Baking Lessons

by Katie Allen

  Staring at her, he paused for a long moment before asking, “You think I’m fascinating?”

  “Yes.” The answer was out before Leah even considered it. For several seconds, they were both silent, her answer ringing loudly between them. Pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, Leah decided that she didn’t care if it was embarrassing. It was the truth. Everything he did was fascinating to her.

  “She was talking about the company party coming up next month. It’s an annual thing the owner does in April, rather than having an event around Christmas.” Hamilton answered her earlier question, completely skipping the part where she admitted she found him fascinating. Leah was okay with pretending it hadn’t happened. “I never go, so I don’t know why she was going on and on about it.”

  “Ah.” She grinned. “That’s what it is. I should’ve guessed.”

  “What?”

  “This woman who might be new but probably isn’t,” Leah asked, “how old would you say she is?”

  He looked at her blankly. “I wasn’t really paying attention. Twenties? Thirties? What does her age have to do with anything?”

  “Pretty?”

  Looking hunted, he rubbed a hand over his head, leaving his normally tidy hair a rumpled mess. “I don’t know. She was fine, I suppose. Just...normal-looking.”

  That poor woman. “Ham,” she said gently. “She was hitting on you. She brought up the party because she wanted you to ask her to go with you.”

  “What? No, she wasn’t.”

  “I bet you a gazillion dollars that’s what it was.” She used her grip on his hand to pull him toward her so she could bump her shoulder against his arm teasingly. “She made her move, and it flew completely over your head.”

  “I believe you’re wrong.” His voice had gotten stiff again. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “You’re not even close to being an idiot. In fact, you’re on the opposite side of the idiot spectrum. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve met. There are just—” she waved her free hand as she searched for the right phrase “—a few social cues you miss sometimes.”

  He was quiet again, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. A part of her—a big part—wanted to tell him that she didn’t mind that he had no idea when women were hitting on him. Actually, she kind of loved that she was one of the few people he focused on, that he truly saw. It made her feel special, like she was one of a very small group of individuals who were important to him. She bit back her reassurances and let the silence stretch, knowing—well, hoping—that he was processing what she’d just said. His hand still held hers firmly, so that meant he wasn’t completely aggravated by what she’d said.

  When they reached her building, she unlocked the door and Hamilton caught it, holding it open for her to pass through. She turned to ask him if he wanted to come in, and he was already inside. Facing forward to hide her pleased smile, she started toward the stairs.

  They’d almost reached her floor before he spoke. “Whenever I’m with Louis—”

  “My friend the artist?” she interrupted, sending him a teasing grin, and he dipped his chin in a short nod while glancing upward in a move so quick she barely caught it. If it hadn’t been Hamilton, she would’ve sworn he’d just rolled his eyes at her.

  “Whenever I’m with your friend the artist,” he started again, “and James—”

  “Who’s James?”

  “Another friend from my unit. James Hawkins.”

  As she opened her apartment door, she reluctantly released his hand so she could get to her keys. His fingers slipped away reluctantly. Shaking off the pleasurable shiver that went through her as she thought about how they’d held hands the entire way home, she refocused on the conversation and tried to remember where she’d heard his friend’s name before. “James Hawkins...that sounds so familiar.”

  “He’s in the news quite a bit—the financial news, at least.” He followed her into her apartment. Everything was dark and quiet, so Annabelle was most likely working late yet again. Leah flicked both of the light switches, illuminating the kitchen and the living room.

  “Oh!” Something clicked in her brain. “James Hawkins—he’s the rich guy who’s always buying up failing businesses and then fixing them and making a ton of money. The one who the media people go nuts over because he’s so young and mysterious and sexy, right?” And horrifically scarred, she thought, but she kept that part to herself. It seemed rude to use that as an identifier.

  Folding his arms, he gave her a cool look. He was so tall, and he had a way of tilting his head back that made her think of a prince looking down at a peasant. Instead of irritation, though, she couldn’t stop thinking about how very hot he looked standing that way. Instead of aggravating her, his mannerisms were hitting all of her pleasure centers. There was something very wrong with her. “He is excellent at turning businesses around, but I don’t know about the rest of it.”

  “I do.” Hiding a tiny grin at the annoyance in his tone, she dumped her bag and headed for her room to get rid of her flour-dusted clothes. “I can attest for the mysterious and the sexy bits, although I don’t know his age.”

  “He’s my age—thirty-one.” Hamilton appeared even more miffed as he followed her to her doorway. “And he has a serious girlfriend. They’re both in Los Angeles right now.”

  As always, she couldn’t keep torturing him. Despite the fact that it was pretty funny to see him all stiff and horrified, her marshmallow center didn’t allow her to keep poking the bear. She closed the bedroom door. It wasn’t quite in his face, but he was only a few feet away. “That’s nice. Do you like her?”

  “She’s...” The atypical pause and the strange note in his voice made her wish she could see him. Yanking off her work clothes, she changed quickly and hurried to the door. As she pulled it open, she saw he was right outside it again. “She’s enthusiastic.” He looked slightly horrified as he said the word, as if some memory of her being “enthusiastic” was running through his mind. Leah was immediately intrigued.

