"Why downgrade your skill levels to work here?" I ask out of nowhere. Parker's hands freeze and his body tenses next to me. My mind starts to think of what I just said and how he could have taken that wrong.
What is wrong?
I am prying. I shouldn't be prying.
I didn't mean to. I was just wanting to get to know him better.
"I know you said it is because you wanted to be here for your brother with college and it being in a new state. But you could have gotten a job in a fancy pants restaurant or hotel like you have been in before."
I am now rambling.
Great.
"I didn't want that." Parker interjects. Stopping my rambling, that I was not going to stop without interruption. He turns to me resting his side on the table, abandoning the pastry dough on the baking sheets. "You ever had a passion for something so deeply you would feel empty if you didn't do it every day?" I stare blankly at him.
Have I? I don't think so. At least nothing that I can think of.
Parker sighs and continues realizing I don't have an answer, "That's pastries for me. Ever since I was a little boy in the kitchen with my mother making simple chocolate chip cookies." A youthful smile ghosts his lips as he loses himself in the memory for a moment. Sadness entered his eyes, but he continued, "She loved to bake…well cook in general." A soft somber chuckle escapes him between the words, "She taught me everything. She was the reason I got into the pastry world. Why, I went against my father's wishes and pursued becoming a pastry chef."
"Your father didn't want you to bake?" I asked my eyes, watching as he is still lost in the memories.
"No, he wanted me to follow what he did and what his father did, and his father's father did…you get the picture." He looked up at me with hooded eyes, "I went against Evans's way not taking the torch and going after my passion. He didn't talk to me again after I went off to culinary school." His gaze drifted away again, "I never got closure when they were in the accident."
Before I can ask him about it, he shakes his head, "Anyways. Pastries. Baking." He smiles wide and continues, "It is science and art. It blew my mind. You need everything to balance in just the right way to make the desserts come out to perfection. One measurement off and you are screwed."
"And not in the fun way, right?" I add softly, my eyes never leaving his face. The look he has makes my heart pound. You can see the love for what he does in his facial expression, the light behind his eyes, even the way his body responds, and his hands move with every word he says. Who knew watching a man talk about something with this much excitement and passion would make my lady regions heat up.
I shouldn't be feeling that.
My cheeks grow warm, and I close my arms around myself attempting to shield my embarrassment. He is scanning my face, causing the warmth to grow hotter.
"Exactly, not the fun way." He quietly chuckles to himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest mirroring me. His face turned serious. "Well, that love for all things pastries was being sucked out of me with every place you see on my resume." He runs his fingertips along the top of his head through his tied-up hair, avoiding his bun. His eyes looked at the tiled kitchen flooring. "They tell you in culinary school that those are the places you need to work in. Those are the places that will help you make your name in this industry." His eyes were still fixed in the same place. "What they don't tell you is you have to give a little bit of your soul up with every shift you work. They take the joy out of you. Demanding more. Demanding nothing but perfection. Eventually you become a robot in the kitchen. The chef tells you the item, shows you the recipe and the presentation they need you to copy exactly. Down to the way the mint leaf is placed. You must work on autopilot. Repeating and repeating and repeating. No errors, no mistakes, no veering from the steps. No thought, just copy."
It takes Parker a second of silence before he shakes his head softly and brings his head back up, removing his intense stare with a kinder one at me. "I didn't want to lose the small bit of passion and love I still had for this." He gestures around to the kitchen. "So, I left, and I promised myself I would only do jobs that made me feel good, made me feel the joy again."
"And you feel that here?" I ask looking away at anything but him, "You feel good? It brings you…joy?" I add as I fix my eyes on my fidgeting hands.
"More than you know." He says softly.
I hear the movement of Parker and his hand lands on mine stopping my anxious movements. The surprise of his touch makes me hold my breath as I feel his skin on mine. I try to not flinch, but I know I was unsuccessful when he loosened his grip. Only to return with a gentler touch, almost as a soft breeze.
I don't know what expression Parker is holding because I haven't looked away from where our hands meet. "Ryen?" his hands gently squeeze mine. And again, my body reacts with a jerk backwards.
"Good. I am glad." I rush out, "I-I'm glad you like it here." I tuck my hair behind my ear, needing to get away. We shouldn't be this close, for so many reasons.
My feet are moving before I even realize it, not a word to Parker.
He doesn't say a word either to my relief.
Parker resumes his prep for the day, and I make my way through the shop turning on various appliances and lights, slipping in my ear buds, letting my songs shuffle. Once all my coffee machines are on and I hear them start to brew, I make my way to grab the few things I need from the walk-in.
Nodding my head to the beat I pass by Parker as he is cutting cinnamon rolls like the expert he is. He looks up at me through his lashes, head still turned down. I disappear out of view, entering the cool aired room, only to re-emerge balancing several milks and sauces, as I still sway to my music.
Parker's eye lands on me again as he leans on one elbow against the workbench, a slight shake of his head. I keep my rhythm as I go to push through the door using my hips.
I start to feel an earbud fall out from one ear and my head turns at the action.
I have no hands to catch it, shit.