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The embarrassment eased. She was a girl after his own heart.
“What’s your favorite thing to make?” he asked, stirring spices into a pan of diced pumpkin and sautéed onion. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, but it mattered. “If you could only bake one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Cupcakes.”
“Seriously?” That wasn’t what he’d expected.
“Yes, and I’ll tell you why.” Her voice had gained volume, and she was speaking more confidently than he’d ever heard her. The contrast only served to reinforce howuncomfortable she’d been with him previously. “Everyone loves cupcakes. They’re cute, delicious, and come in dozens of flavors. They can be sweet or savory, basic or elegant. They’re like little blank canvases and you can do anything you want with them.”
His lips twitched. “I can tell you’re passionate about your cupcakes.”
“I am.” She slapped one of her hands onto the counter emphatically. “They’re awesome.”
She went quiet, and when he glanced over, her cheeks were pink, as though she’d just realized how passionately she’d been speaking, and was kicking herself for it.
Adorable.
“Maybe you can make breakfast muffins with me sometime,” he suggested. “I’ve tried lots of different twists but haven’t quite nailed the recipe yet.”
“I’d be happy to.” She resumed dicing the apples. “Although I hope you know that muffins and cupcakes are very different beasts.”
“I know.” He smiled. He was beginning to think she might be a snob when it came to cupcakes. “You mentioned wedding cake before. Is that something you’ve done much of?” Now that she was more at ease, he couldn’t help taking the opportunity to gather tidbits of information about her, to hoard them like a magpie with shiny objects.
“I make—made,” she corrected herself, “all the wedding cakes at our bakery. It was very rewarding at times, but high stress too. People are so focused on having everything exactly as they imagined it.”
“I bet,” he agreed, as if he knew anything about it. He couldn’t even recall the last wedding he’d been to.
“What about you?” she asked as he started laying out sheets of filo pastry. “Have you worked here long?”
“A few years. Before that, I was out of the country.” A period of his life he preferred not to think about, much less discuss.
“Whereabouts?”
“The United States.” And that was as specific as he’d get. “Have you traveled much?”
“Not really.” He heard her rummaging through the cupboards behind him, her voice muffled. “I apprenticed in France, but other than that, I’ve just been to the usual places. Australia, the Cook Islands, Fiji.”
An image of Megan in a bikini sprang into his mind and he shoved it out, narrowing in on the other thing she’d said. “You trained in France? That’s impressive. Which part?”
“Paris.”
“Wow.” So she wasn’t just a qualified baker. She was classically trained in France. That made the apple crumble even more cringeworthy. In his peripheral vision, he saw Kat pass by the doorway. “Are you all right in here?” he asked. “I need to do something.”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Everything is under control.”
“Great.” Striding out of the kitchen, he found Kat making coffee in the dining hall.
“Hey, Tee,” she greeted. “I see our guest is helping you out. She’s not getting under your feet?”
“Not at all. You got a moment? There’s something we need to discuss.”
Her brow creased. “Sure thing. Let’s grab a seat.”
He steered them to the corner of the room, as far from Megan as possible. “It’s about the girl.”
“Hope?”
He pulled a seat out and dropped into it. She sat opposite him. “Yeah, except her name isn’t Hope, it’s Megan.”
