Jess turned to take in the mood of the people around her. True to Sylvia’s word, no one looked angry. She wouldn’t go so far as to say they seemed happy, but they weren’t unhappy either. Perhaps she hadn’t screwed up her career after all.
When Jess turned back around, Sylvia passed her a business card. “Here’s my contact information. Touch base with me in a week or so, and I’ll let you know how our weekly programming discussion went.” She leaned in close. “It’s not widely publicized, but my contract stipulates I have power of refusal over interviews. I’ve only invoked it once—a tech CEO accused of sexual harassment. It’s about time the producers and I discussed the people I want to welcome to the stage during my hour of programming.” She tossed Jess a conspiratorial grin.
Jess pulled out her wallet out of her purse and tucked the card into it before shrugging the leather satchel back up onto her shoulder. “Ms. Barrow, if any woman in the Bay Area has earned the right to interview who she wants, it’s you. You’re a local institution.”
Sylvia smiled beatifically. “Please, feel free to tell my bosses.”
“You get me this gig, and I’ll tell them anything you want.”
Sylvia extended her hand, and Jess clasped it. “You keep delivering fresh commentary like what you just did, and I just might let you.”
Ten minutes later, Jess signed herself out of the studio and made her way to her trusty Honda Accord. Her morning certainly hadn’t gone the way she’d thought it would when she’d driven here during the pre-dawn hours, but that just proved you never knew what the day might hold.
Unbidden, her mind flashed to the handsome man outside The Breadery. She hadn’t expected him either, but he was another recent, happy surprise. They’d barely spoken a few words—theirs was more of a wave and a smile type of acquaintance—but now she wondered why that was. She was intrigued, and she thought the same held true for him.
She’d taken a huge chance today with that off-the-cuff segment. It had been terrifying, but in the end, ultimately rewarding. Was this the new Jess? Could she work up the courage to go off-script with the baker too? Could he be another reward? There was only one way to find out.
Chapter 5
Sean reached behind his back to untie the strings of his apron with a practiced flick of his fingers. He eased the neckband of the white canvas over his head and crumpled the flour-covered fabric around the embroidered logo that had been resting across his chest while he worked. He tossed it into the hamper waiting near the door and adjusted the white tee he’d worn underneath, shaking out any remaining crumbs. End-of-shift ritual complete, he poked his head back into the front of the shop and gave a nod to his replacement and a casual wave to the two customers in line to pay for pastries.
“See you later, Mr. Hughes,” he called to the one he recognized as one of Naomi and Iain’s friendly neighbors.
“Thanks for making extra almond croissants, Sean,” Paolo Morrison said as he handed one of them off to the customer Sean didn’t recognize. “Don’t know how you knew we’d need them.”
Sean shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“Psychic baker, huh?” Paolo chuckled. “River Hill really does have it all.” Paolo was a student at the community college on the other side of town. His parents had moved here last year, and Paolo had worked at The Breadery during his senior year of high school, bumping up his hours once his college schedule became more flexible. He was a good kid. Sean tried to ignore the flash of nausea thinking about Paolo’s bright future gave him. Best not to let the kid get too close, or he might ruin it the way he’d destroyed Cal’s.
“See you tomorrow, Paolo,” he said, getting a nod in return as the younger man concentrated on the register.
Sean slipped out the back door, taking one last load of trash with him to toss into the dumpster on the way to his truck. He smiled fondly at his beloved steed as he approached. The vintage blue behemoth wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but Sean adored it. It had been his grandfather’s, and he’d found it sitting untouched in the storage garage behind his mother’s house when he’d moved home, the turquoise paint job perfectly intact underneath decades of dust. His mother had laughed when he’d asked about it.
“It’s been sitting there for God knows how long,” she’d said. “I’d almost forgotten about it.”
“You and Dad never drove it?”
“Your father was a sedan sort of man,” she said with a grin. “And I never learned to drive a stick, to be honest.”
He’d cheerfully offered her his Audi on the spot. And now he was the proud owner of Bessie Blue, the cutest truck in River Hill. She’d served him well over the last couple of years. And he’d collected a lot of notches in his bedpost from the women who were charmed when he showed up to deliver the Breadery’s cupcakes to parties in Bessie Blue. He grinned as he fired up the engine. He’d needed a few tune-ups along the way, but she still ran like a dream.
He drove the three miles to his mother’s house in the same vague state of appreciation and annoyance he’d been in for months. River Hill was still the same beautiful, charming town he’d grown up in. He drove past houses he’d played in as a kid, most fronted by picket fences or with roses climbing over trellises. On drives like this, it felt like nothing ever changed here. It was one of the reasons he’d left, long ago. But things were different. A new crop of businesses surrounded the Breadery on the town square, a new crowd of people his own age bumped into him in line at the coffee shop. River Hill was revitalizing. And he was different, too. He just wasn’t sure what kind of different he was. The kind who could go back to his high-powered life in L.A., albeit with a few safety-conscious changes? Or the type who would settle in the town he’d grown up in, helping it change for the better?