  “Enthusiastic is usually good.” She waited, hoping for more, but he was apparently done talking about James Hawkins’s girlfriend. When nothing else came, she slipped past him and walked to the kitchen. “This is awesome. Now I’m friends with a famous artist and a filthy-rich business genius guy. Who else do you have in your army-buddy hopper? A professional athlete? Pop star? Politician?”

  “No.” He ignored her teasing tone and answered seriously. “Louis, James and you are my friends. That’s all.”

  She was simultaneously hugely touched that he’d counted her in as one of his friends and so, so sad that he had such a small pool of people he was close to. She knew he didn’t trust easily, but she didn’t think he only had three friends—including her. Torn between bursting into tears and hugging him, she forced herself to turn away until she could control her grabby and sobby impulses.

  Taking a deep breath, she blinked and stuffed her feelings deep down inside, where they belonged. “How about pasta tonight?” She didn’t ask him if he was hungry or if he wanted to stay. If he wasn’t, then he didn’t have to eat, and if he didn’t, then he could leave, but she wasn’t going to encourage it. She wanted him here. A huge, secret part of her wanted him in her bed that night, too, and not just to sleep.

  “Pasta would be good,” he said, and she blinked rapidly, pushing away the mental images that immediately crowded her head when she thought about the two of them, together in her bed. Last night had been wonderful, and they hadn’t done anything. It was too easy to imagine how it would feel if they’d done more kissing, more touching, more—

  “Okay!” It came out too loudly, and he eyed her curiously, but she pretended not to see him. “Pasta it is. Do you like meatballs?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I would assume so, but I don’t have any scientific evidence of that, so I need to as
sume that you’re an outlier until I hear otherwise.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes admiring, and she felt like the smartest, funniest person in the world. “I like meatballs.”

  “Then we’ll make meatballs.” She started pulling out ingredients, humming a little when Hamilton went quiet. Bending over from the waist, she opened the lower cabinet and pulled out multiple pans—one for sauce, one for pasta, one for—Someone slapped her ass, and she squealed, almost dropping the pan she held.

  Straightening, she whirled around, her mind trying to wrap around the fact that uptight Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton III had just smacked her butt, when she saw Annabelle, grinning at her.

  “You!” she blurted, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. It wasn’t that she wanted Hamilton to have morphed into an ass-slapper, but having his hand on her there might have made the sting worth it. “You are an evil, evil bitch.”

  “I know.” Smiling broadly, Annabelle turned to Hamilton and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Annabelle, the roommate. We briefly met before at the bakery, but it was months ago.”

  “Anthony Hamilton.” He shook her hand but didn’t linger over it. Her roommate was gorgeous, but Hamilton seemed indifferent. His small smile was gone, and his expression had fallen into its usual serious, unreadable lines. Leah felt a sharp pang, already missing the more animated, happier version of him.

  “We’re doing pasta and meatballs,” she said, pushing away her disappointment at Hamilton’s emotional shutdown. “Want to join us?”

  “I would, but I grabbed a burger from Blast on the way home.”

  Her eyes going wide, Leah turned to Annabelle. Between the butt slap and Hamilton’s mood change, she hadn’t noticed Annabelle’s shaky smile, the mix of terror and relief plastered on her face. “You only go to Blast to celebrate.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Slapping her hands over her mouth, Leah muffled her shriek of excitement. “You quit?”

  “I quit.” Although Annabelle still looked terrified, there was a deep satisfaction there as well. “I quit dramatically. I said a lot of things that will most likely cause me to not request a reference from the dick.”

  “Congratulations!” Leah dove at her roommate, hugging her hard. Laughing, Annabelle squeezed her back. “That’s amazing. No more Dick. No more endless workdays. No more transcribing terrible memoirs. Did I mention no more Dick?”

  Although Annabelle was still laughing, there was an underlying shakiness that made Leah pull away so she could see her roommate’s face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I haven’t been jobless since I was twelve,” she said, clutching Leah’s arms with tight, desperate fingers. “What if I can’t find anything right away? What if I spend all my savings and still can’t find anything? What if I have to settle for something worse than working for Dick? What if this was a huge mistake, and I’m being selfish and shortsighted and—”

  “Hey.” Leah gave her a little shake as she interrupted. “Quit it. You are amazing and talented and educated and a complete smarty-pants. You’ll find the perfect job in about five minutes, and then you’ll wonder why you didn’t leave Dick a long time ago. If it does take a little longer, I’ll cover your rent and feed you like I already promised I would, and then you can pay me back as soon as you do find that utterly perfect position.”

  “But—”

  “Nope. No buts.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Shush.”

  “What if—”

  “Zip it.”

  The panic faded from Annabelle’s face as she started laughing. Looking at Hamilton, she made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry for interrupting and dumping my emotions all over the kitchen. You see, I work—used to work—for a dick.”

  “Leah told me,” Hamilton said. By the way he stood, so upright and still, Leah would’ve never guessed that he was uncomfortable, but she saw the way his finger rubbed the side of his thumb. Once he noticed her looking at his hand, the movement stopped. “Do you want me to call Louis?”

  “Louis?” Annabelle sounded puzzled.

