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“Oh! Would you like me to come back another time?” Suzette raises her eyebrows under her mass of blonde curls and smirks at us.
“No, of course not,” I say quickly, wiping the crumbs off my lips. “How can I help you?”
“I want to order some cookies for our annual Autumn festival.” She wanders over to the glass display case, her skirts swishing around her plump frame.
“Champagne,” I whisper to Mason, then head back behind the counter to help Suzette. When I look back at him, he’s still standing by the sunflowers in the window, shaking his head slightly with a soft grin on his face.
“I’m going to stump you one of these days,” he says playfully, then heads back into the kitchen. I can’t help the smile on my face, and Suzette takes notice.
“So, you and Mason, huh?” She asks, straightening and looking me in the eyes.
“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” I say. But I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here, and I don’t think I’m convincing Suzette, either.
“Hmm.” To my relief, she looks back at the cookies, analyzing her options. “I’m not sure if any of these fit with the theme.”
“What’s the theme?” I ask.
“Autumn,” she deadpans.
Well, yeah, I got that.
“Pumpkin is so overdone,” she continues. “I was hoping for something a little more original.”
Yes! This is my chance! “We actually have a new cookie right here that we’re trying out. It’s sweet potato with a maple pecan glaze.” While we is technically me, I’m not trying to take the credit for it. It’s Mason’s bakery, after all.
“Oh, that sounds perfect! Can I try one?”
“Of course.” I pull a cookie out and anxiously await her reaction.
She takes a dainty bite, and her eyes widen as she absorbs the flavor. “These are incredible.”
“Thank you.”
She arches a brow. “Are they…yours? I heard you have quite the culinary background.”
“Well…yes, they’re my recipe,” I say slowly. I do deserve some credit, after all.
She finishes the cookie, murmuring all along about how delicious it is, and Mason reappears.
“Hey, Madeleine,” he says with a grin. “Can you check—”
“Oh, Mason,” Suzette interjects. “Madeleine’s cookies are just divine. I’m so glad you brought her on.”
“Madeleine’s cookies?” He asks, looking at me, then back at Suzette, his brow furrowed. The confusion disappears from his face as he schools his expression back to neutral. “Yes, of course. She’s an incredible baker.”
My heart starts racing. Because I know Mason well enough at this point to read between the lines.
And he’s not happy.
“Do you think you could make two hundred of these for the festival?” she asks.
“Yes, absolutely,” I say. “Let me get you an order form.” I reach under the counter for the forms and catch the faintest glimpse of anger in Mason’s eyes before he storms back into the kitchen.
I hand Suzette the form and give her a pen, then excuse myself and head into the kitchen. Mason is rolling out a batch of sugar cookie dough, and I don’t think it requires that much force.
“Hey,” I say softly. He doesn’t look up. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really.” He keeps rolling.
