festival—go for the food. Especially the Singing Baker! Her magical pastries are to die for!
Emotion flooded her. Sure, people loved Renzo’s, but a muffin was a muffin. To be celebrated for the gifts of her heart? It wasinspiring. She couldn’t wait to get to work.
She’d been dreaming of panna cotta, sandwiched between a pistachio crust and a rose jelly. She’d visualized bits of nuts and dried red rose petals sprinkled across the top. Doing a quick inventory, she saw she had all the ingredients—including the caster sugar, gelatin, dried edible flowers, and rosewater essence.Awesome.
Also, she wanted to do a strawberry tart with lemon mascarpone. Her mouth watered at the idea of that tart and creamy filling. She loved lemon anything.
Transported to a place of pure sensory pleasure, Grace got lost in the scent of warm butter, the taste of macerated strawberries, and the connections that fired between her taste buds and her mind as she anticipated which flavor would enhance another.
So, when someone knocked at the door, she jerked so hard, she knocked the carton of whipping cream to the floor. Who on earth could be stopping by this late at night?
At least I’m not singing, so it can’t be a noise complaint.
Drying her hands on a towel, she called, “Coming.”
Could be Joseph. Possibly Abby or Kate.Oh, come on.You know exactly who you want it to be.She was like a kid on Christmas morning who was afraid she wouldn’t get the one gift she wanted more than anything.
But she did. She got it. Excitement exploded in her chest at the sight of Jaime filling her doorway with his bad boy energy, muscled chest, and broad shoulders.
“If you tell me my mixer’s waking anybody up, we’re going to have to move me into the Dream House.” She was only joking, of course, but man, could she use a kitchen like that.
“Nah. You’re good.” He peered around her. “What’s cooking tonight?”
“Do you want to see?”
“No. That’s all right.”
Why did this man deny himself the things he most wanted to do? It didn’t make sense.
She noted the perspiration plastering his messy hair to his forehead and the taped stick in one hand and duffel bag in the other. “I thought you stopped playing hockey?”
“I did.” He set his gear down on the welcome mat so he could swipe the damp hair out of his eyes. “I help out the forwards sometimes. Hey, listen. Sorry to come by so late, but I saw your light on.”
“Of course.”
“I wanted to thank you for finding Kinsley.” A flash of guilt cracked through his stoic demeanor. “I was on the ice and didn’t see my phone till I finished.”
“Yeah, it was scary. I came home to a whole search party out there.”
“Told you. She’s always been this way. Gets a thought in her head and just goes.”
“You need to embed a chip in her.”
