by Ashlyn Chase
Surprised, he took a step back. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because…well, because. She’s not someone to approach the wrong way.”
Knowing how powerful she was, Dru imagined she could zap him back to Texas…probably someplace with tumbleweeds and steer skulls for company.
“I believe you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Just like that? I thought you’d want to know why.”
“I saw her do something last night. Something downright supernatural. Let’s just say I was impressed.”
“Hmmm. Whatever it was, she meant for you to see it.”
“How did you know I was wonderin’…Oh, yeah. You’re probably super psychic like most witches.” Well, this could be a pain in the ass…her always knowin’ what I’m thinkin’.
She chuckled. “I wasn’t reading your mind. Just going where my mind would go in your position.”
“Ah. Empathy. That’s a nice trait. Not everyone can put themselves in someone else’s shoes. Shasta’s like that too.”
Dru was beginning to wonder if all this magic and psychic ability could be learned or if it was a gift…like ‘the sight’ he had heard of.
The timer buzzed and Rebecca took the muffins out of the oven. They smelled incredible. He glanced at the clock. It was almost 6:30. Plenty of time before they opened, but he wanted to start earning his meager pay.
“What tray do you want the bear claws on?” he asked.
She pointed to a stack of cafeteria-like trays on a rolling cart. “Any one of those. Just line it with wax paper first. The roll is on the shelf underneath. Oh, and please wash your hands before you touch anything.”
“Got it.” He didn’t know a lot about baking, but he was pretty sure presentation was important. Cafeteria trays didn’t shout ‘quality.’
She flashed him a smile. “Tell me how they taste.”
He took a bite of one, and as the sweet goodness met his taste buds, he moaned his appreciation. “Mmm…mmm! That’s incredible. How’d you learn to bake like that?”
She shrugged. “Practice.”
“You know, I may be able to help you in the sales area.”
She tipped her head. “Really? How?”
“Well, I can give you the customer’s point of view. For instance, wouldn’t your stuff look nicer on those doily things in a more professional looking tray?”
She sighed. “Yes, they would. But I got the trays free when a cafeteria went out of business. And wax paper is cheaper than doilies.”
“Hmmm…being frugal is a good thing, I guess.”
“It’s a necessary thing, especially right now.”
“Why now?”
She let out a long sigh. “I’m going under.”
He hesitated, then seemed to pick his words carefully. “I’m sorry. Are you in big trouble right now or just projecting down the road?”
“Unless I can convince my father to give me a little longer to pay back his loan, and instantly get a whole bunch more customers, it’s pretty certain.”
“How long did you have to pay back the loan?”
Here we go. I hate to confess my own stupidity. She folded her arms. “We didn’t write up any kind of contract. He just said, ‘Pay me when you can.’”
Dru’s jaw dropped. Before he could say anything, she held up a hand to stop him.
“I know. I know. That was stupid of me.”
Again, he paused as if he didn’t know what to say. Would he agree with her? Lie to make her feel better?
“In Texas many businesses are family owned and operated. The ranch I work on certainly is. But even then, people ‘put it in writing’ as they say.”
“I know. My father can be, um…moody is the best word I can come up with. Sometimes he’s the nicest guy in the world…Most of the time, in fact. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he gets angry and unreasonable.”
“So, do you think he was just in a bad mood when he called the loan due?”
“Maybe. That’s what I was hoping. But he can be kind of stubborn too. He might want to change his mind, but unless there’s a good reason to…” She looked off into the distance.
“Hmmm. I guess we need to drum up business.”
“We? Since when did my problems become yours?”
“Since I took the job. If you don’t stay open, I’ll have to go and get another one. And I’ll bet my next boss won’t be nearly as pretty.” He winked.
She couldn’t help smiling and lapping up the flattery. She needed to feel good about herself, even if the compliment was entirely comprised of something as superficial as her looks.
Dru snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. Can you bake up some little samples of somethin’ I can give away?”
“I always have a plate of cookies on top of the display case and give those away for free. Kids come in with their moms and they look for them.”
He scratched the stubble on his chin. “I don’t think that’s workin’. I mean, you’re only gettin’ the same customers who already walked in—and kids don’t buy stuff. Maybe at lunchtime I can take a plate out into the neighborhood and tempt some of the folks who’d just walk on by.”
Rebecca mulled it over. “Hmmm…”
“It works like a charm on me at the mall. Although if I see the perfume lady comin’ I run like hell.”
Rebecca smiled. “It’s not a bad idea. Not bad at all. You’d do that for me?”
“Hell, yeah. I’d be doin’ it for me too. Like I said, the next boss could be downright ugly.” He winked at her again and she laughed. Sexual harassment be damned. I like how this guy makes me feel.
An hour later, the display case was full and Dru had learned how to make coffee and keep an eye on the urns. Rebecca showed him how the cash register worked, and he assured her he was comfortable with everything except the baking part of her operation. That was the part she loved, so Rebecca felt lighter than she had in a long time.