He pulled into the driveway still mulling the question and spied his mother’s car parked in front of the garage. Somehow, it reminded him that he’d promised to bring dessert to dinner with Noah and Angelica tomorrow night—and wouldn’t Noah be thrilled to hear that Sean was reminded of him when he thought of his mother? He smirked as he headed to the door of his mom’s house instead of the private entrance to his apartment out back.
“Mom?”
“In here!” Her voice came from the formal living room she’d converted to a library and office. The door off the foyer was ajar, and Sean stepped in.
Mary Amory was sitting at the antique desk she’d haggled from an estate sale years ago, dark hair in a loose bun and bare feet up on the pitted surface of the desk as she flipped through yet another family recipe book. “How was work?” She closed the book and smiled up at him, the same warm smile that had felt like a benediction when he’d come home a shambles of a man two years prior.
“Made extra almond croissants,” he said.
“Did we need them?”
“Seemed like it. Paolo was selling them as I left.”
She nodded. “You’re getting better.”
He laughed. “The famous Amory Gift?” There wasn’t one, to the best of his knowledge, but it had been a family joke as long as he could remember.
“I was thinking more like a basic understanding of supply and demand,” his mother answered dryly.
“Ouch. I took Econ 301 in college, I’ll have you know.”
“Yes, and I’m very proud.” She dropped her feet down on the floor and leaned forward to replace the book she’d been holding on the stack next to the scanner. “Did you want something? I’m going to scan a few more pages and then I’m heading out.”
“Got a hot date?” He was teasing, but he was startled to see his mother’s cheeks color slightly.
“Maybe.”
“Mom, are you getting back on the horse?” This was a far more interesting topic than the one he’d come here for. He swung the dining chair that sat opposite the desk around and straddled it, leaning his arms on its back and his chin on his fist. “Tell me eeeeeeverything.”
“I will tell you nothing, you gossip.”
“Me?”
<
br /> “Yes, you. I know perfectly well how word spreads in this town. I’ve lived here my entire life.” His mother had grown up in this very house. Mary Amory had taken her future as the owner of The Breadery so seriously she’d never changed her name when she’d married his father, and somehow, they’d agreed to give their only child the family name, too. She’d always laughed and said the situation wasn’t so unusual because they’d gotten married in the seventies.
“Keep your secrets, then,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m glad to see you’re having fun.”
“I am,” she said with a smile. “Ten years is a long time.”
“It sure is. What made you finally open up?” He winced. “Let’s pretend I didn’t use those words because I really don’t want to think about my mother that way.”
“Pot, kettle,” she said. “Think I don’t know how many women have been in that apartment over the last two years?”
“Hey, you made this,” he said, gesturing toward his body dramatically. “Shouldn’t you be proud that people appreciate it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d rather you appreciate yourself.”
“Gross, mom.”
“Sean Amory, you know that wasn’t what I meant.”
He laughed. “You set yourself up for it.”
“You’re so charming; I can’t imagine why even more women aren’t throwing themselves at your feet.”
His mind flashed suddenly to the pretty jogger he’d introduced himself to. Jess, she’d said her name was. “Me neither,” he answered, his thoughts focused on the pretty brunette.
“Anyway, I need to go get ready.”
“Before you do, can I borrow a few recipe books?”
She paused in the middle of standing up, her hands braced on the desk. “The books?”
He nodded. “I’m supposed to make a dessert to take to Noah and Angelica’s for dinner tomorrow, and I thought I might surprise them with something different.”
His mother looked at him, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Different?”
He shrugged, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Sure. Shake things up a little bit.”
“I see.”
“Actually, I was sort of thinking that we could think about doing the same with The Breadery.” In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well see what she thought about his ideas.
“What do you mean?” Her face had gone completely expressionless. Never a good sign.
“There’s a lot of new growth in River Hill. I thought maybe we could try a few new things, new recipes to sell.”
Her lips thinned. “Probably not.”
“Why not?” He frowned. “There are so many great things out there to try.”
“We aren’t hurting for business, Sean.”
“I know, but—”
“I’ve always stayed true to the way your grandfather and his father and grandfather ran the business,” she said firmly. “River Hill loves us the way we are. And if we were to take up oven space making bulk batches of some random new thing we don’t even know would sell, it would take bake time and space away from our tried-and-true sellers. We don’t have room to add any more ovens, and we aren’t in a position to expand, honey. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. This wasn’t an argument he was prepared to go in-depth on today. He didn’t even know if he planned to stay here permanently. Why shake things up with the business if he wasn’t going to be around for the fallout? “I get it, Mom. But can I at least steal a corner of the oven for a single batch of something to take to dinner tomorrow after the morning rush?”
“Sure, honey. What about the apple fritters? Your friends love those.”
“I’ll think about it. But I’m still going to look through a few of these.” He gestured toward the shelves surrounding them, lined with books.
“Sounds good.” She raised to her full height and gave him that familiar smile. “See you later.”
“Have fun on your date, Mom.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I think I can limit myself a little more than that,” she laughed as she left the room.
