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"Did she run a bakery too? Like mine?"
He chuckles and gives me a look. "That's right. Your mom. I finally Googled her, and you won't believe what her name is."
Shoot. My blood turns to ice in my veins, and my hands grip the side of the pan I'm holding. "Brett, I…."
"I guess Sylvia is just a pretty common name, huh?" To my surprise, he smiles when he says it.
But after a moment, that smile fades. "I'm sorry for your loss," he says.
Still shaking a little, I say, "Thank you. And your mother is…?"
"Gone, too. But that was a while ago. I've had a lot of time to recover. Thirty-six years to recover, actually."
"You must have been young."
"Eleven. But it's fine," he says, waving his hand through the air like he's brushing the sadness away. "We made the most of our time together. My brother, Bash was always running around with Dad in the backyard, playing ball or wrestling in the mud or whatever they did. I wasn't so athletic. I would always volunteer to stay behind and help Ma in the kitchen. Dad wasn't really into baking, so… once Mom was gone, the baking went with her."
"Well…" I say slowly. "If it helps, you definitely have a gift. You've been very helpful."
"Thank you." His eyes meet mine again, and I realize this attempt at distracting myself was a mistake. It's only made me more curious. More tempted.
When the cakes are finished, we let them cool before we remove them from the pans to build them. He stands near me while I put the cakes together, handing me piping bags or bowls of curd and filling as I ask for them. And then he takes the cakes to the fridge to set before we do the final coat of buttercream.
I'm not planning to do anything fancy today, since these samples are just for the taste. But based on Brett's reaction when I put together the lemon cake, you'd think I was making the most extraordinary dessert in the world.
"That's incredible," Brett says, crouching down to look at the ombre layers. The bottom layer is salmon pink, the next is a pinkish orange, and the top layer is a soft lemony yellow. "When they cut into it, they'll be able to see all the different layers. Just like a sunset. That's so smart."
"I mean, I didn't invent it," I say, feeling my chest fill with pride, though my cheeks still flush red. "But thank you."
"It's a piece of art," he continues. "It's beautiful."
"Thanks," I say again.
There's a pause, and then he says, out of the blue, "I wasn't teasing, by the way. Earlier."
"Hmm? About what?"
His breath grazes my cheek, and I feel his closeness once again. "When I said you were beautiful."
Against my better judgment, I look into his eyes again. They're mere inches from mine, and as his warm breath runs across me again, I shiver. That look he's giving me eases right through me like warm syrup, slipping down to my very core.
"I don't think I can do this," I whisper.
Brett's brow furrows. "Is something wrong?"
"Please don't flirt if you don't mean it."
"But I…." He trails off, lips parted as if waiting for the rest of the words to come. But they don't.
After a moment, he closes his mouth, swallowing. He steps back. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'll keep that in mind."
And with that implied rejection, a cave forms in my chest where my heart should be. Brett doesn't want me. It's exactly as I thought it was.
I was right. And I hate it.
CHAPTER9
Brett