Even though Dru said he didn’t think he was doing much, she assured him that his contribution would be an enormous help.
A couple of people appeared on the sidewalk outside the door.
“Should I let in the hungry masses?” he asked.
Rebecca glanced at the clock and saw it was five minutes before their scheduled time to open. “If I didn’t need the business so badly, I’d let them wait while I straighten up the back, but it’s fine.”
She returned to the kitchen and heard him unlock the door, then give a big ol’ Texas “Welcome ‘y’all” to her customers.
She smiled inside and even started to hum as she wiped down her prep counter. The future seemed a little brighter with Dru here. Maybe she’d even experiment with a new recipe she’d dreamed up—literally—and use the rest of the fresh strawberries she had on hand.
She was rinsing the fruit in a colander when Dru poked his head around the door.
“Somebody wants to speak to you. Are you busy?”
“I’m not doing anything I can’t walk away from.” Rebecca grabbed a towel and dried her hands on her way through the door. She spotted a woman waiting near the cash register.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh, yes.” The woman smiled. “Are you the baker?”
“I am,” she said proudly.
“Last fall, I got some of the most delicious apple cupcakes here. Do you know the ones I’m talking about?”
“The ones with caramel buttercream frosting?”
“Yes. They were incredible. Can you tell me what was in them? I’d love to know why they’re so much better than anything at the grocery store.”
Because I’m not taking shortcuts, like they do. “Sure. I start off making a normal cupcake batter...
After reciting the whole recipe, she said, “When I have loads of apples, I make a double recipe.”
“I think it was the frosting that made it so unusual,” the woman said. “What was in that?”
“1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1/4 cup water
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 sticks unsalted butter, softened
4 large egg whites, at room temperature and
2 teaspoons vanilla extract.”
Rebecca noticed Dru glancing over at her and his brow was furrowed. Maybe he was trying to remember it in case she let him help with the baking someday.
“It’s a recipe I adapted from Martha Stewart. Bring 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar and the water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Then, cook it, swirling the pan occasionally, until the caramel is dark amber. Immediately remove it from the heat, and slowly add cream, salt, and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract, stirring with a wooden spoon until it’s smooth. Then let it cool.
“I place the whites and remaining 1/2 cup sugar in a heatproof mixing bowl set over a pot of simmering water. Whisk until the sugar dissolves and the mixture registers 160 degrees on a candy thermometer. Then I use a mixer on medium speed for about 5 minutes. Then I increase the speed to medium-high until stiff, glossy peaks form. Then I reduce speed to medium and add the beaten butter, a cup at a time, and then vanilla, whisking well after each addition.
“Then with the mixer on low speed, I add the caramel, and beat it until smooth, about 3 to 5 minutes.”
“Wow,” the woman said. “It sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is. But you asked why they’re better than the grocery store’s baked goods. That’s why. I’m pretty sure they take short cuts and mix up a lot of ingredients ahead of time. They never taste as fresh as homemade.”
“Oh, you’re right. I’ll bet that’s it. Well…keep up the good work,” she said and waved as she left.
Scowling, Dru set his hands on his hips.
“What?”
“You’re goin’ under, huh?”
“Yeah. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just that you’re givin’ away the candy store. No wonder your business is in trouble.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “First of all, it’s a bakery. Not a candy store. Secondly, one customer won’t put me out of business. People come here because they can’t be bothered to go through all the trouble of making something like that.
“What if she’s writin’ a cook book?”
“She’d never remember all of that, and she wasn’t taking notes. Besides, there are plenty of recipes on the Internet and in other cook books. Where do you think I got them?”
“It seems like you got that one from Martha Stewart but improved on it somehow.”
“Just the frosting.”
“Oh. Just the frosting, huh? Didn’t that customer say that’s what made it so special?”
Rebecca folded her arms. “What are you saying?”
Dru raked a hand through his hair. “I’m just concerned for you, is all. You said you might lose your business, and it’s clear how much you love it.”
“If I’m going under anyway, why not make a few people happy on my way out?” She jammed her hands on her hips.
“You’re givin’ up. Don’t. Things could still turn around.”
“I doubt it.”
“Yeah. Not if you keep doin’ things that way. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t open my mouth when you’re about to shoot yourself in the foot? Ain’t you never heard that the best way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket?”
Rebecca shook her head. “No. I never heard that saying, but I think you’re trying to give me advice—and I haven’t asked for any.”
Dru clamped his jaw shut. After a brief silence he said, “What else do you need me to do?”
She strode into the kitchen, then turned around and came right back out. They stared at each other for a few long moments.
Rebecca’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help.”
Dru reached her in two long strides and enfolded her into his embrace. “I’m sorry too. I can be a bit outspoken.”
The easy warmth of his hug felt odd, but comforting. Maybe Texans were more comfortable with touch than New Englanders were. She relaxed into it, and thought about how she never knew what her father was thinking due to his poker face—and he’d played a lot of poker. Dru’s honesty was a nice change. She slipped her arms around his waist. “I like that you’re not afraid to say what you think.”