Two hours later, Sean tucked the book he’d been flipping through into his nightstand with a sigh. Nothing in the Amory family toolbox of recipes was appealing to his sudden need for something different. Should he look elsewhere for inspiration? He picked up his phone, then put it back down with a shudder. If he weren’t careful, he’d wind up trolling Pinterest. He might be feeling a little out of sorts, but he wasn’t desperate.
He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood. He just needed to get out. There was always a chance that inspiration would strike at the market. And if it didn’t, he could at least pick up some plums and make a frangipane tart. He tugged a button-down denim shirt over his white tee and headed out towards Bessie Blue and the small grocery store his mother frequented.
At two in the afternoon, the parking lot was relatively empty. One of the virtues of working the morning shift was that he had the afternoons free to roam. Not that he’d taken advantage of it much until recently—until his friends put a stop to it, he’d mostly roamed directly to a bar and parked there until he stopped thinking about his old life back in Southern California. Now he was trying to think about other things.
He made his way inside the store and plucked several slightly under-ripe plums into his basket; he liked them juicier, but for baking, they were better when they were firm. Backup plan firmly in place, he turned slowly in a circle, seeking inspiration. Nothing leaped out at him from the produce section. He sighed and headed toward the spice aisle.
Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg … He traced the familiar names with a finger along the rack of price tags under each little bottle. Each was perfectly common, but not typically used at the bakery. The Amory family had strong French roots, and French pastry was at the heart of all of the recipes Sean knew. He leaned in and picked up a bottle of Ceylon cinnamon, the most expensive one on the shelf, turning it over in his hand thoughtfully. Cinnamon rolls weren’t outside the bakery’s repertoire, but Sean knew there was so much more that could be done with the deceptively complex spice. If only his mother would give him a shot to prove it.
“It’s Sean, right?”
He straightened and turned to see who was asking, and felt a slow smile spread as he came face-to-face with the dark-haired jogger he’d been dreaming about smiling back at him.
“Hi. Yeah, it’s Sean. You’re Jess, right?” Maybe something different had been right here all along.
Chapter 6
Jess’s heart was racing. In the middle of the grocery store. And she wasn’t even standing in the cereal aisle. All in all, her reaction to the sexy baker standing next to her was very out of the ordinary.
Get it together, woman.
She pushed her shoulders back and took a deep breath. With a shaky grin, she canted her head toward the little glass jar that was dwarfed by Sean’s surprisingly elegant hand. It didn’t look like it belonged to someone who worked around hot ovens all morning long. In fact, his cuticles were as manicured as hers were. “Picking up spices for the bakery?”
“Pardon?” His brows were turned down in confusion.
“The cinnamon?” Jess felt her cheeks heat as she looked at him expectantly.
For several seconds he continued staring at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. Eventually, his gaze followed hers, and then his eyes darted back up. “Oh! No, we order everything in bulk. This is for something different.”
“Oh?” She paused, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, Jess began to wonder if Sean Amory had a screw or two loose in that beautiful dark blonde head of his. Either that, or he had terrible interpersonal skills. Maybe that was why he’d chosen a career where he was done working for the day by the time most other people woke up. “Okay, well, it was nice talking to—”
Sean reached out, his hand hovering tentatively over her shoulder. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.
” He shook his head and blinked, his eyes focusing in on her. “What were you saying?”
“Neither of us were saying much of anything, actually.” She smiled at him, acknowledging how awkward their interaction had been so far. “You mentioned you were thinking about making something different. I indicated I’d be interested in hearing more.”
He dropped his hand to the side and let out a long sigh. “Honestly, I don’t even know what I want to make. I’m going to dinner at my friend’s house tomorrow night, and I’m supposed to bring dessert. I didn’t want to bring anything from the bakery, though. I was hoping I’d get some inspiration here.” He gestured wide as if to encompass the entire store.
They were standing in the middle of aisle six at the local supermercado, located on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t unheard of to see white people shopping there, but Jess had been going there her whole life, and she’d never once seen Sean step foot inside. She would have remembered him. A girl didn’t forget those chiseled cheekbones and piercing hazel eyes.
She peered into his cart. “Eggs are a good start.”
He nodded and rolled his lips between his teeth. “And then I drew a blank.”
That was … odd. The man made pastry for a living, and he couldn’t come up with inspiration for dessert? Jess didn’t often indulge, but when she did, she could attest to the fact that The Breadery made some of the most sinfully decadent confections around. Perhaps Sean’s job was to bake the bread, not the sweets.
“Well, what do you like?”
“I like just about everything,” he answered. “And so do my friends. But I thought I’d bring something different. Something they wouldn’t expect.”
Something different. It was hard to pretend Jess didn’t wish he’d been talking about her, not food. Or maybe both. Something about this guy just did it for her.
Tamping down those thoughts, she examined the rack of spices. Eventually, her eyes latched onto the ancho chili powder. “How do you feel about something spicy?”
The Baker's Beauty (The River Hill Series Book 3) Page 4