  “Louis Dumont. My friend.”

  She looked like someone had just slapped her across the face. “Louis Dumont?”

  “Yes.” He shifted his weight, so very slightly, and his eyelid twitched. Leah watched, intrigued. She could see through his formerly impenetrable emotion-shield, and she knew he was feeling awkward. Realization hit her hard. All those times she’d thought he’d been cold and condescending and obnoxious, had he just been covering up his discomfort, hiding how bad he was at social situations and small talk? “I don’t know if he needs a gallery manager at the moment, but I can check.”

  “You can check if Louis-fucking-Dumont needs a gallery manager.” Annabelle sounded dazed.

  Hamilton blinked, shooting a quick, quizzical glance at Leah before looking at Annabelle again. “Yes. Unless you’d rather I not contact him.”

  “No!” Annabelle’s eyes got huge and panicked. “I mean yes! I mean...” She took a visible breath, closing her eyes for a second before speaking again. This time, she sounded much calmer, although Leah could still tell her roommate was about to burst with excitement. “I would very much appreciate if you could ask Louis-fu—uh, Dumont if he has a position open. Sorry for swearing earlier. Normally, I’m much more professional, but your offer took me off guard. Let me get you my résumé.” Turning, she walked sedately out of the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Leah heard her running feet as she dashed for her bedroom.

  With a happy laugh at Annabelle’s eagerness, Leah moved toward Hamilton. He watched her, looking both wary and hungry, as she reached out and squeezed his arm. It didn’t feel like enough, so she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His entire body went tight, his muscles turning to stone under her hand and lips. The heat of his face, the prickle of his scruff, made her pause for a moment. Then she realized that she’d been kissing his cheek for much too long a time, and she pulled away, unable to resist giving his forearm one last squeeze. It felt like the arm of an iron statue. Her fingers didn’t even make the slightest dent in his skin.

  “What...” He cleared his throat. “What was that in response to?”

  “Thank you for this.” Leah kept her voice low, so that Annabelle couldn’t hear in the other room. “It’s very kind of you.”

  Tipping his head slightly, he dropped his gaze for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “He might not be hiring right now.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Before she even realized what she was doing, her hand was on his arm again. It was like he was magnetized—she couldn’t keep from touching him. “She was freaked out and terrified she’d made a mistake. Now she knows there are options besides the big dick, and she’s excited about the possibilities. So thank you.”

  He studied her silently for a long time. “You’re welcome.” Raising his hand, he gently closed it around her arm, mirroring her hold on him. Her stomach instantly went into a spin cycle as she stared at him. His hand nearly covered her arm from wrist to elbow, and was so warm she felt as if her whole body was melting into goo. He leaned closer, his head lowering toward her, his gaze fixed on her parted lips.

  Her heart immediately started hammering against her rib cage. His eyes were hot, and his face was tense, but it wasn’t with his usual annoyance or discomfort. Everything about him was screaming lust, and Leah felt her temperature shoot up, desire for him moving from steamy to detonation-worthy levels. He was getting closer, and she shut her eyes, ready—even desperate—for his mouth to meet hers.

  Instead of kissing her, though, he gently moved her away from him. Her eyes popped open and her heart rate slowed with disappointment, allowing her to hear Annabelle’s quickly approaching footsteps.

  Leah shot him a wry smile, which he came close to returning. It was good he’d stopped things before
they got going, but everything inside her was still clamoring for that kiss.

  “Here you go.” Annabelle breezed into the kitchen. Although Leah knew her roommate was faking that she was calm, that she was actually squeeing like crazy internally, Annabelle looked serene except for a slight flush on her cheeks. “This is my updated résumé. All of my contact information is on there, in case...” She coughed, and her color darkened even more. “If Mr. Dumont is interested in talking to me about a position.”

  “Call him Louis,” Leah said, grinning. “After all, he’s your friend now, too, since I’m your friend, and he’s my friend. Therefore, in the chain of friends, you and Lou are buds.”

  Hamilton lifted his eyebrows skeptically, but there was an amused twist to his mouth.

  “Okay!” As Leah stepped away from Hamilton toward the stove, she resisted the urge to sigh. If she had her way, she’d be plastered all over him for a good portion of the day. The thought made her smile before she ripped her thoughts away from Hamilton and his impressive body. “Let’s make some meatballs.”

  * * *

  Dinner was fun. Even though Annabelle had eaten a monster-sized Blast burger, she sat with them, picking apart a piece of garlic bread while Hamilton and Leah stuffed their faces. Leah wasn’t sure if it was the company or the jubilant, post-Dick atmosphere, but the food tasted amazing.

  With the three of them washing up, it was finished quickly.

  “Want to watch a movie? Or we could play a game.” Leah looked back and forth between Hamilton and Annabelle, trying to hide how much she wanted Hamilton to stay.

  “I’m too giddy,” Annabelle said, heading for her bedroom. “I need to go dance some of this energy off. I’m going to call Devon and Sydney to see if they want to go out. You’re invited, of course, but I know you’re up insanely early tomorrow.”

  Leah made a face. “Insanely early is right.” As much as she loved her bakery, it did limit her social life.