He leaned away enough to see her, but didn’t let go. Neither did she.
“Do you want to know what I’m thinkin’ right now?”
“What?”
“I’m thinkin’ I want to kiss you.”
“Why don’t you?”
He smiled, then slanted his head and descended. His warm lips met hers, gently at first. Then he opened his mouth slightly, and she opened hers. His tongue swept inside, and Rebecca tasted the sweetness of her own baking, plus pure Dru.
His lips left hers long enough to whisper ‘beautiful’ over her cheek, nip her earlobe, and trail down the column of her neck. Her insides melted like butter. He pulled her closer, and she wished they were horizontal. Her hands were everywhere. In his hair, gripping his shoulders and finally locked around his trim waist. Then their tongues were dueling again. Goddess knows what would have happened next if someone hadn’t cleared his throat, loudly.
They broke apart.
A grinning Ethan Cox stood in front of the display case.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Rebecca jammed a hand on her hip. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not. I probably saved you from making a public spectacle of yourselves, knowing where your minds were going.”
Dru backed up a step. “You can read minds?”
Ethan laughed. “It doesn’t take a mind reader to see where you two are headed.”
The couple gazed at each other, then put their embarrassment aside and smiled.
Rebecca recovered enough professionalism to ask, “Is there something I can get for you, Ethan?”
“Besides a woman who can kiss like that?” He chuckled. “Sure. I’d like a Cinnamon roll, if you have any.”
Rebecca gasped. “My cinnamon rolls!” She hightailed it to the kitchen and pulled the pan out of the oven. She waved away the smoke and could tell at a glance they were overdone. Chances are the bottom of each would be nearly black. “Damn it.”
Dru appeared in the doorway. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah. Find Ethan an alternative breakfast—on the house. Either that or offer him two of these for free. I’ll scrape off the bottom and cover the rest with extra glaze.”
“Maybe if we cut them up, I can give ‘em out as samples this afternoon.”
“If you give these out, we’ll lose customers, not gain them.”
Dru sighed. “Sorry about the distraction…but not really.”
She waved him out of the kitchen. “Go. I have work to do.”
High priestess Fayleen surprised Hanna in her suite by suddenly appearing on top of her desk. Hanna flinched and rolled her eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was asked to find out why your love spell went awry.”
Her brows shot up. “They saw the botched spell?”
“Just the tail end. I thought you said you had a good group. Sounds more like a bunch of newbie witchlets who don’t know what they’re doing?”
“No, thank the Goddess.” She plopped down on an armchair. “There was just one member who ruined the ritual. He may not have been a witch at all. He disrespected our altar.”
Fayleen reared back. “Disrespected? How?”
“He grabbed a fire extinguisher and used it to put out a small blaze on the altar itself. It seemed prudent, so I didn’t intervene.”
“That seems excessive for a few candles. Or did he try something different? It always makes me nervous when witches light up an entire log like they do on Yule and Beltane. But your people know enough not to do that on an indoor altar—don’t they?”
“No log. The flames were the result
of the candles falling onto rum cakes, which another witch brought as an offering. I don’t think it was intentional. I was the one who bumped the altar and caused them to fall. The alcohol accelerated a small fire.”
The other witch’s eyes narrowed. “How small?”
Hanna parted her hands to demonstrate the height and width. About a foot in each direction.
Fayleen sighed. “People are always misusing the gift of fire. I suppose it could have been worse.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or was it? You aren’t minimizing the situation just to keep me from tattling on you, are you?”
“No. I know how much more upset they are when someone lies to them.”
“So, somebody panicked. What else is new? They said you were none too pleased. They watched until it was over. You spoke to the culprit privately and he apologized. What did you say and how did he take it?
“I didn’t kick him out, if that’s what you mean. He seemed reasonable, and I liked him.”
Fayleen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Get me all the information you can on that guy. I may have to infiltrate the coven. I was supposed to ask you to interview possible candidates for the supernatural coven—without their knowledge. It might be easier if I help you.”
“I understand. Then you won’t have to explain why, if they’re not suitable. You can just disappear.”
“Since when have I ever explained myself? No, sweetie. I just want their honesty. Have you ever known anyone to be totally honest if they have something to hide—especially in a job interview?”
“Well, yes. There are some honest people.”
Fayleen smirked. “Do they get the job?”
“Oh.”
Dru sat across from Ethan as the man devoured his free bear claw. He wondered how often Rebecca just gave away her baked goods. Asking her would probably make her angry again, but maybe Ethan could help him understand her.
“So, does Rebecca do that often?” he asked the muscular tug boat captain.
“What? Swap spit with her employees?”
Dru smirked. “No. I mean, givin’ free stuff away. She seemed to think you’d miss your cinnamon roll’s perfection so much she ought to give you two or treat you to something else.”
Ethan nodded since his mouth was full. After he had a chance to swallow, he said, “She’s a real sweetheart. Doesn’t charge the coven for the cakes she brings every month. If any of us just stop by for coffee, she waves away our money. Why?”